Page 225 of Falling Backwards
That’s no good.I can’t fall asleep so soon after he’s gotten here.
As if on cue, he asks, “Was work hard?”
I sigh.“Yeah.Painful.”
He gives my waist a sympathetic squeeze.“You should’ve left, not suffered through it.”
The aggravated parts of me prickle at that, though I don’t know why; he’s just saying what I kept thinking.I give that a moment to abate before I murmur, “Well, you know me.”
“I sure do.”
He squeezes me again, and this time, I reciprocate.“No need to talk about all that, though.It’s not exciting.Tell me about dinner.”
“You are forever exciting to me in one way or another, but okay.”
I can’t help smiling about that; I feel the same way about him.
And as he starts talking about food, I let my eyes close again so as to do nothing but listen.It makes the vibration of his voice against me feel even more soothing and wonderful.My earlier frustrations and tangled thoughts don’t get cleared out, but they do get nudged to the sidelines.
I know they’ll come back; I’ll deal with them then.
Now is for embracing the happy surprise of Luke’s presence.
—
Tuesday.
Cold, dark gray, drizzly.
Work has brought annoyance and a certain tension from the assistant manager being in a bad mood; at one point, Ronald even snapped at me for how slowly I was walking when showing people to their tables, despite that I told him about my knee yesterday.I also got hit with extra pain because a woman swung her purse right into my wound as I was seating her and her tablemate.Ronald got irritated with me about that, too, and said I was unprofessional for crying where people could see, which upset me more.
There have been a couple of unhappy customers, too, and the resurfacing of the up-and-down mood that wore me out so much yesterday, though it’s mostly been down.My bones have felt heavy today, and I haven’t been able to convince myself to end my shift early and go home to rest my knee.Not like Ronald would let me do that anyway; if he did, I’d probably be in fresh tears from whatever scolding he’d give me, which wouldn’t make me feel better at all.
And here’s something that definitely isn’t making me feel better: I’ve spent the last half-hour with another kind of discomfort nagging me because my ex and his new girlfriend showed up and I had to seat them in the bar area—and every time I looked over there because I felt like I was being watched, I found I was right.Marcus sat himself in a way that put my hostess stand in his sights.Since then, I’ve seen him shooting glances right at me as clearly as he’s been drinking and flirting with his girlfriend.
What the hell is that about?
A question that has been twisting at my stomach all this time—and freshly twists at it now that I’m noticing his attentionagain.
I finally send a frown back to him.
Just as I’m wondering if he’ll even see my expression properly from where he is, I realize he probably does since I can see the way he smirks.
Hesmirksat me while he drags his fingertips up and down his girlfriend’s arm on the table, turning his gaze to her just before she looks at him from her phone with a smile.
Something about it makes me feel ill at ease.Like he’s mocking me somehow.
I go back to minding my business here at the hostess stand.
Thankfully, a moment later, the employees-only phone rings and offers even more of a distraction.
“This is Maggie,” I answer.
“Go get the clean cutlery so you can sit in the bar area and fix up napkins.”
Ah, God.
Ronald’s order has me uncomfortably shifting my weight from one foot to the other.I always have a good time working on silverware bundles, but….
