Page 4 of Sugar Coated Lies
My nurturing instinct kicks in, and I have the urge to brush his damp bangs from his face. My grandmother used to tell me the trait made me special, but I’m starting to think it’s my greatest weakness. “No.”
“I didn’t think so,” he says in that same sad tone.
“Can I get you anything else?” I take the plate.
“Better friends?” He moves his phone from the table, the screen glowing, and sets it on the bench out of my eyesight.
“We’re all out of better friends, sorry.”
He makes a sound similar to a chuckle.
Now I’m wondering why he won’t look at me. “Are you okay?”
“If your friends kicked you out of the car in the rain at a diner in the middle of nowhere and took off, would you be okay?” Anger seeps into his voice, but it’s not directed at me.
“I’d be pissed. And I wouldn’t consider them friends unless they had a good reason to kick me out.”
He laughs, and it’s clear this time. “What would you consider a good reason?”
I shrug, not that he can see me with his head down and his hair blocking his view. “If I were being a relentless bitch or if I bit one of them.”
“Bit one of them?” He glances up and looks at me from the only eye not covered by his bangs, a beautiful mint-green colored eye that happens to be swollen and bruised.
“Oh my god. Do you want some ice for that?”
“I can’t really feel it.”
“How can you not feel it?”
“I’m a bit drunk.”
I notice his eye is red and glossy, too.
“Is that why they kicked you out of the car? You’re drunk?”
He snickers. “They’re drunk. I told them we needed to take an Uber, but they shoved me in the car and took off. I yelled for them to pull over and let me out. So they did. Here.” He gestures to the diner.
“That was responsible of you, to try to stop them from driving. Is that how you got the black eye?”
He shakes his head and pours creamer into his coffee, which I doubt is hot anymore. “I jerked the wheel when we first took off. It was dumb. We almost crashed into a pole. And one of them punched me to get me to let go of the wheel. I didn’t see who.”
“Huh.” Is all I can think to say, because how do you respond to that?
“Can you get an Uber home?” If one is around to take him.
“Are you kicking me out? I haven’t even had a sip of my coffee.” He brings it to his mouth, drinks some, and makes a face. “It’s cold.”
“I figured.” And this is costing me money I don’t have. Anger creeps up my shoulders, making them tense. Maybe rich boy here will tip me well enough to cover my added expenses to Gary. “How about I get you a new hot cup of coffee and you order an Uber?” I walk off before he can respond. I meant it rhetorically, anyway.
A yawn escapes me, and I have to blink my vision clear before refilling his cup with coffee. Grandpa had a fit last night, searching for Grandma, forgetting she died a year ago. It took me an hour to calm him down and then I had an early class. I had planned to take a short nap before my afternoon shift, but Gary needed me to come in early to cover for Shayla, who called in sick, so when class ended, I came here directly.
I return to his booth. “One cup of hot coffee.”
I set it on the table, wishing with all my heart I could sit on the bench across from him just to rest my feet for a second. Of course, if I sit down, I might pass out from exhaustion, so maybe standing is a plus until I get home.
“Did you get your Uber?” I ask, praying the answer isyes.
“Yeah.” He sips the coffee. “Damn, this is good. The pie was excellent, too. I didn’t expect that.”
