Page 10 of Ugly Truths
I never dared to take any myself. It always felt like holding onto a dream I didn’t deserve to have. But now, I'm desperate to remember that it wasn’t all in my head.
I open my favorite photo. The candid shot of us on the dance floor of the one gala we attended together. Silas is holding my face in his hands, his lips pressed to mine in a kiss that made the headlines for days. I remember that moment so vividly, the way he struggled to find the words to say that he didn’t believe a word his father said about me. How he saw me. Wanted me. Despite everything.
A tear slips down my cheek, followed by another, until I can’t stop them. The pulsing throb in my heart spreads to every inch of me.
I’d nearly convinced myself when I left Chicago that distance would help, and I'd see things more clearly. Separate myself from the little bubble I created with him. Maybe I’d even realize it was something I built in my head because it all happened so fast. There was no slow unraveling. No warning. I was drowning in whatever it was we had before I even had the chance to take a final breath.
The pain hasn’t dulled the way I thought it might. Its edges aren’t as sharp, but the ache is worse. Deeper. And it flares up in the quiet moments, in the nights I can’t sleep. As if some part of me refuses to let go of it.
I drop the phone onto the bed, curling back under the damp covers. The cold air from the open window brushes against my skin. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself to fall asleep and escape the memories clawing at my mind.
But all I see is Silas. His face. His hatred. All that’s left is the unbearable weight of knowing that whatever he thought of me, whatever we had, has ceased to exist.
—
I collect the plates off the small two-top, tucking the black check folder under my arm. “Thanks for coming in, you two. See you next week,” I say to the pair of women in their early twenties who have quickly become my Saturday morning regulars.
Maria, the blonde, returns the gesture as she stands. “See you then, Elena,” she replies, scooping her bag off the back of her chair. Her friend, Quinn, with soft brown hair, waves as they link elbows and head toward the glass doors just a few feet away, already lost in laughter over whatever conversation I interrupted.
I watch them go, my chest aching at the sight.
Though summer is Bluebird Brunch Co.'s slow season, there’s still a steady stream of locals who come into town to dine. Saturdays are usually bustling, but today is quieter than usual. Probably because the kids are about to head back to school.
“El, was that your only table?” Sarah calls from behind the order counter. She’s been manning it all morning since Justin, a flaky twenty-year-old, called out again. I nod. “Want to come help me clean? Might as well take advantage of the downtime.”
“Sure thing,” I say, stifling a yawn. The early wake-up call from that nightmare has me dragging. “Let me buss this table and then I'll be right over.”
The restaurant owner grins back before turning towards one of the espresso machines with a rag. “Thanks.”
I collect the last few dishes and wipe down the surface, glancing around the room at the few diners that McKenna is handling. Sunlight streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long streaks across sleek marble tabletops, caramel-colored leather banquettes, and matte black metal chairs.
After disposing of the dishes in the back and tucking the check folder into my apron pocket, I head towards Sarah with a rag in hand. At the front of the café, the order counter serves as the heart of the morning rush, though right now, it’s uncharacteristically calm.
The glass pastry case, located just below the counter, displays cinnamon rolls drizzled with icing, lemon scones dusted with powdered sugar, and thick slices of banana bread. A handwritten chalkboard menu mounted on the wall lists the café’s signature drinks.
“The insides of the cases have seen better days,” Sarah says, giving me a grimace of a smile. “Can you wipe them down?”
“You got it.”
We fall into an easy rhythm. Sarah works on the espresso machines up top, wiping down the steamer wands, and handling the occasional to-go customer, while I focus on the display cases.
Though I never wanted to see another black apron again after quitting my diner job in college, working here isn’t the same. A lot of that has to do with Sarah.
Since the moment I walked through the doors in July, she's been nothing but kind. Sarah is the type of boss who doesn’t just bark orders but jumps in when things get hectic. She remembers how people take their coffee and notices when someone needs an extra five minutes to pull themselves together.
She’s pretty in that effortless, girl-next-door kind of way, with long, dirty blonde hair she keeps tied back in a ponytail. Even on the shorter side, she moves with easy confidence. Always flashing an easygoing smile even during the busiest shifts. She carries herself like someone who’s used to being relied on.
Early on, she’d asked what had brought me to this part of Colorado. I kept my answer vague, something about needing a fresh start, about Luis being a great friend for helping me get settled. She hadn’t pressed for more, and I’d been grateful for it.
I replace the last of the cleaned pastry trays, aligning the fresh croissants. Sarah finishes wiping down the counters and steps back with a satisfied sigh.
“Almost too quiet today, huh?” she muses, glancing at the mostly empty dining room. I nod but don’t say anything.
Quiet is good. It means no surprises.
Sarah rubs her hands with a towel as her gaze drifts toward the dining room. She watches McKenna for a moment before turning back to me, a thoughtful crease forming betweenher brows.
“I was talking with Luis the other day,” she says like she’s feeling out the words before committing to them. “About something unrelated, but you came up in conversation.”
