Work last night was murder. Friday nights are usually crazy since George’s is the only bar in town. I’ve never been the partying type, so I don’t mind having to work, I just wish we could have a calm weekend every once in awhile. If I have to serve another appletini or lite beer I’m gonna throw up!

Still tired and groggy, I grudgingly drag myself out of bed, the only thing on my mind this early is getting a fresh cup of coffee. Normally I would stay in bed until noon, but on Saturdays I have brunch with Vanessa and her friends. I really appreciate that she includes me in this sort of thing, a lot of women wouldn’t give a crap about their adult stepdaughters, but after closing the night before it takes a great deal of self discipline to get my ass going at this hour. I briefly consider calling to let her know I won’t make it, but I know she’ll be going over the plans for Matthew’s party next weekend, so I have to be there.

Mumbling incoherently to myself, I shuffle downstairs to turn on the coffee pot. My feet just hit the bottom step when the front door opens. I’m momentarily startled until I see that it’s just Matthew getting home from somewhere. Judging by his clothes and the thick scent of musky sweat, he was just at the gym. It’s not so hard to guess, he doesn’t exactly go much of anywhere else other than work.

Living with him has been really difficult, some days more than others. I still can’t believe I went downstairs in that ratty old t-shirt last week, flaunting myself in front of him. I was half asleep and forgot he was here. Just thinking about how embarrassed I was makes my cheeks flush red.

It hasn’t been easy on me with him coming home every day smelling of oil and grease, two of the best smells in the whole world. I’ve always loved the way the shop smells, and combined with Matthew’s natural, musky scent, it’s almost irresistible. If I thought for a second he wouldn’t just shove me away, I’d have been all over him.

I would have expected things would have gotten easier, but the distances he’s forced between us hurts just as bad as that first day. I don’t understand how he can stand to treat me with such indifference. Even aside from that one night, we were friends before any of that happened. Doesn’t that count for anything?

This moment is awkward, and all we do is stare at one another. It seems like he’s every bit at a loss for words as I am. I wish he’d just smile at me, give me some sign that maybe we can be friends again if nothing else, but his gaze is hard, guarded. How can he be this way? What could have possibly happened over there to make him forget what we shared? If only he would let me, I’d remind him of that night, I’d give him new memories, too. Stronger and better than before. I could make him happy, I know I could, if he’d stop putting space between us.

I’m not sure what to do. Should I say something, or just keep going to the kitchen? I feel awkward and exposed, like he can see straight through me. The seconds tick by, the moment becoming more and more uncomfortable. I imagine a braver version of myself rushing to him, putting my arms around his neck and holding onto him whether he likes it or not. He may not want me anymore, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t help but want him. If only things had been different, maybe we would have worked out and we could be together right now. But with the cold way he’s been treating me, there’s no way I’m going to press the matter. The fear of being shut down again, of having to listen to him tell me that I don’t mean anything to him, that I never could, is too great for me to overcome. I’ve resigned myself to keeping my distance, no matter how much it hurts.

Finally, the tension breaks. Matthew tears his gaze away from me and continues into the house like the last few horrible seconds never took place. I’m still frozen on the last step, knowing I need to move, but unable to bring myself to walk away. His arm brushes against me accidentally as he passes and I almost let out a pathetic whimper. It takes all my self-control not to reach out for him. I want so badly to stop him right here, to look up at him and let him see just how much anguish he’s caused me to feel. What would he do if I begged him to reconsider, if I promised that I’d do anything if only he’d hold me, kiss me, let me touch him and have him touch me again?

The question remains unanswered. Before I can work up the courage, he’s at the top of the stairs and beyond my reach. My whole body is trembling.

I hurry into the kitchen, needing that cup of coffee now more than ever.

* * *

As usual, I’m the last one to arrive at the diner for brunch. Everyone is very understanding that I work late most Friday nights, especially Vanessa. She always orders my customary cup of orange juice and French toast if I don’t show up by the time everyone else is ready to order. Today that’s exactly how it goes. By the time I come in everyone has been seated and has their beverages of choice sitting on the table in front of them.

I smile and wave at the group, moving around to my chair. I despise showing up late, it’s the most horrible, embarrassing feeling in the world. It doesn’t matter if you never get shamed for not being on time, the experience is still unpleasant.

Before I get to my seat, Vanessa stands up, grabs me by the arm and starts directing me toward the bathroom. “I need to freshen up, dear, why don’t you join me.” She beams at her friends, still happy and delightful as ever.

Not having a whole lot of choice in the matter I follow her into the lady’s room and wait over by the sink. Except Vanessa doesn’t go into the stalls, she goes to the mirror and fiddles with her make up. Okay, that’s not so weird, but then I notice she’s watching me from the corner of her eye.

“How’s work, Piper?” She asks, clearly trying to make small talk. Why did she drag me into the bathroom for this?

“Oh you know,” I shrug, not having much to tell. Sure I could complain about loud, obnoxious customers or poor tips, but I’m smart enough to know there are worse jobs and so I try not to complain too much. Besides, I have a feeling she isn’t actually that interested in the answer. “Same old stuff, really. Serve the food, serve the drinks, smile and hope for a decent tip,” it’s the same tired line I give to everyone who asks about my job.

She turns away from the mirror and looks directly at me, smiling sympathetically. “I’m sorry I dragged you out of bed so early, I really appreciate you being here.” She holds out her hand to me and I take it, letting her give mine a squeeze.

I’m afraid she’s about to encourage me to find something else to do with my life, something that has meaning and that I’ll find more fulfilling. It’s a topic she and my Dad have brought up with me several times over the last couple years and because of that, I’m not keen to be given the same speech again – especially not here in the restaurant bathroom.

“Well I won’t lecture you right now,” she winks at me, then faces the mirror again and starts fiddling with her hair. “Are you looking forward to the party? I can’t believe how fast the last three weeks have flown by!”

The mention of the party sets me a little on edge, but I do my best not to let my discomfort show. I know we’re going to be talking a lot about it today, and therefore a lot about Matthew. It’s just one of many reasons why I have to find a way to come to terms with how things are between us. I remind myself to focus on the party itself, which is sure to be quite the bash. Despite the tension and distance with Matthew, it’ll probably be a lot of fun and I am a bit excited about it.

Typically, I’m not much of a party goer and often end up keeping to myself in the corner, but the thought behind this one, and all the effort that Vanessa is putting into making it work, means it’ll likely be something special, and I might even have fun. Besides, at least I won’t have to work, which means I can always step out a bit early and go home for a bit of relaxation if I start to feel uncomfortable.

That alone puts a grin on my face and prompts me to answer, “Yeah I am, I think it’s going to be wonderful.”

“Good, I just hope Matthew is going to enjoy it.” Her sunny demeanor slips a little and a slight frown creases her brow. It’s easy to see that something is bothering her, but just what eludes me until she elaborates. “He’s doing okay, isn’t he? From what you’ve seen, he’s adapting alright?”

It’s rather strange that she’s asking me, but then again, she has no idea that Matthew and I aren’t really on speaking terms right now, and that is exactly the way I want it. She doesn’t need to be worrying about her son.

Before I can reply she keeps talking. “We were never super close, but he always talked to me and told me what was going on. At least as much as a son can tell his mother about what he gets up to,” she gives a half-hearted grin. “But since he’s been back he just hasn’t been himself. Leo says he just needs some space, but I worry it’s more than that…”

I can’t blame her one bit for being upset that her son isn’t putting any effort into spending time with her after having not seen her for four years. She has every right to be disappointed and even hurt, but considering he’s been snubbing me too, I just don’t know how to make her feel any better. How can I when I can’t even reconcile his behavior for myself?

It makes me wonder if perhaps he’s really not okay, that maybe there is something wrong with him. I know he’s been having nightmares, just about every night I come home I can hear him. Part of me knows I should tell Vanessa about them, but the last thing I want to do is give Matthew another reason to hate me. Besides, he’s made it pretty clear that whatever is going on with him is none of my business, so it’s probably for the best that I keep my nose out of things with his mother.

“He seems fine to me,” I finally tell her, feeling ashamed of myself for lying. But I’m sure as far as his relationship with Vanessa goes, in time Matthew really will be fine. Whatever he experienced, it seems only natural that he needs time to figure things out now that he’s back home. Right?

“He’s eating okay and everything?” Vanessa presses me.

“Oh yeah,” I smirk, “he’s been eating me out of house and home!”

We share a bit of a laugh and a hug before going back to the table. I’m glad what I’ve said seems to have comforted her, but I hope that it doesn’t come back to haunt me later. I groan inwardly as I realize I just committed myself to keeping an eye on him, whether he likes it or not.