Page 15 of Not Another Yesterday
Her expression turns serious as she analyzes my face. “I just wanted to check if you’re okay. We didn’t really get a chance to talk before you left for work. And I know what your grandma said rattled me, so I can’t imagine it was easy for you to sit through that.”
Walls. Up they go. “I’m fine.”
Cat’s face instantly sours. “I don’t like it when you say that.”
I chuckle even though I’m not amused. “Why?”
“Because it’s evasive, and I’ve known you long enough to know that you usually say you’re fine when you’re not actually fine.”
Jesus Christ, this girl knows me too well.
“Really, baby, I’m okay,” I say, turning serious. I mean, I’m not really, but I’m even less willing to get into it with her right now. I’d just as soon forget about my grandmother’s visit, because thinking about it—contemplating the things she said, the implications of it all—will to take me down a rabbit hole that I have absolutely no desire to go down.
Cat studies me for a long moment, her delicate, usually soft features tight, and I can tell she’s unconvinced. “Ran, you know you can talk to me.”
“Yes, I know, baby.” I tug her toward me, then move my mouth to hers. But she resists me, taking a decisive step back.
My brow creases at the distance.
“Don’t try to distract me, Ran,” she says, her words laced with frustration. “I don’t want you to bottle this up like you do everything that’s uncomfortable or painful.”
“Cat, please don’t push this right now. This is neither the time nor the place.”
Her lips press into a thin line, her nostrils flaring. “Fine. But be honest with me, Ronan. Are you alright?” she asks, her eyes locked on mine. It’s startling as hell when she calls me by my actual name instead of “Ran” or “sweet boy,” the latter of which always makes my heart skip a beat; only she calls me that.
The deepest exhale leaves my chest. “I’m not really sure, baby.” I can admit that much. “It was a lot to take in, and I haven’t really had a chance to process it. But right now, in this moment, I’m alright. I promise.” I hold her gaze, determined to ease her worry. She studies me a moment longer and it makes my lips tug into a smile. “I love you,” I say. “And I love how concerned you are. Now, go and spend time with our friends.”
She narrows her eyes, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth while she taps her foot on the wooden floorboards.
She knows not to press this issue right now, knows that any further prodding will result in me shutting down. It’s a bad habit of mine, one I’m still working on, but it’s a slow and rather aggravating process.
“Okay,” she breathes. I can tell she isn’t satisfied with the end of this conversation, but she allows me to kiss her before she rejoins our friends.
I feel Cat’s eyes on me throughout the evening, boring into me from across the crowded restaurant like she’s aiming a laser at me. I know she’s worried. We’ve been through so much together, and I know how much I put her through during our year and a half together. But there’s still so much I don’t understand about myself, so much I don’t know. I know it’s there—the darkness, the shadows. I can feel it simmering behind some steel trapdoor hidden in my subconscious, hot to the touch and locked tight. I don’t know what’s behind it, and I’m scared to find out. But it’s there. Always.
***
“Hey, sit down and take a load off. I’m gonna cover you for fifteen minutes,” Shane says later in the evening. Murphy’s has only gotten busier, and I haven’t had a chance to so much as take a piss.
“You don’t have to do that, man. You’re off the clock,” I say, chuckling.
“I know, but since I’m here I might as well give you a break. I know you don’t usually get to take them when you’re running shit at night,” he says, then veers off toward two of our newer waiters who are currently more interested in each other than the tables they’re supposed to be managing. The second they see Shane approach with what I can only imagine is his best boss face, they scatter.
“So, how about a nice, killer workout tomorrow morning?” Zack pipes up the moment I’m within earshot of the table. I slide into a chair next to Cat, who smiles at me before resting her left hand on my rightleg underneath the table. “Just us guys. Like old times,” Zack adds with a grin.
“We were thinking eight or so,” Steve says. “Shane said he’s down.”
I shrug, then reach for Cat’s glass of water and drain half of it in one gulp. “Sure.” I nod at Zack and the small tripod set up at the end of the table. “I see you’re still going strong with filming.”
“Hell yes.” Zack’s eyes light up. “I’m never not filming.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask about that, but I didn’t want to be rude,” Brady chimes in, his arm draped over Vada’s shoulder. He’s a shorter guy, clean-shaven face, with thick dark brown hair and eyes to match. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s of Armenian descent. “Why are you always filming?”
I turn serious. “Oh, man, I can’t believe Vada hasn’t told you. We don’t really like to talk about it because it makes him feel like shit, but Zack suffers from short-term memory loss.”
Brady turns pale as he looks from me to Zack to Vada.
Vada nods solemnly, like she’s been asked to speak at a memorial service. “Yeah, he was born that way. My brother has real trouble findingthings.”
