might not look like much, but they make the best food in the
city.”
“Great.” I swallow thickly.
A younger waitress with blonde hair tied up in a high
ponytail, black pants, and an oversized pink shirt that
practically comes to her knees, walks over. She’s nice, and at
just a nod from me, she flips over the huge mug off to the side
and fills it up with strong, steaming black coffee. She’s already
a hero in my books.
She takes both our orders for the pancakes, Steph’s
bacon and eggs breakfast, and a birthday cake shake, since
Tildy suddenly changed her mind and, when she asked what
the best shake was and was told it was birthday cake, decided
to go with that.
“I’m really sorry about the email last night,” Steph
says. Her hand curls around her coffee mug. She already had a
cup when we walked in.
“No. Don’t be. I’d be pretty frustrated with it all too, if
I was you.”
“But it’s…I don’t know. I feel like most of those
matches were really good. It’s not your fault. You’re doing a
great job. It’s me. I thought maybe I should just take a break
and see what’s going on with me. Maybe I’m just not ready.
Maybe I’m just doing this because of all the pressure from my
parents.”
It makes me feel giddy, like a kid about to step on their
first roller coaster ride ever, to hear her say that, but it also
makes me worried and sad. I don’t want Steph to be unhappy. I
know that it’s never going to be with me if she did find
happiness, but the irrational, jealous parts of me leap to