AllFreeNovel
Share Us
STELLA
My head pounds when I wake the next morning, the weight of disappointment and sadness heavy on my shoulders as I head downstairs.
Turn the coffee on.
Start my toast.
Grab my meds and down them with water.
It’s the same every morning, a routine I’ve perfected, never changing out of superstition, I think. If I keep my days the same, if nothing changes, there’s less possibility for something to throw me off and send me spiraling.
But I’m already headed there. I feel it in my bones, the creeping, exhausting dark blue lapping at my hips. Soon, it will be at my throat, and I’ll be unable to move or accomplish much more than the essentials.
Seven years ago, I came home and conceded to my mother, becoming whatever she asked me to be to please her, but it was never enough. Now I’m starting to wonder if it will ever be enough ifI’llever be enough.
Even when she’s ground me down to dust, will I ever fit into that impossible mold she made for me?
I shake my head, trying to dislodge the thought. Instead of stressing about it, I move to my room to dress in an Ashford Diner tee and a pair of shorts, pulling my hair into a ponytail and forcing myself to add some mascara and a swipe of blush. My mom might be threatening to fire me, but for today, at least, I still have work to do.
And hey, maybe if I look like a functioning member of society, I’ll become one.
Wishful thinking.
The morning drags, my mind lost in memories and thoughts and worries, but when the bell above the door rings at nine am and my eyes move there, I can’t do anything but smile.
Smile wide.
It’s like how it was when I was young when I was 17 and working here on weekends when I didn’t have some kind of practice or school, and the guys would all trudge in for breakfast, Riggins at the lead.
Before he’s even fully through the door, his eyes scan the diner before they meet mine, his eyes going warm, the smile taking over his face.
He’s happy to see me. Overjoyed, even.
God.
God.
A part of me knows the splash of elation I feel from him beinghereis dangerous. I should temper it with reality and past experiences, but I can’t. I justcan’t.
Not when the entire band comes in for breakfast, just like they used to back when they were all exhausted from a long night, occasionally hungover and half awake.
Not when he walks up to me, slugs an arm around my shoulder, and says, “Gotta booth for us, little star?”
Not when they sit and start ribbing each other playfully in the same loving way they did years ago, including me, anytime I walk over to them as if nothing has changed at all.
And surely not when every time I look up, Riggins’ eyes are locked on me, following me throughout the restaurant, winking every time he catches me staring back.
Each time, I can’t fight the small smile on my lips. By the time they leave, the waters that were lapping at my ankles this morning recede, if only for a few hours.
This continues three days in a row, with the guys coming into the diner, led by Riggins, a few hours after the morning rush ends, hanging for an hour or two, just goofing around and laughing. Sometimes, they pull me into their conversations, and sometimes, I sit with them for a bit, but each time, it feels like a piece of me is healing, like a part of me is coming back.
A part I missed dearly, a part I thought was gone forever.
When I see him sitting outside, I know the routine has shifted. Walking out with a bowl, I’m excited to see Riggins outside by himself, Gracie at his feet, and bend to pet Gracie on the head.
“Happy Monday,” he says.
“Happy Monday. No crew today?” I ask. His smile widens, and he shakes his head.
