Page 6 of Don't Make Me Beg
“Oh, thrilled,” he snaps. “Nothing delights me more than watching my only child throw her life away.”
The look he gives me is nothing short of disgust, and for a split second, I find myself wondering where it all went wrong. How has my seemingly happy life managed to change so quickly?
I take a step through the door, pausing just long enough to glance back over my shoulder—hoping, stupidly, that they’ll stop me. That they’ll say something, or apologize…
But they don’t move.
Their faces are locked in those same tight scowls, and that’s when I feel it. Somewhere deep inside, something shifts. Like glass breaking. And I know my life will never be the same…
It’s only when I hear the door slam, punctuating their words like a nail in a coffin, that I realize the pain feels oddly like relief.
I breathe in the fresh air, filling my lungs for what feels like the first time as I start my trek back into town.
I have no idea what I’m going to do next, but I guess I’m about to find out.
A rush of cool air and the mouthwatering scent of cheeseburgers hits me the second I push open the door, washing over me in sweet relief. My feet are screaming, each step of that three-mile trek to the bus station still echoing through my bones, and I’ve never been so happy to be inside air conditioning.
After leaving my parents’ house, I wasn’t sure where to go or what to do next, so I followed my hunger pangs, which led me here.
At Restaurant—yes, that’s its actual name. Luckily, it’s easy to avoid confusion, considering it’s theonlyrestaurant in town.
Let’s just say the founders of this small town weren’t exactly the most creative when it came to naming local businesses.Everything is named for exactly what it is, and there’s no place in the world quite like my quirky hometown of Ashford Falls.
I let my eyes scan the open dining room, noting all the tiny details that’ve been added over the past five years.
Much like the town itself, this place has managed to maintain its historic charm while still managing to feel updated and improved. It’s one of the things I love most about this town. It’s full of charm, full of history. No one’s trying to erase the past and start fresh like I’m used to seeing in bigger cities. Because they don’t see their history as something to be ashamed of, despite the real pain and devastation that was once present here. Instead, they value the stories these buildings hold and all the memories tied to them.
It’s like seeing someone for who they truly are and loving thembecauseof their imperfections, notdespitethem.
What must that feel like?
I feel my throat begin to tighten with emotion, my eyes slowly filling up with tears. How pathetic can I be, feeling jealous of a building?
“We’re closing early this evening, so we don’t currently have a waitlist, but you’re welcome to take a seat at the bar,” the friendly young hostess says, pulling me out of my emotional spiral.
I make a quick attempt to wipe the unshed tears from my eyes, suddenly remembering why I came in here to begin with. I was so lost in my own thoughts that I didn’t even see her approach.
My stomach takes that moment to let out a ravenous growl, and my eyes follow to where she’s gesturing at the last empty seat at the bar.
I force a smile, feeling my heart rate begin to race. “The bar is perfect. Thank you.” My hand clenches around the handle ofmy suitcase as I roll it behind me, feeling the curious stares of everyone I pass.
It’s not every day the hometown girl who’s been gone for nearly a decade without even saying goodbye, comes back with a suitcase and her tail between her legs. I can only hope the word of why I’m back isn’t what they’re whispering about.
I perch myself up on the tall barstool, using my oversized menu as a shield as I try to calm myself down. It’s not exactly convenient that my emotions are so visible on my skin.
“What can I get you to drink, hun?” A raspy female voice asks from behind my menu, and I feel my shoulders sag in relief that she doesn’t know who I am.
“Can I get a Cherry Coke? With extra cherries if you’ve got them. And I’m ready to order my food if that’s okay?” I tell her my order, and she scribbles it down, then disappears to refill a drink on the other end of the bar.
I’m grateful for the loud music and dim lighting as I do my best to look and act nonchalant despite feeling like I’m sitting underneath a spotlight. I find myself fidgeting, tugging at the stiff fabric of my pants, and feeling completely out of place.
It’s not that I’m overdressed per se, there are plenty of people in here who have obviously come straight from work. It feels more like I’m wearing a costume.
Don’t be ridiculous, Scout. No one here is judging you…or even thinking about you. You’re not that special.
As if on cue, the friendly bartender appears, sliding my fruity, nonalcoholic drink down in front of me. “One Cherry Coke with extra cherries. Let me know if you want a shot of whiskey to add to that,” she says with a wink.
I slide my favorite nostalgic drink toward me before taking a long gulp. The ice-cold bubbles burn, coating my throat in the sweet syrup on the way down, and I already feel so much better.
