And given the state of her growing stomach, she couldn’t say no either, I thought hatefully.
I parked back at my apartment and we walked over to Ma’s Diner, which was only a few blocks away. As we walked toward the parking lot, my stomach rumbled at the thought of Ma’s famous Key Lime Pie.
I had been eating lunch there for most of my life. The little I could remember of my childhood hadn’t been pretty. But I could remember coming here for Sunday lunch after one of my foster families took me to church. And that was a memory that didn’t suck.
I was probably eight or nine when I lived with the Owens’ family. They were an older couple. Their biological children had already grown up and moved out of the house.
I hated being there. Mrs. Owens was a bible-thumping nut job and her husband had hands that he couldn’t keep to himself.
The six months I stayed in their home are hazy at best, thank God. As with much of my past I had effectively shut down the pain and refused to think about it again. But I did remember the church.
We spent four hours every Sunday listening to sermons. I had loved it because it kept me out of their house. It meant that for those four hours I could relax and not worry about Mr. Owens catching me in the bathroom or walking in while I was changing. I didn’t have to tiptoe on eggshells around Mrs. Owens else I be forced to kneel on birdseed as penance.
And when church had finally finished and before my stomach would begin to curdle with anxiety at the thought of returning to their house, we’d go to Ma’s Diner. And I would be allowed to get a slice of Key Lime Pie that Ma made fresh every day.
Dania and I slid into a booth near the back. I picked up the menu, my fingers sticking to the cracked protective plastic. I skimmed the items but it wasn’t necessary. I got the same thing every time I came here.
“Can you take me over to the Family Planning Center tomorrow? They’re holding a car seat and crib for me that I need to pick up. My caseworker with Healthy Families said she’d get me a Wal-Mart gift card so I could get things for the baby’s room. I was thinking trucks or some shit.”
I barely listened to Dania. I knew that her sudden burst of maternal interest wouldn’t last long. In the months since she discovered her pregnancy she had flip flopped between total denial of her condition to an excitement level typically reserved for five year olds on their birthdays.
Despite her lip service about getting a crib and picking out drapes for the baby’s room, the truth was later tonight she’d be at Woolly’s getting drunk and taking some guy home to screw.
I wasn’t one to judge anyone for their choices. Everyone had their reasons and motivations for the decisions they made. But as Dania grew larger it was becoming harder and harder to watch her screw up not only her life, but also the life of the tiny person she carried inside her.
When the waitress came over, she gave us a small smile. I recognized her from high school. Her nametag said Emily. Though I couldn’t recall anything else about her.
“Hi Ellie! Dania,” she said, pulling a pen from the top of the bun that secured her messy brown hair.
Dania frowned, obviously not knowing who Emily was. “Yeah, well I’d like a cheeseburger and fries with a coke. Ellie will have a club sandwich and chips. And bring her a slice of Ma’s Key Lime Pie,” she said, giving me a smile.
Sometimes she made it so easy to overlook the uglier parts of her personality.
Emily wrote down our order and left, if not a little put out that we didn’t initiate conversation. Dania leaned over the table and dropped her voice into an intimate whisper.
“Who the f**k was that and how did she know our names?”
I smirked and shrugged. “She went to school with us I think, but hell if I remember her.”
Dania smoothed her long black hair that hung limply around her shoulders. She still looked like crap. Pregnant women were supposed to glow. Dania most certainly was not glowing. Her light had gone out a long time ago.
“So do you want to come with me to pick out some things for the baby’s room? We could also use the gift card to get some stuff for the apartment. Like a microwave or something,” Dania giggled and I tried to smile but my mouth stuck in a grimace.
“Oh my god! There’s Freaky Flynn! I still can’t believe he moved back here!” Dania hissed and I looked over my shoulder to see Flynn come into the diner and head to the counter.
He looked the same as the last time I saw him. I’m not sure why I expected him to look differently. It had only been a week but I felt like a lot had changed since then.
The biggest being the realization that Flynn had no idea my part in the fire that killed his dog and burned down his house. The repressed guilt stuck in my throat and blossomed with a violent force in my gut.
“Yep, there he is,” I said mildly, hoping Dania would let it go. Dania’s past cruelty towards Flynn rivaled my own. She had taken a lot of joy in torturing him. The fact that he was different made it all the easier for her to make his life miserable.
And I had been right there beside her.
But then, as if by chance, I had gotten to know him. It had started innocently in English class and had grown into a friendship that I hadn’t been expecting. But it hadn’t stopped my abuse. In some ways it made it worse.
I had been able to compartmentalize my behavior back then. I had created all sorts of insane justifications to feel okay about the way I had treated him. This sad, lonely boy who had become my only real friend.
But I had been weak and pathetic and unwilling to stand up to the people who tormented him, no matter how much I wanted to.
And I had joined in. I had bruised and hurt him. Wounding him with maliciousness that he had never deserved.
I had cared about Flynn. So much.
It had scared me. I was terrified to feel anything for anyone. I had spent most of my life shutting everyone out. I hadn’t a defense against a quiet boy who was just as lost as I was. I had opened up.
I had let him in.
And then I had pushed him away in the only way I could.
By destroying him.
And in doing so I had destroyed a part of myself that had only started to flourish in the warmth of his affection.
And these feelings hardened and solidified, freezing my heart and numbed me to everything. Then I had only survived. Only existed.
Until he had reappeared in my life.
I had hated Flynn Hendrick for so damn long that I was almost hollow without it. My hatred had warmed me, kept me going. Even if it had been ill placed and unreasonable. But now, seeing him again, with the eyes of someone older and perhaps a bit wiser, I couldn’t hide behind illogical emotions.