Page 31 of Yield to Me

Chapter 17

The house was quiet, as it usually was after Regina and Grayson’s anniversary. The broken frame and picture had disappeared quickly; I hadn’t even had time to dispose of it. Neither me nor my mother had said much to each other in the week and a half since then. Instead, we kept to ourselves, pretending as if this level of silence was normal. But on Sunday morning, I found Regina in the backyard, looking at the broken sculpture.

“We should fix it,” Regina said. She concentrated on the sculpture, lost in thought. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

In my heart, I knew my mother was telling the truth. She loved me and had made sure that I was always in the picture, even if it meant Grayson slipped away no matter how hard she tried. Still, it was hard for me not to feel responsible for what happened between them, especially with how he had affected my mother, even if we both knew Grayson was always going to leave.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I said.

Regina turned towards me, a questioning smirk on her face. “Sorry? Sorry for what?”

“For bringing Michael home the other night. For breaking your picture.”

She shook her head, waving away the apology. “Nonsense. I have other pictures, and honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t do that sooner.” She tilted her head. “So that was Michael? He’s a little scrawny, isn’t he?”

“Toned, you mean.”

Regina raised her eyebrow. “He’s not who I pictured you with.” She kneeled down next to the stone torso, trailing her fingers against it. I kneeled next to her. “He was pretty. But he’s not—”

“I dumped him the other day. Don’t waste your breath.”

She laughed. Then we worked together, heaving the heavy statue upright. Headless, it almost looked like a broken artifact from ancient Rome. Even the missing pieces of arm fragments seemed to add to the depth of the piece.

“Should we figure out how to replace the head?” Regina asked.

“I kind of like it like this,” I said. “Maybe imperfection adds to the overall beauty.”

“I think so,” Regina said.

An unmarked white envelope sat at the bottom of my locker when I arrived at No Doze. I had quit Chez Tonton after my shift serving Owen. I would rather take less money and more hours at a place where I knew I earned every cent myself than work for someone who pitied me. Bobby had gladly added more shifts to my schedule, glad for the female presence and the fact that he could move the newbie back to the day shift. Clay was happy too; he missed me, he said.

I placed my purse on top of the envelope, hiding it from my view. I knew it was from Owen. It had surprisingly hurt that Owen hadn’t tried to reach out like I thought he would. He hadn’t called, hadn’t texted, hadn’t shown up at No Doze. And now that he finally had done something, I wanted desperately to pretend like I didn’t care, like I didn’t desperately need to know what he had said. But the need to know ate at my composure, like a bad cold. Just because I’m reading his note doesn’t mean I’m going to be at his beck and call, I told myself as I ripped open the envelope. Maybe I won’t respond.

A white card slid out. On the back, it read:

I was wrong. Call me. —OL

I wrinkled my nose. I realized it must’ve taken him this long because he couldn’t admit to himself that he had made a mistake. And even with an apology letter, or whatever you wanted to call it, I noticed he couldn’t bring himself to say ‘please.’ Please call me would’ve been more like it. Beg me, I thought. But it was always a command with him, and it was so much easier to turn him down when it was through written words. I ripped the card in quarters and took it outside, letting it flutter away in the wind. I deserve better than this, I told myself.

Halfway into my shift, a bouquet of white tulips was delivered, their scent filling the café even over the smell of freshly baked bread and coffee. I didn’t want to accept them, but I had a much harder time throwing out the flowers. Perhaps, once they were near dead, I could rip each petal off its stem and send them in a withered gray pile back to Surrender. But that would only taunt Owen further, wouldn’t it?

The tulips stayed on the counter next to the cash register, as Bobby suggested, and almost every customer said something positive about them. Each comment was a tug at my poise, breaking down my façade bit by bit. The flowers were nice, but I thought I had told him to skip gestures like flowers. I liked words better. They felt more real. I wanted was to see Owen, to see his face and hear him apologize.

“Someone must really like you,” one customer said, winking at me.

“Who said they were for me?” I asked, jokingly.

He shrugged his shoulders. “I can tell.”

A few minutes after one a.m., I walked out of the café after a long shift, zipping up my hoodie as I headed to my car. Owen was leaning against a Tesla Model X. I froze, staring at him. He was wearing a white v-neck t-shirt and jeans that were tight enough to show the muscles in his legs. He was completely casual like that, maybe even disarmed.

“I screwed up,” he said. His hands were in his pockets, and the sadness in his green eyes melted me. “I want to make it up to you.” He shook his head. “I need to make it up to you.” I crossed my arms, showing my agreement that he had fucked up.

“For the part where you tricked me into working for you? Or how about the part where you brought a date into my work and made me serve her?” I paused, a finger tapping my chin. “Or what about the part where you convinced me to break things off with you, then kissed me anyway? Mixed signals, my friend. If I can even call you that.”

“I can make sure your application gets into the right hands.”

I cringed. “How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t need or even want your help? I don’t take handouts from anyone.”

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