Page 5 of Falling Backwards (The Edge of Us #1)

It’s been nearly three years since my parents moved away, but I’ve done a pretty good job of taking care of the certain things I kept of theirs.

Especially Mom’s.

I use more of her old stuff than I do Dad’s, I guess because she’s a woman too.

She’s so beautiful.

She’s curvy, and everything she wears either looks comfortable or striking on her.

She has always proudly said motherhood was the biggest contributing factor to her shape, and my dad has always brazenly said he’ll never be able to repay me for somehow making her even sexier than she was before I came along.

When I was younger, that made me cringe.

Who wants to hear their parents call each other sexy? Now I think it’s one of the sweetest things in the world that Dad respected the changes in her body so much.

Although it’s become apparent that I inherited some of Mom’s hourglass features, she’s still a couple sizes bigger than I am, and it’s perfect for things like sweaters.

I love some of the sweaters she used to wear before she left for California.

They were absolute yeses when I had to choose what I wanted to keep so it didn’t get donated away—certain other things were, too, but those sweaters sat at the top of the list.

Today, I put on the dark pink knit turtleneck, and I feel the warmth of her smile.

She loved this sweater, from the color to its fit on her.

I wish it were as loose on me as it used to be, because noticing that I’ve been filling out the soft fabric more and more over time has made me feel…I don’t know…not clunky, but not gorgeous like her.

I still think it looks pretty good, though, and the love it reminds me of definitely feels good.

I pair it with leggings, flats, and a three-in-one necklace Mom gave me that is so cute you would think I borrowed it from Joy.

Then I nod at my reflection in the full-length mirror on my closet door.

I’m disappointed I can’t wear this outfit all day; I have to work soon, so more sophisticated black clothes lie in my future.

But I’m ready for a late breakfast at Mellow Burger with the girls.

In fact, as Joy always does when she sees this necklace, she comments that she adores it.

Then she adds with a groan.

“I miss your mom! She is so fun!”

Emma agrees from the front door, where she’s pulling on her black ankle boots.

Yeah, I haven’t loved being separated from my parents either. We were always close. I wanted them to be their happiest selves, though, and that apparently involves being in California. Plus, I’m an adult, and it’s not like I never talk to them.

I know if Mom saw me in this outfit, she’d say I look awesome.

‘Like mother, like daughter,’ I’d say back, and she’d get the sweetest look of delight on her face.

“Sweet potato fries?”

Emma asks now.

Those aren’t Joy’s favorite, so she asks.

“Loaded fries?”

Those aren’t my favorite, so I ask.

“Spicy fries?”

Then we all say together, “Fries.”

I don’t know when we started using this as our way of checking if we’re ready to go to Mellow Burger, but we’ve been doing it for a while now, and it’s fun.

So we get going, our stomachs growling and our moods happy.

It isn’t long before we’re breezing through the entrance of the place, greeted by the chatter of other brunchy patrons and the aromas of grilled and fried foods.

Some sort of rock music plays overhead.

We get in the ordering line, which isn’t too lengthy for now; there’s no way this place won’t be packed in another half hour or so.

I know good and well that Joy doesn’t need to consult the large chalkboard menu hung up behind the counter, but she still gazes at it and does her decision dance to the beat of the song.

Emma and I also don’t need it, so we talk between ourselves about her sister, who called this morning to say she’s engaged.

It’s great news.

She and her boyfriend have seemed really happy over the last couple years.

Joy stops dancing long enough to turn and say, just like she did when the call came.

“I cannot wait to see Kennedy’s dress!”

Emma snickers.

“Oh, we know. And I can’t wait to see the catering.”

I nod and add.

“I hope their wedding cake isn’t a carrot cake, though.”

“Right? Barf! How does she like that better than every other kind of cake there is?”

For another minute, we speculate about what the wedding might be like. Then it’s time to order our food. It’s quick and smooth except for me getting drowned out twice by the loud people who’ve gotten in line behind us.

Such is the life of anyone who doesn’t have a bubbly, confident, resonant voice. I still cringe when I think back on the public speaking classes I took in school.

But what matters most is that we’re soon claiming a table.

We check our order numbers so we’ll know when we’re being called back to the counter, and then Joy brings up another exciting topic: her birthday.

It’s in four days, on Wednesday, and she still hasn’t decided when or how she’d like to celebrate.

“I just don’t know,”

she moans, smacking her hands to the sides of her hair.

“Do I wanna eat at this place, where they have loaded fries and beer? Or do I want pizza and beer? Or tacos and margaritas? Or Merritt’s because Merritt’s has the best margaritas even though they don’t have tacos?”

Emma asks.

“And do you wanna party on the day of or the weekend following?”

“I don’t knowwww.”

One thing worth considering is whether any of those places have Wednesday-night specials she’s interested in.

We do a bit of research on our phones to learn about that, and it seems to help.

She narrows it down to either the bar or one of the pizza places in town.

She starts another decision dance in her seat while she thinks out loud about which menu items she likes.

I suddenly realize I want to wash my hands before our food is ready.

I stand from my chair and wiggle my fingers at the girls when they glance at me.

They nod in understanding and go on ruminating, and I hasten to the bathroom.

I don’t want either of them to have to carry my food back along with theirs.

While I lather up my hands, I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror and smile again about my outfit.

I’ll have to go with some less flashy jewelry when it’s time for work, though.

I ponder my options as I go back to the table.

Then renewed hunger takes over because I find our lunch spread out there.

But even as I slip back into my seat with my mouth watering, I feel bad that I didn’t get my handwashing done quickly enough after all.

Joy and Emma pause their ongoing party conversation to take bites of their breakfast burgers, which gives me time to say.

“Thank you guys for grabbing my food for me. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to get it myself.”

Joy raises her eyebrows and one pointer finger. After she chews enough to swallow her bite, she nods at the front counter.

“Actually, someone who works here brought everything over to us. We didn’t have to get up like usual!”

My eyebrows lift, too, at this happy surprise.

“Oh, really?”

Emma nods.

“Yeah, he didn’t even bother calling our numbers. Just came right over.”

I pick up my first spicy fry victim.

“Well, what a nice—”

“Hi again,”

a male voice cuts in.

I glance up to the figure beside me, take in his Mellow Burger shirt and cap and the eyes fixed on me…and my hand stills just shy of my mouth.

“‘Again’?”

Emma repeats curiously.

“Y’all know each other?”

Although she gets a nod and a smile from the guy I collided with at Merritt’s, I’m the one he’s looking at.

“Yeah, I sort of made your friend’s acquaintance last night at the bar, after she spilled her drink. She was on her way to the restroom and we bumped into each other.”

Emma hums her understanding while Joy says, “Aw!”

“You remember me, don’t you?”

he asks me.

My brain is hung on his comment about me spilling my drink. I thought he only started paying me attention while he was at his tall table after our collision, but it sounds like he was watching me for longer than that. Like, way longer.

Between this information and his current direct question, I’m left feeling awkward.

I should respond somehow, though.

It dawns on me that I’m still holding my fry in the air, so I lower my hand to my lap. “Mmhmm.”

“What’s that?”

he asks, leaning a little closer.

And I lean back that much, clearing my throat to speak a little more loudly.

“Yes, I remember you. Of course.”

After a beat, I gesture half-heartedly with my other hand.

“How are—? Oh, um—”

He has grabbed my hand and started shaking it.

“I’m awesome,”

he says with another smile.

“And I’m really happy to finally meet you. My name is Kyle. Kyle Danfords. Are you Maggie? I think I heard your friends mention that a minute ago.”

I’m not sure if I’m more uncomfortable or confused.

I look to the girls for help and see they, quite unlike me, seem to be intrigued.

“Ooh,”

Joy is saying.

“is that why you brought our food out to us? So you could talk to her?”

Emma chortles around her bite of sweet potato fries. “Aha.”

“Yeah,”

he admits with his own little laugh.

“I had to get her to notice me again, you know? She’s just so pretty.”

Oh my….

When I look back to him, I try to politely withdraw my hand from his, but he doesn’t seem to want to let go. However, a touch of insistence helps me out and encourages him to release me.

I smile more about that than I do his flattery.

Please go back to work. I don’t wanna be hit on.

The interest he evidently has in me still isn’t mutual. While his outgoing nature and intensely brown eyes probably appeal to lots of other girls, I feel again like I’d rather be left to myself.

So it’s with sincerity that I say.

“Thank you for the compliment,”

but with even more awkwardness that I look away and finally take a bite of my spicy fry.

“Absolutely, but hey, I’ll let you eat!”

A glance at his shoes tells me he’s moving away from us.

“I’ll see you around!”

Once again, my small smile isn’t in response to what he’s said so much as what he’s done.

When he’s gone, Emma remarks.

“He’s cute.”

“Super cute smile,”

Joy agrees.

I blow out a breath.

“Yeah…but….”

Emma winks and adds around her new bite of food.

“He wikes you.”

Joy giggles.

“Seems that way,”

I murmur. I pick up a couple more fries.

“But I’m not feeling it.”

“No?”

Now Joy regards me pensively, then does the same to where he stood before.

“I did kind of think you were withdrawn, but I figured you were just being shy after what happened with Marcus.”

I’m chewing, so I shake my head. No, even though I’m still coming back from being dumped, this doesn’t specifically have anything to do with my ex.

Emma says easily.

“Well, that’s that. Shy’s one thing. Uninterested’s another.”

“Sure is!”

Joy smiles brightly at me.

“No wonder you didn’t mention him last night.”

In a hushed whisper, Emma adds.

“And no wonder you didn’t appreciate his snatchy fucking handshake.”

That gets full laughter out of me and Joy. Emma joins in after a second and winks again, giving me an, ‘I got you, girl,’ look.

I split a warm smile between my friends.

Then I say.

“Okay, so, any more decisions on the birthday party plan?”

—

When it’s time to go to work, I still wish I didn’t have to change clothes, but I’m comforted by the thought of the restaurant itself.

Lucent was a part of my life long before I started working there.

It was the go-to spot for every special occasion my parents and I had, predating even my earliest memories—starting with my dad proposing to my mom when I was two.

They’d been dating for a year and a half when I surprised them, but they didn’t rush to get married; it was important to them that I be there in person on their big day.

The pictures of their engagement on Lucent’s patio and of their wedding are some of the happiest I’ve ever seen of them.

And I’m right there in their arms or at their sides, tiny and grinning too.

For a little over two years after my parents retired and moved away, I continued the work I’d started in our family’s accounting firm.

I had never been sure of what interested me career-wise, so my dad convinced me to spend as much time as I could in our safe space, which one of my uncles had taken over.

It was a smart idea, but when it eventually became clear that I wasn’t happy, I felt stuck.

Since my bank account had a reliable amount of money in it by then, Emma told me to start considering options for another job by thinking about something that has always brought me joy.

The restaurant stood out in my mind.

Although it has been updated and made even nicer over the years in both appearance and menu, Lucent is also family-owned and therefore still much the same place it was back in the day.

Emma’s advice had me thinking of the special memories it held for me.

Had me thinking of gorgeous yet heartwarming meals and the magic of the atmosphere built by the Polk family.

As if I were standing there that very minute, I could feel how warm and elegant the place was; it always seemed like home to me in a way, even though it’s just a place people go to eat.

Mr.

Polk took over for his parents around the time mine moved away, but he was as familiar with us as they had been.

He found a job for me without hesitation when I decided I wanted one.

As for my parents, they thought the idea of me working at Lucent was sweet and fun.

I’ve been happy there ever since.

The shifts can get crazy every now and then, like yesterday’s did, but I still love it.

I love the vibe and I get along with my coworkers (though Luke is Luke and the assistant manager isn’t one of my favorite people).

I love the romantic interior, which offsets light colors and graceful fixtures with dark rustic wood walls and exposed ceiling beams.

And more than anything, I’m thankful to get to spend time in a place that was so big to me and my parents; welcoming other people into it delights me.

So today I replace my fun outfit with black pants and a black blouse with fluttery elbow-length sleeves, and I trade my cutesy jewelry for my late grandma’s pearls, and I tug my hair up into a nice ponytail, and I go in good spirits.

Someone who is not in good spirits is Cristiano, I soon find.

He’s a server, but he must not be on the clock right now; I come across him talking on his phone outside the entrance to the restaurant.

I assume the person he’s having a heated argument with is his girlfriend.

I’ve overheard him talking about their problems to a few of our coworkers.

He looks at me as I go past, and I give him a sympathetic smile.

A grateful wave is all he manages before he groans into the phone.

“For the last time, I didn’t go through your damn text messages.”

After a second, he scoffs.

“No, actually, you know what? I’m starting to think you’re projecting something you’re doing onto me.”

Bleh. What a frustrating situation to be in.

In its own way, so is me walking into the building and looking to the right, where the bar area is—I notice a familiar head of slightly curly raven hair attached to a body facing the many shelves of spirits. Luke is also on the clock.

It isn’t often that we can work overlapping hours and not step on each other’s toes somehow. Hopefully this shift will at least pass without me sustaining another injury.

But I am thankful I can count on him not to do what that guy at Mellow Burger did and…what did Emma say? Surprise me with a ‘snatchy fucking handshake’?

I smile about her silliness a beat before I shudder at the memory of him grabbing my hand.

The most frustrating thing I can think of at this moment might be that he’s made me doubt whether those spicy fries are worth future uncomfortable visits.

Oh, life and your difficult choices….

—

Of course.

Of. Course.

As I summon a smile for the couple approaching my sprawling hostess stand at the front of the house, I try not to let it show that my stomach has kind of started sinking.

You know how people say, ‘Third time’s the charm!’ about having success with something? Well, I guess today it’s, ‘Third guy’s the charm!’ for me—my internal voice is about to find success at groaning herself hoarse over the opposite sex.

First there was that encounter with the guy at Mellow Burger.

Then not ten minutes into my shift, Luke was using the intra-restaurant phone system to call me from the bar and make fun of how a chunk of my hair didn’t make it into the back of my ponytail; apparently, he noticed while I was seating someone over there.

And now my ex has just walked in with a new girl on his arm.

A very beautiful girl who is different from me in some pretty apparent ways.

This is the first time Marcus and I have crossed paths since our breakup.

It feels even more awkward to me than I thought an encounter like this would, considering he’s not alone…and that this girl is a shining star on two feet.

She’s sweetly blonde.

Her slim form looks way smoother in that tight white sweater dress than my softer one would, making her a flawless complement to how he has that lean-and-trendy thing going on.

Her smile is dazzling as she greets me, but not because we’ve met before and she’s happy to see me; her friendliness seems natural, like Joy’s.

Ouch, is radiating through me.

But I don’t have time to dwell on any of it. I’m at work, and it’s important to me that I remain professional.

I can be amicable in the face of this. After all, it has been a month since Marcus left me.

I catch his eye and get ready to show some grace, but he lifts his chin and speaks before I can.

“Hello, ma’am. Can we get a table for two, please?”

Oh.

Well…oh.

‘Ma’am,’ he said. Are we pretending we don’t know each other?

His date doesn’t seem to think there’s anything off about his tone, and I have to agree.

It’s steady, just like his smile.

Only his eyes betray a hint of the truth that he does know me, and knew before now that I work here, and was sleeping with me and exchanging lighthearted words of affection with me for several months, and has even stood in that very spot before when bringing me food on my long breaks.

Yeah, he wants to treat me like a stranger.

Okay, then, I guess.

Though my stomach is decidedly sinking now, I notice my hands have already picked up my iPad-slash-seating-chart.

“A table for two? Absolutely. Would you prefer the bar area or the dining room?”

At their choice of the latter, I consult the DR chart more carefully than I need to for how early it is in Lucent’s day. And to attempt to be as unruffled as Marcus, I reach for a memory of something about him that I didn’t care for: how he never quite managed to bring me the food I requested on my breaks and would never apologize for it. He was a fan of simply saying, ‘Does it really matter that much? Just eat around what you don’t like.’ As if finely diced onion could be pretended away from a hamburger, or as if a sandwich could be unruined by globs of mayonnaise when I asked for no mayonnaise at all.

Indeed, recalling how disappointing that always was helps me feel calmer as I show him and his brunch date to a table in the middle of the inviting, sunlit dining room.

“Here we are,”

I say.

“Your server today will be—”

The clap-like grasp of Marcus’s hand against his date’s ass isn’t exactly obscene, but it’s still so far from subtle that it surprises me into silence.

For one, it’s a bold thing to do in a restaurant like Lucent. For two, is he showing out or does he just find her that much more attractive than he found me? Because he never aimed that kind of affection at me.

The girl is admonishing him through giggles, and he inhales them while he pulls her chair out for her. Which is something else he never did with me.

I notice my pulse has gone up a tick—and it goes up another when he glances right at me, knowing full well that I’m witnessing all of this.

Ouch again.

‘I do care for you,’ I remember him saying on our last night as a couple. ‘Just not enough to really make this work.’

Since the breakup was his idea, I don’t know why it feels like he’s rubbing his new relationship in my face, but here we are.

At last, I finish as politely as I can.

“Cristiano will be with you momentarily. I hope you’ll enjoy your meal.”

The girl thanks me brightly. Marcus says nothing. As I start walking away, I work on my breathing and try to remember that, in truth, I wasn’t wildly in love with him either.

Still, we were together for eight months. Things seemed fine. I didn’t think we were a bad—

Wait, what?

My flash of confusion briefly stops my feet from moving, but it doesn’t stop a familiar flip-flop sensation from invading my stomach.

What fresh hell is this?

Across the way, Luke is near where I know the hostess stand is around the corner. He’s absently rubbing his hands together and not even trying to hide that he’s been watching me, Marcus, and the new girl.

What is he doing away from the bar?

I’m sure my raised eyebrows ask that as I approach him, but I still voice it once I’m close enough to speak discreetly.

“Why are you over here?”

He’s been going back and forth between looking at me and looking over my shoulder, and he doesn’t stop now.

“Isn’t that your boyfriend?”

he asks, ignoring my question.

“Who’s he with?”

The slowing of his blue gaze tells me the girl is the firm object of his attention.

Is he seriously checking out my replacement right in front of me?

I don’t suppose I should be surprised. Still, it does my rising heart rate no favors.

Without answering him either, I go around his tall, sturdy form and finish walking to my stand. Large though the dark wood thing is, it’s out of sight of the dining room, which I’m glad about.

His voice follows me.

“Did you guys break up recently or did you catch him cheating just now?”

After a moment.

“I guess I don’t know why he’d bring his other woman to your place of work if he were cheating, but in any case, you don’t look happy to see him.”

I huff out a breath. Now that I’m back in my usual spot, I roll my eyes his way and notice how casual his pace towards me is. It’s like he’s at Merritt’s or something, not at work.

I inform him.

“It’s none of your business. But it is my business what you’re doing standing around over here instead of tending bar.”

He shuffles to a stop behind the stand too…and starts scrolling his eyes over me. They seem to take in the shape of me as they go down to the black flats on my feet, then up to my face, my hair.

And even though they whisper across my nerve endings because he’s handsome whether I want him to be or not, I know—I just know—that he’s failing to answer me for the second time because he’s comparing me to the walking work of art in the other room.

It makes me painfully aware of the parts of my body that I’m unhappy with these days.

Then all of a sudden, I’m angry. In a way, what he’s doing is more insulting than what Marcus was doing.

Probably because this wouldn’t be the first time I was a joke to Luke Bramhill.

Gritting my teeth, I glare at him—and would you believe he has the audacity to look taken aback when his eyes finally stick on mine?

My voice comes out low.

“Didn’t your mama teach you that it’s rude to stare at people?”

That just sends his eyes over me again.

“What’s with the attitude?”

he asks.

“I’m not the one grabbing another girl’s ass in front of my—”

“Like I said, you were staring at me.”

I scoff.

“And now you’re cussing with guests around, which is also rude—and unprofessional.”

He mocks my scoff.

“It’s not like any of them are close enough to hear me.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“In fact, it does. I can’t offend a guest if there isn’t one nearby.”

“You should behave a certain way at work just in case.”

I turn and locate the hand sanitizer sitting on a shelf of the stand, for no reason except to try to distract myself from my aggravation. I don’t want to end up cussing too—he’d never let me live it down.

“And speaking of work: for the third time, why aren’t you at your own station?”

Silence precedes his weirdly surprised-sounding, “Oh.”

He bends over enough to look at the shelves himself.

“Right. I just need…. Let’s see….”

“What?”

I ask impatiently.

He clicks his tongue as he peers around. He bats at the two hostess stand phones, a couple of iPad chargers, a box of tissues, and the hard copies of our reservation books and seating charts. Then he walks around behind me, not bothering to avoid brushing me with the side of his body, and bends over more to touch around the kids’ paper menus and things.

“Luke! Would you quit digging around in my stuff and just—?”

“Newsflash, Maggie: I’ve worked here longer than you have, which means I have a good idea of where things are. You can trust me to be able to look for something without needing your help.”

“Oh, can I trust you?”

He goes still in the middle of grabbing something in the stand.

Not having meant for that to slip out, I tense into stillness, too, except for my outright racing heartbeat.

Well, even though I didn’t mean to say it, I don’t try to take it back.

I know he tried like crazy to apologize after his actions had our happy times grinding to a halt all those years ago, but the fact remains that I’ll never forget how it felt to put my trust in him, indeed, only to have him break it.

And my heart.

At the unstoppable thought, my pulse picks up pace even more.

I don’t know how to describe all the emotions that thought inspires in me. There are too many, and they’re swirling too fast.

He finally unfreezes to stand straight again, and I unfreeze to cross my arms, feeling chilled. Time seems to pause as we capture each other in a look full of meaning, of memories.

Neither of us mentions them, though.

We never mention things from the past.

We never reached out to each other about them before we found ourselves working at the same place, and we haven’t talked about them since.

He inhales deeply. Sucks on his teeth. Holds up the thick roll of stickers he got from a shelf.

“I’ve just realized something.”

His tone has cooled off.

“It’s not my problem that the kid at B-six doesn’t have stickers in his menu packet. That’s a hostess screw-up. You deal with it.”

He drops the stickers. Yanking in a breath, I try to catch the roll on its way down, but I miss. It thumps to the floor and almost completely unfurls.

I throw another glare to him, but it hits his back because he’s already striding away.

Ugh.

I understand that he’s probably still upset about my teenage reaction to his teenage idiocy. To tell the truth, I’ve realized it wasn’t my finest moment, so these days, I feel…. But he had something coming, didn’t he? He gets cranky just at the thought of what happened between us, huh? Well, he can get in line.

I pick up the mussed heap of stickers, deposit it on my stand, and tear off a few more than what we usually put with the kids’ menus. In a minute, once I’m back from taking them to table six in the bar area, I’ll need to check all the other packets to see how many more got neglected by whichever hostess prepared them last.

As I head for the table in question, the scar on my left eyebrow prickles beneath my bangs. I can’t keep from tracing it with a fidgety fingertip.

‘It doesn’t make you ugly.’

Even though my anger hasn’t gone anywhere, a disappointed sigh escapes me.

On one hand, I still feel like such a fool for thinking Luke really cared about me back in high school.

On the other hand…honestly, he did a damn good job of pretending. Who could blame me for falling for it?

Will I ever get past it? part of me wonders in a whisper.

For a long time, I didn’t let myself dwell on it because life was moving forwards and there were other things to think about, to experience. I didn’t want to let him take up any more space in my head—and heart—than he already had. Now these months of being around him have made detachment impossible. Present-day Luke and eleventh-grade Luke are on my mind so damn often.

I glance over to where he’s preparing a draft beer for someone, angling the glass beneath the stream of amber liquid in a way that doesn’t produce excessive foam, looking smooth like he doesn’t feel as tense as I know he does. Then I frown about how our most recent minute or two went.

Are we gonna go the rest of our lives not being able to have a normal conversation?

God, I can’t lie: just the thought of that makes me feel tired deep down.

But what other ending could there be for us?

How could there be any hope of things changing when we’ve been in a standoff for so long?