Page 16 of A Minute More

Simon nods and then glances away, his eyes catching on something in the distance.

“This was a mistake…I should go,” he says and my heart drops.

“But what about your favorite movie…or favorite song?”

My question makes him hesitate.

“I don’t really like music….”

“What? No way. Really? Then what do you listen to in those earphones all day?”

He shrugs and then bites down on his bottom lip. “Podcasts, stuff like that, but my favorite movie…I’m not sure. MaybeFight Club.Braveheart…I don’t know.”

“Oh, those are good ones…I like your taste.”

He clears his throat and then looks away again.

“I do have to go, Wesley.”

I nod, feeling a little distraught. I didn’t mean to call him, but now that we’re chatting, I don’t really want to get off the phone.

Pathetic doesn’t even begin to describe me.

“Alright, yeah, no problem. Talk later?” I ask, but he doesn’t respond. He just watches me intently for a second before ending the call.

The screen goes blank, and I flop to my side, pressing my face into my sheets.

That was fucking weird, but I liked it. I hope that when I see him again at work, he’ll talk to me…look at me, anything.

My lips turn up at the corners, and I feel my heart thudding in my chest a little awkwardly.

Yeah, he fucking better.

* * *

The next day slogs on, my phone sadly not pinging with messages from Simon. Not that I expect him to reach out, but still, I glance at my phone far too often, like a puppy eager for a treat. When I get to work later that day, Simon’s there in his usual attire—button-down shirt and pressed slacks—his eyes intent on the counter before him.

“Hey, guys,” I say to Izzy and Simon. Izzy smiles widely at me and Simon focuses on the olives. For some reason, that bothers me. I mean, I know his favorite color now. We should be friends. Or at least friendly.

A smile would do.

“Hey, man,” I say softly when I take my spot next to him. He peeks up at me and gives me a small nod.

“How are you doing?”

I’m reaching, I know, wanting to engage for some unknown reason.

“Fine.”

It’s one word, but it’s something.

Customers come in and we work in relative silence, Izzy and I engaging in the occasional light conversation, and when it’s time for Simon to leave for the day, he doesn’t even look back, doesn’t even offer a wave.

It bugs me all fucking afternoon and evening. Even when I go out for a drink with friends after work, it nags at me. The crowds of people do nothing to dull the rumbling in my mind, and I find myself two beers and three shots deep and texting him.

Me:

Couldn’t even goodbye wave, huh?

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