“I want you to go out and get a journal,” she’d said. “And I want you to spend ten minutes a day writing down how you’re feeling.”
I’d scoffed. “You want me to keep a diary?”
“It doesn’t have to be anything that formal,” she’d insisted. “Think of it more like you’re dumping these thoughts and feelings out of your brain. You’re not worried about making sense here or even forming complete sentences. You can do it for longer than ten minutes, of course, but I find that amount of time either first thing in the morning or right before bed is helpful.”
“And am I supposed to read what I write at our next appointment?”
She shook her head. “Nope. This is just to help you get more comfortable giving voice to your emotions.”
“So, you won’t know if I don’t do it?” It was kind of a joke, but also, the idea of writing in a fucking diary made me nauseous.
Her lips had quirked into a grin. “I didn’t say that.”
Later that evening I lay propped up in bed with a black moleskin notebook opened across my lap, staring at a blank page. My fingers gripped a pen, the tip hovering over that first line, unable to write anything down. But it wasn’t annoyance or rebellion keeping me from doing it. It was fear.
What was holding me back? What was I so afraid of?
“Luca?” Katie whispered from the other side of the closed bedroom door.
I shoved the book under my pillow. “Hey, I’m awake.”
She opened the door with Emilia tucked in one arm. “We were thinking we might order in tonight. Work was nuts, and neither of us feels like cooking. What sounds good to you?”
Getting out of this bed and out of the house, far fucking away from that damn journal.
“Actually, I think I might go out,” I said, planting my feet on the floor. My stomach growled in agreement. All the staring I’d been doing at blank pages had caused me to work up quite the appetite.
“Oh, okay.” Katie yawned. “We can do that.”
“I can go on my own,” I said, making my way over to her. “Seriously, you guys are amazing, but you haven’t had a moment for just the two of you since I’ve been here.”
“Are you sure? We don’t mind. I can rally.”
I scratched the top of Emilia’s head. “I can do this. I think Ineedto do this. Even if I just drive around for a while, I think it’ll be good for me to get out.”
“You know if you need anything—”
I touched her arm. “I know.”
She nodded, a soft smile on her lips. “All right.” She turned to leave the room, but I called her name before she could make it down the hall.
“Where’s a good place to get a cheeseburger around here?” I asked as she reappeared in the doorway.
“Hmm,” she said, her head tilted to one side. “There’s some place McKenzie’s always raving about. Piccadilly something.” She paused, leaning out into the hall. “Hey, Dal? What’s the name of that burger joint McKenzie told us about?”
“Piccadilly Deli,” he called back over the television.
“Ah, that’s it,” she said. “I remember her saying it’s kind of a dive, but she loves it.”
I would’ve been intrigued even if I didn’t want a cheeseburger just because McKenzie was the one who loved it. She didn’t seem to dole out her affections easily, so this place must’ve been special.
“Maybe I’ll check it out then,” I said, knowing full well that was exactly what I intended to do.
I wanderedout of the rain and into The Piccadilly Deli just before 8 p.m., beads of water rolling off my leather jacket. As Katie had said, it was a total dive, but it was the kind of place I felt comfortable in. There weren’t a lot of expectations in a place like that.
My wet boots squeaked against the sticky floor, and the air was stale, smelling faintly of mildew and fried cheese. The walls were black and wallpapered in old, yellowing flyers—everything from concerts to yard sales and lost cats. Only three stools were taken with no bartender in sight. There were a few tables and booths off to the side, but only two were occupied. One was filled with a few guys wearing flannel shirts and ball caps with a construction company logo stitched across the front. But it was the booth in the back that caught my eye.
McKenzie sat near the jukebox, facing the door, the remnants of a burger and a couple fries on a platter in front of her. Two guys who appeared to belong with the construction crew stood next to her table, attempting to engage her in conversation. She seemed thoroughly uninterested in anything but the frosty milkshake-looking concoction she had in front of her.
