Page 159 of Holding On

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Becca

I haven't talked to Ethan in weeks. He calls every day and leaves a message, asking me to call him, but I never call him back.

It's now the end of August and Ethan will be back in class next week. I'm guessing once he's busy with school, he'll stop calling.

"Another message?" Tina asks, coming into the break room as I'm checking my phone.

"It's from Mike. He said he'll be out late with Heather tonight. They're going to a concert."

"What ever happened to Tricia?" She takes the lipstick from her apron and goes over to the mirror on the wall. "Is she still calling him?"

"Not that I know of. And she hasn't tried calling me either. I must've scared her off."

"Maybe she's dating someone else and will finally leave Mike alone."

"I hope so."

"So no messages from you-know-who?" Tina knows better than to say Ethan's name. I'm trying to forget about him so I've told her not to talk about him. Of course she doesn't listen but I at least got her to stop saying his name.

"Not today, but I'm sure I'll get one. He leaves me one every day."

She swipes red lipstick over her lips. "Why don't you just call him back?"

"Because I'm trying to get over him and talking to him will just make it harder."

She tucks her lipstick into her apron and turns to face me. "It's been weeks since you broke up with him. It should be getting easier, but it's not, is it?"

I sigh. "No. It's so frustrating. I've never had this hard of a time getting over someone."

"Because you've never been in love before." She grins.

"That's not it. It's just—I don't know what my problem is. I just need more time, I guess."

"Order up for Becca," Max sings from the kitchen.

"What's he talking about?" I say to Tina. "I don't have any orders in."

She shrugs. "Maybe he read the ticket wrong."

I yell out to the kitchen. "What table?"

"Seven."

"That's mine," Tina says. "Max must've forgot. I'll see you out there." She leaves and less than a minute later, she appears in the break room again.

"That was fast," I say. "What'd you do? Sprint to the table?"

"Um, no." She bites her lip, like she's trying to hold back a smile. "Actually, Max was right. It's your order, not mine."

"It's not mine. Table seven is yours."

"I know but I can't take it out there." She sits down and holds her stomach. "I'm not feeling well."

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know. It must be something I ate. Can you take the order out for me?"

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