Unwritten Page 3

  I guess this means I’ll be required to venture out. I’ll be damned if I don’t get coffee.

  Which means I’ll have to clean myself up first if I have to face the public.

  I try not to glare with an unfortunate sense of nostalgic admiration at the glowing neon sign above Elwood’s. Just like my childhood, my town wanderings always bring me back here.

  In search of a purpose after my morning meltdown, I abandon coffee, hoping I can find a friendly face to soothe my soul. Maybe I can find some creative inspiration or sanity at the diner. Or maybe in a twisted way I hope to see someone I shouldn’t want to. Sometimes I wonder if he’s the remedy I need.

  I think I’m going to need a lot of therapy after all this.

  I hold my breath as I enter Elwood’s, and what a shame it is because the cinnamon permeates the air so wonderfully.

  “Hails!” is squawked from the kitchen before I can engage my plan of action—which I haven’t created yet.

  I open my mouth to respond, but CeeCee must have magical powers because she’s in front of me in a flash. Her arms swallow me in a vise grip.

  Ever since I moved away, I had to blend into big city living, and in LA, people don’t tend to touch each other. Well, not so willingly and openly as they do here. So, on instinct, I flinch. She doesn’t let go. I find comfort a second later; my shoulders drop.

  “You look as pale as the moon.”

  I haven’t said a single word before she takes my hand in hers and shouts over the counter, “Let’s sit. Tiff, bring over two coffees and pie—”

  “No pie!” I shriek. Forks and knives clatter onto plates around me. I shake myself out again, but CeeCee’s hand tightens around mine. “I—I’m just not ready for pie yet.” I hurriedly scoot into the booth beside us before I spontaneously combust into dust before her.

  She looks at me with sympathy.

  “Sorry,” I stutter as she slips into the booth opposite me. “I’m being dumb. I’m being ridiculous, like, so insane, I’m sor—”

  “Hails, if you apologize one more damn time, I’m gonna smack some sense into you!” She cracks her knuckles in front of me, but her smile tells me she’s only half serious.

  Two coffees appear before us. A sweet brunette girl gives me a tight smile before scurrying away.

  “So, let’s vent, Hailey. It’s obvious that’s what you need. I know we haven’t seen each other in a long time, but I’ve never seen you so out of whack.”

  Out of whack—yes, that’s exactly what I am. But venting? I don’t know.

  “What do you want to talk about first? Your mom or Caiden?”

  A sputtering sound comes out of my mouth, and so does a bit of spit that lands on the table, which has CeeCee’s face twisting in mock disgust.

  “Spit it out, sure, but I didn’t mean it literally.”

  A snort escapes me, and the corner of my mouth finally turns upward. “I just can’t believe she’s gone, ya know?”

  She hums while nodding. “I know. It spooked all of us, but you know that everyone here at least has some idea how hard this is for you. She was an important member of this town. People are coming to Elwood’s just to feel more at home now that they can’t just give her a call. There’s comfort in knowing how special she was, right?”

  “It’s… So. Hard being at the house.” I grab for the napkin beneath the silverware, fiddling with it, folding it in half, and then folding that piece in half again before I finally find the words. “I haven’t even walked around, Cee. I can’t peek inside her room. I can’t even look in my own old one. I’m supposed to be sorting through her life, and I don’t know how to start.”

  She perks up in her seat. “Where have you been sleeping?”

  “The couch, and let me tell you, it’s awful. Not to mention the cat alarm clock.”

  “You lost me.”

  “There’s this cat somewhere. I hear it meowing in the morning, and when I go to look for it, nothing. Then I feel like I’m slowly losing my mind like some Stephen King movie.”

  CeeCee giggles, and there’s something about the way she doesn’t ask any more questions that makes me feel like she knows something I don’t. Like a private joke I’m not in on. I’m ready to berate her for details, but she cuts me off. “Do you need some help going through the house?”

  “Yes!” The question floors me, because the idea of not doing this alone is a relief and an epiphany. “You have no idea how good help sounds, and I’d never admit that to anyone but you.”

  “Of course! From this point on, know that you don’t have to face any of this alone. You never had to in the first place. Don’t let your silly pride get the best of you.” CeeCee whips her head back, making the red hair of her ponytail wave like she’s Marcia Brady. She must be proud that she’s helpful, and I support this.

  Sitting across from CeeCee offers me that anchor I’ve needed since this morning, and I feel guilty again. “Sorry for leaving—”

  “What did I just tell you about apologizing? Stop it! I know you keep beating yourself up over it, especially now, since your mom’s gone, but you don’t need to. It’s crazy. You don’t owe an apology to anyone here for leaving, not even Caiden.”

  My chest constricts. CeeCee is the only person I’ve told the truth. The only person who listened to me cry, and then talked me through my tears from a thousand miles away until finally I felt stable and confident. She never told me that my choice to leave was wrong. She always made me feel like what I did was right. Even if we stopped talking, she was always my voice of reason when things got tough in LA. I chased my dream, and I caught it. I can’t regret that. She wouldn’t let me if I tried anyway.

  “Caiden…” I huff, and I don’t know why saying his name feels instantaneously cathartic.

  “Yeah, that jackass,” she replies before daintily sipping her coffee

  I fight a smile, fiddling with the napkin in front of me again. “Do we have to talk about him?”

  “Hells yeah, we do. Are you kidding me! You’re like a mopey teenager right now, and if I know you, your mind is working a mile a minute, and it probably leapfrogs from your mama to your ex-boyfriend and back again.”

  I throw my napkin at her. “When did you get so smart? I don’t remember this.”

  She laughs and rolls her eyes. “At least you’re kind of smiling now.”

  I have to do a body check. I realize the corners of my mouth have in fact risen. Huh.

  “I don’t even know where to start. I’ve been here two days, and I feel inclined to talk to Caiden, or at least, I don’t know, see him. It feels like I need to be sure he exists or something. Like, I didn’t make him up.” Little does she know, the tip of my insanity iceberg begins with that exact thought. As a writer, sometimes you lose track of fact and fiction. The lines blur, and you worry what’s real and what’s not, even memories and emotions.

  She huffs, “Oh, he exists, and he’s as hilariously douchey and charming as ever.”

  I cringe. “Charming? Really, CeeCee? You think I need to hear that?”

  “Did you not catch the douchey word before? So you haven’t seen him yet?”

  I look out the window in case he might be out there on the main road, but no, I only see the older faces of the people of this town I once knew well.

  “No, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking.” I release a remorseful laugh. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m terrified to see Caiden, but I’m not going to hide from him either.” A fluttering exhale blows through my lips. “But who cares; he’s nowhere to be found anyway. I bet you he’s hiding. He’s always been a master avoider.”

  She clucks her tongue. “Give him time. Maybe he feels the same. Ya know he’s—”

  I raise my hand, shaking my head. “No-no. I’m not ready to hear all about Caiden’s life right now. Douchey and charming are about all I can stomach.”

  “You’re no fun. I was about to tease you and tell you all about his—”

  “STOP!”

&
nbsp; Her pink lips stretch devilishly, yet annoyingly prettily, over her freckled cheeks. Her Grinch-like smile is something she’s had since the age of five; she’s just perfected it now. “Are you sure?”

  “None of it matters. None. Of. It.”

  “Aren’t you curious?”

  “Am I curious? Of course I am. Am I a masochist? No, I am not. So, carry on, Carrot Top.”

  “HEY! You know I hate that name.”

  “I’m aware. Let’s drop the Caiden subject then, okay? It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  She nods, squinting. She doesn’t believe me, and hell, even I don’t believe me, but she repeats it back, so we can cement it. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  I could sing those words into a tune for her right now if she wanted, with how many times we’ve repeated them back and forth, and I’d make sure I sang the words to the beat of a Backstreet Boys song if that would sway the damned topic, but I doubt it’d help my cause.

  Yup, I’m out of whack. It’s official.

  “I just… don’t know what to do with myself. When will things feel normal?” I want to spit out NEVER in answer to my own question, but CeeCee beats me to the punch line.

  “How about I put you to work?” she chides with a little swing to her shoulders, trying to be funny, but she’s brilliant.

  My eyes light up.

  “I was kidding, Hailey. I’m not going to put you to work. Stop it. Just stop.”

  “What? Why? It’s a genius idea. Has the menu changed much?”

  CeeCee rubs her temples while fighting a bout of laughter. “Just the daily specials. You can’t be serious, though? You need more time to chill out.”

  “You’re wrong. I need something to do. It’ll be just like high school when I helped Mom,” I plead. “I was an excellent waitress then, and I was not above waiting tables in LA”

  She looks up from her hands. “You waited tables in LA?”

  Her shock is a bit disappointing. “Yeah, it was during my dark ages.”

  No one knows what my existence was like the first few years after I left. I survived on ramen noodles and the McDonald’s dollar menu while I lived as a starving artist, harnessing my craft, a.k.a., writing a romance novel I didn’t quite understand.

  She rolls her eyes. “Are you sure you don’t want to learn the business side first? I can start with the books. That’s the part that you should probably know anyway.”

  I shake my head. “No, CeeCee. I want to get back to my roots here. I’m going nuts. I don’t know who I am. I need to wait tables. I need to feel normal.”

  She grumbles as she gets up from the booth. I follow as she walks toward the kitchen. “Fine, but know this is not me agreeing. This is me pandering to your pathetic eyes. I can’t say no. Let me get you an apron. The lunchtime rush will start in twenty minutes. Grab a menu and refresh your memory.”

  I leap up and fist-pump the air before snatching a menu from the counter.

  “Good God, Hailey. Calm your ass down.”

  “I’m just excited to feel useful.”

  A mint-green apron swiftly hits my face.

  Familiar faces come in. In a way, I think I prefer seeing old friends this way. Having to tend to their food requests gives me easy escape routes: “Nice seeing you, but I have to check on that table. Be right back,” or “Let me go make sure we still have that pie…” However, it also allows me to confront my demons bit by bit. The kind hellos and chitchat in short spurts are nicer than I thought they’d be. Most everyone who recognizes me seems happy to have me back, and every person I greet has the same sincere resolve, which lifts my heart just a smidge.

  No one seems mad at me or resentful like I expected.

  For once, hearing about my mom and our hereditary similarities from people who have known us most of our lives doesn’t sting. They give me the sense of home I’d hoped to find. It’s not a complete transition, but it’s a starting point.

  Though, there was one crabby moment when Mr. Reynolds, my old math teacher from high school, grumbled about me moving to a trashy city like Los Angeles. But his wife leveled it out with how proud they both are of me, and how my parents would feel the same.

  Honestly, if I could be so bold, this lunch shift has shown me more love than I’ve felt in the five years I’ve been gone. These folks don’t force sincerity, and each passing conversation is filled with natural kindness. And just like that, I start to get my sea legs back.

  That is, until I hear Brandon’s truck pull up. The loud rumble rattles the windows before the truck turns off.

  I drop my stare to the counter. CeeCee’s next to me. Damn it, and the afternoon was going so well. Her cheeks turn pink. “Uh, the boys get lunch here almost every day. Did I forget to mention that?” she chirps too happily.

  My mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

  “Including Caiden.”

  My mouth slams shut.

  “Stop glaring at me like that.”

  “I told you earlier, I’m terrified to see him!”

  “You also told me you weren’t going to shy away from him.”

  The doors to the diner jingle open. I hold my breath. There’s no avoiding this.

  “Baby Bird! Look at you, the working girl! Didn’t think you had it in you anymore.”

  I heave in a leveling breath as I turn around, looking everywhere but at Brandon.

  I look for a set of burning green eyes, but find none. Though, all the gazes that collide with mine are heartwarmingly familiar, now set into older, boyish men. Shakespeare wasn’t kidding when he said that the eyes are the windows to the soul: all of them are instantly recognizable because of this feature alone. Deep blue orbs barrel toward me, accompanied by a shit-eating grin. I barely get his name out of my mouth before I’m encased in a bear hug.

  “Cameron!” I squeal as he lifts me off the ground, twirling me once before letting my Chucks land on the linoleum.

  “Hailey Elwood. You fuckin’ sneak! Thinking you could fly under the radar!”

  Cameron is only slightly shorter and less bulky than Brandon, but his thick shoulders don’t go unnoticed as I give him the once-over, finding that his stark blond hair has always been his trademark feature. His arms are flawlessly clean of ink, but instead, I find a hint of some peeking beyond his collar. I’m more than curious to see what permanently marks my friends’ bodies and why. My mind flies to Caiden again, but I shake my head, ridding it of the thought as quickly as it came.

  “I’m no sneak!” I retort.

  “Look at the fresh meat that hit town,” growls another person in the back.

  I leap up on my tiptoes to see Tyler weave his way between Brandon and Cameron. His burnished brown hair blazes brightly with his hazelnut eyes.

  “Holy shit,” escapes me. “All my best boys at once!”

  I throw my arms around Tyler, who is just as tall as Brandon, if not taller. His long arms peek out from his navy blue fireman shirt, covered in the ink that Brandon talked about. He may be on the leaner side in comparison to Cameron, but his grip is just as tight.

  “And who are you calling fresh meat!” I shout.

  Brandon lets out a low whistle. “Without Caiden around, aren’t we allowed to talk about how tomboy Hailey turned into a smokin’ hot piece of—OW!”

  CeeCee appears next to him, her fist colliding with his upper arm. “You will not finish that sentence! At the station, go ahead and act like Neanderthals, but not here. Get some manners!”

  Brandon rubs at his arm as he fights off a chuckle. “Damn it, Cee. No need for violence.”

  She turns to me and winks. “Boys, Hailey will seat you.”

  I never let the boys manhandle me when we were kids, and even if I did, CeeCee was always there to level the playing field. It’s good to know that that hasn’t changed either.

  “Quit it with that smile,” Brandon says, eyeing me.

  “What smile?” I grab three menus and head to a booth.

  “You know,” he hums. “D
on’t think I didn’t notice your mini-freak-out when we came in.”

  Cameron appears at my side as we stroll down the aisle. He places a heavy arm around my shoulders. “Ya know, Hails, it takes a lot to scare Caiden nowadays. Who knew it comes in the form of your pretty little package?”

  I swallow his words. Everything is in jest, but they don’t need to know my insides are knotted. Except Brandon. He’s watching me closely. He smooths over his hipster ‘stache. His eyes tell me he can sense my inner turmoil. The jerk.

  I shrug off Cameron’s arm as I toss the menus on the table. They’re all clunky as they clamber in. They’re no longer boys, but foolish men. My lip twitches, seeing what they’ve become. I think I’m proud, but it might still be up for debate.

  Cameron speaks up. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Huh?” I ask, scrambling for a pen from my apron pocket.

  Brandon laughs. “She’s freaking out just like Caiden freaked out.”

  Tyler nods as he fights his laughter. “Figures. Five years is a long time. Does she—?”

  Brandon cuts him off with a string of coughs before saying, “Do we know what we’re ordering?”

  Brandon peeks at me from the corner of his eye. I won’t be fragile about this. Nope. “So, Caiden didn’t come with you guys because I’m here? How would he have known?”

  Cameron snorts. “You’ve got Miss Town Gossip as your head honcho, duh.”

  I roll my eyes and swivel around to find CeeCee already trying to hide behind the register.

  Yup. Some things never change.

  None of them need the menus. Apparently, they order the same thing every day.

  When I’m done scribbling, Brandon is still watching me. Not that I know this for sure, because for some reason, I can’t look him in the eye. He’ll see through me if I do, but I can feel his penetrating gaze scoping out my weakness.

  “I’m not a wilting flower, guys. So, Caiden just skipped out, then?” I lift my head with a smile, attempting to prove my point. It becomes obvious I’m prying, and I wish I could take the abrupt question back, but I own it. I square my shoulders and release a breathy laugh—like an idiot.