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I opened the door and got out. “Yeah, mom, it’s just me,” I said. My mother pushed the button on the wall to shut the garage door.
“Why were you sitting in the car?” she asked, taking me in her arms as I approached her.
“I was just thinking.” I shrugged. “That’s all.”
“About Matt,” She asked rubbing my back then pulled me in for another hug. I held my breath, unable to speak, and nodded my head. “It will be all right, dear.” she said, offering a sympathetic smile. Since the accident, all she kept telling me was how everything was going to be all right but it wasn’t. It had been a year and I didn’t feel all right. I felt lost and angry and hurt.
“I know, Mom.” I gave her a thin-lipped smile. I slipped off my boots by the front door, and then made my way to the stairs.
“Oh, by the way, I spoke to Mrs. Peterson today. She said any time you’re ready, you’re more than welcome to have your old job back at the restaurant.” She smiled widely. It was helpful of her, but I wasn’t in the mood to start a job, not yet.
“Oh.” I sucked in a breath and tried to smile. “Uh—thanks.”
“I would do anything to see you happy again darling.” She said as she gently caressed my cheek then told me she loved me. Guilt filled me, everyone was trying so hard to make me feel better and all I could think about was me. It took a lot for me to move home again. Falling back into my old life was not something I was interested in. I didn’t want to move back home, I had left that life behind. Problem was with Matt gone I couldn’t afford anything on my part-time salary working at the diner. My freelance photography pretty much went nowhere. When Matt was alive his salary was plenty to cover our expenses. We even planned on getting married and eventually selling the loft for a house in Beverly Hills. His dreams—not mine but I supported him because he always supported me. He always told me to strive towards my dreams. Always supporting me, in everything I did even when it failed. Being happy at what you do for a living was what he always used to say to me, and he lived his every day.
His dreams came true; he was an editor for a big production company in Hollywood. He and his team of editors had been nominated twice in the three years we were together. He was proud of his achievements as was I. He meant the world to me and living without him was too hard. Moving back to Portland was a big adjustment. I had been gone for almost four years and never kept in touch with my old friend. I was happy to be home with my mother. She had been pretty lonely since Dad died five years ago.
“I told her you are stopping by this week,” she said with a nod before walking away.
“Uh—okay,” I breathed, then turned and walked up the stairs.
I shut my bedroom door and flopped down on my bed, burying my face in my pillows. I just wanted to lie here and not move ever again. I had done nothing the past year but wander around as a different person in my own skin. Life was empty without Matt.
The silent pity party didn’t last long because my cell phone started ringing. It was a familiar ring tone, which forced me to get out of bed and grab my phone.
“Hello, Cassie.” I couldn’t help but smile remembering that I had forgotten to call her when I got to town.
“Hey, girl,” she said. “You were supposed to call when you got here.”
“I know.” I sighed. “I got a little sidetracked.”
“That’s okay, tomorrow you are all mine, and no complaints on the arrangements,” she stated.
“Promise,” I said then lied back on the bed. “I can’t wait to see you.” Cassie had a way of helping me forget my problems. We hadn’t seen each other since I moved away but my mother always kept me up to date on Cassie’s adventures.
“Good. I’ll see you around ten,” she said before hanging up. I glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It was still early enough to make it to the restaurant before Mrs. Peterson closed for the night. I pulled my hair up in a bun and grabbed my jacket.
When I pulled up to the restaurant, it was half past nine. The parking lot was practically empty. I took the first spot by the door and made my way in. An older woman cleaning a table greeted me. Letting the door swing shut behind me I stepped in. “Hey there, darlin’. What can I do for you?” she asked. “Actually, I was hoping to speak with Mrs. Peterson. Is she still
around?”
“She sure is. Who should I say is callin’?” she asked. “It’s Lauren Miller,” I replied. She nodded, and then turned
away. I took a seat at the bar and waited. The bartender smiled and offered me a drink. “I’m good, thanks.” “Lauren, I heard you were back in town!” Mrs. Peterson squealed as she came around the corner from the kitchen area. I stood and walked towards her open arms. “It is fantastic to see you. You look terrific.” She hugged me tight. Surprisingly, I felt happier. Mrs. Peterson and my mother had been friends for years. “I was sorry to hear about Matthew. It’s such a tragedy. He was such a sweet boy.” She rubbed my cheeks as she screwed her lips downwards. It was strange how everyone remembered Matt when he lived in Portland yet I never met him until college.
Matt and I met at a college party. He was three years older than I was, probably the main reason why I never met him before. I found myself smiling as I remembered the first time I laid eyes on him. A few friends and I were invited to this fraternity party, they had ditched me at some point in the night, and I ended up playing this crazy drinking game called Shot Gun with a bunch of people. The game involved a can of beer being shaken and punctured; then you had to drink the beer down as it sprayed out. When Matt showed up I had just finished my sixth round against a guy who barely got down his fifth. I noticed him when he smiled at me from across the lawn, and that was it. I was hooked. As it turned out, I was beating one of his friends at the game.
Mrs. Peterson spoke, drawing me out of my thoughts. “Your mother mentioned you moved back home.”
“Yes, temporarily,” I said, mumbling.
“Well, don’t you worry your pretty little head about anything,” she said. “You’re welcome to work here until you get back on your feet.” She hugged me again. Mrs. Peterson was a childless, widow who had plenty of love to give. My mother told me back when I first started working at the restaurant, not to ask if Mrs. Peterson had any children because it was a sore subject. Mrs. Peterson had always wanted children but was barren, according to the doctors. Her husband never wanted to adopt and didn’t believe in paying someone to carry their child for them either. He was a God-fearing man and believed wholeheartedly that if it was meant to be, then it would be. I can’t say that I believe that theory myself, but to each his own.
“Thank you, Mrs. Peterson.” I said, politely.
“No problem, dear.” She smiled widely. “So how’s Monday work for you?”
“Sounds perfect,” I said with a nod. That gave me four days to get my stuff together and unpack my things. It was time to start acting as though this was my home again. “Thanks again. See you Monday. Have a good night.”
