Dear Life(59)

Isn’t it obvious as to why? I have a HUGE crush on Carter. I feel so embarrassed just thinking about it. Kind of like the sad-nerdy-girl-who-likes-the-bad-boy-on-a-bike embarrassed. I can’t seem to stop thinking about him. It’s before I go to bed, when I wake up, even at these meetings. I get so excited to see him. And the worst part, there is no way he would feel the same way.

Tonight for instance, he was so stand-offish, barely looked at me, until he started talking sternly to Hollyn, defending me, saying I have a lot going for me. He’s throwing me such mixed signals that I don’t want to do something stupid, like try to kiss him when all he really wants is to be my friend. Or maybe he sees me as some pity project?

Once again, I’m hindered by my past, not properly preparing me to know how to read people, how to tell if they’re actually interested in me. And I can’t ask Hollyn.

What does a girl really do at this point? Do I ask him if he likes me? That seems scary. A little too scary for me right now. Maybe I’ll just ride it out for now. That seems like a good idea.

Kind regards,

Daisy



Dear Life,

Hell, where do I even start? I can’t even formulate feelings for the bomb that was just dropped on me by Rebecca. I’m just going to say it. She’s a fucking bitch. A selfish, convoluted, twisted, fuck-up. That’s all I can reflect on because fuck, if I spend too much time thinking about, I will find my ass on the floor, staring down the empty end of a bottle. I’m barely hanging on by a thread.

And the one person I want to lean on won’t talk to me. My phone calls and texts are going unanswered, which fucking hurts. It’s causing my anger to twist further and further into the dangerous, I’m-about-to-snap zone.

That will have to be fixed, right away, because fuck if I will put up with Hollyn not talking to me. I don’t care if our kiss scared her. I need her and right now, she needs me too.

Jace



Dear Life,

Fuck to the you.

Carter





Step Five: Learn Something New


HOLLYN


“I want sauce on the side, but only if it has onions in it. If there are no onions, then you can put it on the pasta but only with Parmesan cheese, the real stuff. Leave the garnish, but only if sauce is on the side. If sauce is not on the side, then no garnish. And I want my garlic bread extra crispy, but not burnt, if it’s burnt, I send it back. Got it?”

Patience. What’s patience? I lost it around I “want” my sauce on the side. What a rude whore face. Working in the food industry for so long has taught me the proper lingo when ordering something. I want and I need? Yeah, you can go fuck yourself. I would like and may I please have, those terms will keep me away from slipping my thumb in your food.

Tonight has been living torture. Rude customer after rude customer. Demanding everything from a seedless lemon for their water, to more napkins. Here’s a hint: stop slurping up your spaghetti like a slob and you won’t have to pat your squirrely mouth every two seconds with a napkin.

The worst request of the night though, five coffee stirring straws, linked together to make one large straw. If the request was for a child, then sure, why the hell not? But there was no child in sight. Instead, it was a thirty-something-year-old man, wearing a Star Trek shirt and Klingon ears. He ended up “tipping” me with advice. Want to chap my ass, leave me no money, but instead, a written note telling me how I should be at home “making a home for my husband.”

Yes, ladies, you read that correctly. He told me to make a home for my husband. Well, even if Eric were still alive, I wouldn’t be making a home for him, the damn man can make his own home. Chauvinistic prick!

Yup, it’s been a beautiful night.

“Sal, I’m putting in an order that I don’t even understand. Good luck deciphering it,” I say while plugging in the sauce-on-the-side girl’s food request.

“Just hand me what you wrote down, it’ll be easier that way.”

I quickly plug in the rest of the order, then tear off my slip and hand it to him. The clock above the salad dressings reads five minutes before my shift is over. At this point, I’m more than happy to hand over my tables to someone else and forgo the tips, staying later to tend to my tables doesn’t sound appealing to me at all.

“Carla.” The one waitress always looking for extra shifts because she has two kids to support turns toward me. “Want to finish out my tables for me so I can take off?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, tips are yours. I just need to get out of here.”

“That would be awesome. Thanks, girl.”

I give her a quick rundown of each table, shed my short apron, and clock out, making sure not to clock out too early. I still want to get paid the full hour.

I gather my purse from my rickety and rusty locker and head out the back door where I’m parked. On my walk, I check my phone for any messages. I’m surprised to see nothing on the screen, no notifications at all.

Seems strange since the past few days, I’ve received unanswered phone calls and texts from Jace. I guess I can’t blame him. I fled his apartment, like it was on fire after I kissed him and haven’t talked to him since. I guess after such a long stint of not talking to him, he got the picture. I have nothing to say to him.

That’s not true. I have so much to say to him, but nothing I actually want to voice out loud.