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“You hungry?” Mr. Foster asks when he climbs onto the bench seat beside me, turning the key and bringing the old truck to life with a roar. “We can stop at that burger place.”
It’s an offer I’d typically accept in a heartbeat—anything to draw this out just a little longer, but not tonight. Tonight, I want more.
“We could go for a drink.” I offer quietly, heart fluttering frantically as I stare straight ahead at the darkened main street.
It’s an offer I’ve thought about making about a hundred times since I turned 21. As if Mr. Foster seeing me with a beer in my hand will force him to realize I’m an adult and not the too-skinny girl his daughter kept bringing home like a stray cat.
I’m not sure what makes me propose it now. This night is just like every other night, but somehow my exhaustion has morphed into a reckless sort of daring. I’m so tired of wanting this man, so damn sick of not being able to want anyone else.
Mr. Foster looks over at me, and even in the dim light of the cab, I can see his frown. “A drink?” He asks like he’s never heard of such a thing.
“A beer.” I clarify, desperately trying to look casual and not give away that my heart is hammering against my ribcage. That’s what mature, non-childhood friends of his daughter would drink, right?
Slowly, Mr. Foster turns away from me and shifts the truck into drive. “I’m not used to you and Lucy being able to drink.” He says finally with a forced chuckle. “Still think you should be making milkshakes in my kitchen after school.”
My chest feels suddenly tight. “I’m an adult.” I remind him. It’s a childish thing to say. Real, grown women don’t need to remind the men they’re infatuated with that they’re not a child.
“I know, Lottie.” He sounds so confused, but I don’t dare look around at his expression.
“Do you?” I ask, without really wanting to know the answer. My eyes burn as I stare determinately out at the darkened sidewalk passing by outside the truck, willing myself not to cry. We pass Annie’s, the only pub open this late, and a single tear tracks down my cheek.
I wipe it away before Mr. Foster can see.
What iswrongwith me?
Why couldn’t I like someone normal, someone my own age, someone who might actually like me back? Maybe I would have a boyfriend right now instead of a heart that’s in pieces for a man who has never even kissed me on the cheek.
All my friends are off at college, going to parties, hooking up, and getting drunk. I never wanted that.
I only wanted him.
“Lottie.” Mr. Foster’s voice is rougher than usual as we pull up on the deserted street outside the laundromat that my apartment is above. I go to pull open the truck door, but a big hand catches my other wrist, and I freeze, every inch of me aware of his skin touching mine. “Tell me what’s the matter.”
I don’t look at him. I can’t. He’ll see it in my eyes, all the want and the sorrow that I’m too tired to hide; All those feelings that I work so hard to shove down and pretend don’t exist are right there at the surface, raw and exposed.
“Nothing.” My voice cracks. “I’m just tired.”
Mr. Foster’s hand falls away from my arm. “Take the morning off tomorrow. You’ve been working too much-“
But I’m already shaking my head as I push open the truck door, snatching up my bag and hopping out onto the sidewalk. “I’m fine,” I call over my shoulder. I don’t sound convincing, but I can’t bring myself to care. I want to be alone, to sit on the shower floor, cry my eyes out and feel sorry for myself for a few hours.
Tomorrow I’ll be fine.
Tomorrow I can go back to pretending.
Tomorrow it won’t hurt this badly.
“Lottie-“ But Mr. Foster’s voice is cut off as I slam the door shut behind me and hurry over to the door which leads upstairs to my apartment. I shove my key in the lock and dart inside without a backward glance. Taking the stairs two at a time, I throw myself through my apartment door, locking it behind me as though Huck is going to rush after me and see my tears.
Mr. Foster has been better to me than anyone else in my life, even his daughter. Making him smile is the best part of my day. I work my fingers to the bone to help his family business, and I can’t even have an orgasm without imagining it's him giving it to me. I’ve built my life around this man, and he will never see me as more than Lucy’s friend.
I sink to the floor of my dark entryway and let myself cry.
Pathetic.I’m pathetic.
It’s a long time before I run out of tears, stand up, and turn on the lights in my little apartment. I feel wrung out, exhausted, and stupid. So stupid.
I don’t care what it takes. I’m getting over Huck Foster once and for all.
