Page 13 of Glass Half Full
The din of the kitchen is still filtering through the office walls, but as I watch her hand move across the page, I almost forget where we are. There’s this ache in my chest, one that surges with a strangling intensity every time I look at her. I’vemissedher. I want to talk like we used to, about anything and everything. I want to ask her what she’s been up to. I want to see the world through her eyes again the way I did every time I heard her poetry. Nobodyseesthings quite like Renee.
“Did you ever think about working there yourself?” I ask.
Her pen hovers in the air. “Not really. I don’t think I’d ever want tohaveto go there. It was nice to have it as an escape.”
“Nice,” I can’t help teasing. “You sure you don’t want to take me up on that thesaurus advice?”
That earns me an eye roll.
“The thesaurus joke is dead, Dylan. Let it go. Let it be free like a butterfly on the wind.”
“Ah, I was wondering if I’d ever hear your poetry again.”
Her body goes so stiff I can see her muscles tighten, see her spine snapping back until she’s sitting ramrod straight. The line of her mouth gets tight like she’s holding in a yelp of pain.
I’m sorry. I just meant it as a joke.
I’m about to say the words before their echo in my head makes me take a good, hard look at myself.
I don’t want to bethatguy.
I back my chair up a few inches and face Renee. She’s relaxed a bit by now, but her pen is still hovering over the dotted line waiting for her signature.
“That was an unprofessional thing to say,” I admit. “Just because we have a casual atmosphere going on here, that doesn’t mean this isn’t a business based on respect. If anyone ever says anything that makes you uncomfortable, including me, you can go to Monroe, or a shift leader—whoever you feel best talking to. I promise you that you’ll always be taken seriously, and I promise you that I’m going to take this seriously. Just because we used to know each oth—”
“Dylan, it’s not that.”
She’s been staring at her paper the whole time and finally looks up at me, eyes wide with alarm.
“I mean, thank you for saying that. I really appreciate it. I also appreciate that it’s all written down here.” She taps the document with the tip of her pen. “I never doubted this was a place that takes complaints seriously. Only I don’t have a complaint. You didn’t say anything wrong; it’s just that—My writing, it...”
Her eyes sink to the desk again, her shoulders bowing like a branch under the weight of too much snow.
“It’s just hard to talk about it right now.” Her voice sounds so small.
My hands twitch with the urge to offer her something, anything. I want to ask. I want to listen. I want to help.
I just don’t know if that’s my job. It’s sure as hell not part ofthisjob—the one that has me assigning her shifts and logging her hours. It’s not my place to pry. It probably wouldn’t even be my place to pry if I wasn’t her boss.
I might feel like I know her, but I don’t. I might feel like a connection that looped itself around us three years ago is pulling tighter every second I’m near her now, but she’s probably not even aware of the rope.
“Oh, hey Renee.”
We both nearly shoot out of our seats when Zach’s head pokes around the edge of the office door. The rest of him appears, hands in the pockets of his jeans, his flannel hanging open over a t-shirt and giving him that farmer boy look we all like to give him a hard time about. He doesn’t help himself out by walking around whistling all the time.
“Hey. It’s Zach, right?”
He gives Renee one of his could-be-used-to-market-old-fashioned-apple-pie smiles. “Finally! We’re going to have a bartender who remembers people’s names.”
“DeeDee is terrible with names,” I explain to Renee, “which is strange, considering half the city of Montreal seems to know her.”
“And love her,” Zach adds, before tugging on the collar of his shirt and paying very close attention to the floor, like he didn’t mean to say that out loud.
Our young Zachary is the picture of unrequited affection—although I’d bet money on DeeDee feeling more for him than she lets on. Between the morbid state of my management and the continued saga of Zach and DeeDee, we’ve got ourselves a fucking Greek tragedy going on in this bar today.
“You ready for the meeting?” Zach asks.
“The meeti—Oh, yeah.” I catch myself before I can admit I totally forgot about our meeting with Monroe. “So ready. I was born ready. I’ve been waiting for this meeting my entire life. Are you ready for this meeting?”
