AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Tuesday acquiesces, pulling away to walk beside us. She has her hands in her pockets, but her back remains straight. The way she holds herself makes me think of movie characters who go to beauty classes to learn how to act like a lady. A half grin pulls at the corner of my lips when I wonder how many of those classes it would take to tame me. Hundreds, probably. Maybe thousands.
I feel someone watching me, and when I look down, Brice has his head tilted back, eyes peering up at me.
“What?”
“You weren’t around for the good news.”
“What good news?”
“The doctors are optimistic that I’ll make a full recovery. Walking, running. All that jazz. As long as I stick to my physical therapy, I’ll be good to go in a couple of months.”
A sigh I didn’t know I’ve been holding in since the crash seeps out. A fresh lightness lifts my feet with each step. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that everything is perfect again, but it’s at least moving in that direction.
“If we hurry back,” Tuesday says, “You can still make the breakfast cart.”
Brice sticks his tongue out in obvious disgust. “No more bland oatmeal and mealy apple slices for me. Let’s eat,” he says, drawing out the last syllable while he scans the street left and right, “there!”
“The Waffle Palace? God,” I say as we approach the entrance. “I didn’t know this place was still around. How long has it been since we were here last?”
“A couple of years, at least.” Brice turns to Tuesday. “They have the best French toast. Plus unlimited refills on coffee.”
“That’s all I needed to hear,” she says. “My next shift starts in three hours and thanks to you, I haven’t had a wink of sleep.”
This accusation sounds weirdly sexual, and it sends my mind back down those dark paths that had me running from Brice and into Jack’s arms. But she’s his cousin. They were up all night looking for me, not playing games under the sheets. Still, I can’t help but ask.
“You two are first cousins?”
“Yep,” Brice says. “Like I said, our mothers are sisters.”
We sit at a booth with cracked leather seats and order an absolute feast from the greasy menu. While we wait for our food to come out, we sip on burnt coffee in silence. While I’m sure that Brice has heard the fate of the studio, I need to let someone in on my dirty fear that it was every bit my fault. But I can’t talk about these things in front of Tuesday, so I grasp my mug in two hands, relishing in the warmth.
Brice, unable to take the silence any longer, blurts out, “So Tuesday here used to be a cammer just like you.”
Tuesday slaps his arm and looks around to count how many other people just heard her darkest secret. “The whole world doesn’t need to hear.” Then, conspiratorially, she leans forward and says in a voice barely above a whisper, “It was just something I did back in university to supplement my bills. I didn’t last long. After only three months, I started getting these pictures of myself from some creepy middle-aged guy. They were just of me at the store or outside the Pilates st
udio. I made a police report, but nothing ever happened. Anyway, after that I was through. The money was great, but I couldn’t handle the stress.
“I get it,” I say, hesitantly. This is not a topic I ever talked about to anyone. Not even Brice. “I’ve had my share of stalkers.”
“But you kept going?”
“What!” Brice shouts, cutting across Tuesday’s question.
I shrug. “I never told you because I didn’t want you to worry. Plus, if I told you that I had stalkers, I would have to explain why, and this was back before you knew about the camming. Besides, I always carry pepper spray on me. And I remind myself 99.9% of them are never going to leave their parents’ basement for long enough to actually track me down and do anything.”
A sudden hurried thought crosses my mind. I look between Brice and Tuesdsay. “How did you know that she was a cammer? You didn’t see any of her videos, did—”
Before I can even get the foul-tasting question off my tongue, Brice and Tuesday are cringing and shaking their heads while saying, “No, no. Never.”
Then Tuesday’s eyebrows crinkle together and she looks over at Brice. “Did you ever—”
“No!” he shouts loud enough that every head in the restaurant turns our way for a brief moment. Like the birds in a forest startled silent, the cloud soon lifts and the gray static of chatter and life return to our surroundings. None of us knows where to pick up the conversation, so it’s a miracle when the waitress arrives balancing a smorgasbord of French toast, waffles, biscuits, eggs, bacon, sausages, and enough jellies and butter and syrups that we won’t be calling her back any time soon.
We collectively dive into the carbs and grease in front of us, only coming up for air to say things like, ‘God, this is amazing’ or ‘Did you try the blueberry syrup?’ through half-full mouths. After fifteen minutes, only scraps remain in front of us. We’re no longer leaning forward but backward now, basking in the fullness of our bellies.
Before anyone can say how good that was for the thousandth time, I look Brice in the eyes and ask him the question that’s been bothering me since I thought his cousin was some random nurse out to steal my guy. Maybe I was worried about it even before then.
“Are we going to be okay?”
