Page 8 of Madness

Isit in my parked car outside Sunny's Diner, my hands gripping the steering wheel so tight my knuckles are white. I've been here for twenty minutes, fighting an internal battle that's becoming all too familiar lately.

Part of me - a loud, insistent part - is screaming to just drive away. To go home, lock myself in my room, and lose myself in the oblivion I know is waiting for me there. The anniversary of Chloe's death has passed, but the pain hasn't. It's still raw, still bleeding, and I know exactly how to numb it.

But another part, quieter but somehow stronger, keeps me rooted to this spot. It's the part that's curious about Lauren, the waitress with the tired eyes and the complicated story. The part that, for the first time in three years, feels something other than grief or guilt.

And that scares the shit out of me.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I can do this. It's just a solo dinner. I’ve done a million of these. It’s maybe just a conversation. It doesn't have to mean anything.

But what if it does?

I shake my head, trying to clear my head. One step at a time, Dakota. Just get out of the fucking car first.

Finally, I force myself to move. I push through the door of Sunny's Diner, the familiar jingle of the bell overhead barely registering. My eyes scan the room, searching for a specific face among the dinner crowd.

There she is – Lauren, moving between tables with practiced ease. Her long dark ponytail swings as she navigates the narrow spaces, and I find my eyes drawn to the graceful curve of her neck. Even in the unflattering diner uniform, there's an understated beauty about her that I hadn't fully appreciated before. The warm glow of the overhead lights catches the hint of gold in her hazel eyes as she smiles at a customer, and I feel my heart rate pick up.

Shit. I'm in trouble already.

I deliberately choose a booth in her section, sliding into the cracked vinyl seat. My fingers drum an anxious rhythm on the laminate tabletop as I wait for her to notice me. It's stupid, really. I'm acting like some lovesick teenager, not a grown man who's seen his share of shit.

When Lauren finally approaches, there's a flicker of recognition in her eyes, quickly masked by professional politeness. "Good evening," she says, pulling out her notepad. "What can I get for you today?"

I clear my throat, suddenly nervous. "Hey, uh, how's your son doing? Is he feeling better?"

Surprise flashes across her face, followed by a guarded look. "He's... better, thank you for asking. The fever broke last night."

I nod, relieved. "That's good to hear. Kids can be pretty resilient, huh?"

A small, genuine smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. "They certainly can be."

There's a moment of awkward silence, and I realize I should probably order something. "Oh, right. Can I get a coffee and the cheeseburger special?"

Lauren jots down my order, her professional mask firmly back in place. But as she turns to leave, I can't help but feel like I've made a tiny crack in her defenses. Maybe my own defenses, too. It's not much, but it's a start.

She returns a few minutes later, setting a steaming mug of coffee in front of me. "Your burger will be out soon," she says, turning to leave.

"Wait," I blurt out before I can stop myself. She pauses, looking at me warily. "I mean, if you have a minute, I'd like to chat."

She glances around the diner. It's not too busy, and I see her weighing her options. Finally, she gives a slight nod and slides into the booth across from me. "I have a few minutes," she says cautiously.

I take a sip of coffee, nearly scalding the inside of my mouth in the process, buying time as I try to think of something to say. I should have had a fucking plan before I started this. I’m not exactly good on the spot. "So, uh, how long have you been working here?"

“A couple years,” she replies, her fingers absently tracing patterns on the tabletop. "It's not glamorous, but it pays the bills."

I nod, understanding all too well the need to make ends meet. But then I start racking my brain, wondering why I never noticed her before. Surely, I should have. Have I been that wrapped up in my own shit? Or maybe it's just that I've been going through the motions for so long, not really seeing anything or anyone around me. It's a sobering thought – how much of life have I missed while I've been drowning in grief and guilt? Lauren's been here for a year and a half, and it's like I'm seeing her for the first time. It makes me wonder what else I've been blind to all this time.

"And your son... how old is he?"

A soft smile touches her lips, and for a moment, the guarded look in her eyes fades. "Roman is just about to turn three."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. Three years old. That means he was born right around the time... I swallow hard, pushing back the memory of hospitals and funeral homes. Three years ago, I was losing everything while Lauren was gaining a whole new world.

“That's a great age,” I manage to say, even though I have no real experience with kids. My voice sounds strained even to my own ears, but I push on. “Must keep you on your toes.”

Lauren chuckles, a warm sound that makes something that’s been dead for a long time flutter in my chest. "I assume you have no kids?” When I shake my head no, she continues, “Then you have no idea. He's into everything these days. Curious about the whole world."

As Lauren starts talking about Roman's curiosity, I can't help but wonder what my life would be like now if things had gone differently. Would Chloe and I have had kids by now? The thought sends a sharp pain through my chest, a reminder of all I've lost and all I'll never have.

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