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As I flipped the menu page, my eyes fell on a country fried steak dish entitledThe Ghost and Mr. Chicken, and I groaned.
“Now there’s a name.” Jamie popped up next to me on the bench.
“Yeah.” I narrowed my eyes at him. Under my breath, I added sarcastically, “Great name.”
“Remember that time we were here together?” He rested his arms behind his head. “The summer before junior year. I think it was your first time. It took us an entire hour to decide what we wanted because we kept laughing over those quirky as fuck names.”
I thought of the summer between sophomore and junior years. A year after Dad had killed himself and only months after Jamie and I had officially been dating. We came to The Roxy quite a few times that summer, mostly because the place was one of the few (nearly) 24/7 spots in the area.
Our families didn’t live too far from one another, so Jamie and I spent those warm months biking around the city of Portland, going on long walks through Forrest Park, and wandering through the area the way too broke teens do. Late night diner runs were right up our alley.
“Don’t forget about the trip we took to Cannon Beach,” he said. “How we watched the sunset together near the rocks. That was right up our alley, too.”
My muscles cramped as I stiffened.
“You mean the summer we were actually a couple and I thought things were real between us?” I asked. “Before you told me you couldn’t ever love me?”
Jamie frowned, his eyes level under drawn brows.
“Things were always real between us, Jemma.” His expression stilled and grew even more serious than before. I stared at him, noticing the way the light touched his curls, making it look like Jamie had dyed his hair pink.
“Everything okay?” the server asked, breaking my trance.
“Uh, yeah. Really good,” I said, stuttering out the words. Hoping the server hadn’t overheard me talking to, oh you know, the invisible man.
“Do you know what you want?” the guy asked.
I glanced over at Jamie who pointed down toThe Ghost and Mr. Chickenon the menu and gave a thumbs up. I smirked.
“Let me just have the Portlandia Breakfast… two eggs scrambled… with sourdough toast.”
I crinkled my nose and made a face at Jamie. His eyes widened as he tapped a warning foot against mine. Then, upon remembering the server couldn’t see him—duh, Jemma! Stop it already, would you?! No one sees Jamie but you!—I released the expression, my face dropping into a neutral position. I slid down into my seat, shoulders slumped over in embarrassment.
“Alright, well, I’ll place that order for you.” The server’s brows formed a line. Though he looked really fucking confused, he walked away without questioning my sanity. It was Portland. He’d probably encountered stranger people than a woman talking to herself and making faces at the wall.
I let out a deep breath.
“Sorry,” Jamie said. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
I shrugged, keeping my voice at a whisper level even after ensuring no one was looking in my general direction. “I guess that part isn’t your fault.”
“You guess that part isn’t my fault,” he repeated in a monotone. “Uh… what is my fault exactly, Jemma?”
“Really?” I asked incredulously. “Is this supposed to start an argument?”
“No. I’m genuinely asking… I really want to know.”
“Why don’t you just read my mind?”
“Why don’t you just talk to me like I’m really here?”
“Because… you’re not really here.”
“That’s… all a matter of perspective.” Jamie tapped my foot once more, and I felt the material from his sandal against my ankle. “See? You feel me so well, you can feel the goddamn beach-bum sandal. We’re connected. Whether you want us to be or not.”
“Umm, yeah.” I cupped my fingers around the coffee mug, reveling in the heat emitting from the cup. “Why is that, anyway? And… am I the only one who can see you?”
“The only one,” he said. “And, as far as why, I already told you.”
