Being Jolene (28 page)

I thought leaving would . . . I don’t know, maybe give me some kind of direction. Don’t get me wrong, it was a nice summer. I got to play in the beauty of Idaho and meet a few cool people, but I didn’t exactly find myself. If anything, I prolonged this feeling of being lost, thinking each new day would be the one where I figured it out. Hoping this all-encompassing feeling of drowning in the nothingness I felt, the lack of direction and ability to make waves in my life, would be gone. Unfortunately, I was back in Boise feeling much like I left, nothing being solved. Leaving wasn’t my proudest moment, but now the only thing I could do was move forward, facing things head on.

Grabbing another glass of wine, because at this point I had forgotten how many glasses I had consumed, I went after another box. Another box of a life I didn’t recognize anymore.

Opening it, I assumed it was more books, but the picture that haphazardly lay on top made me draw in a sharp intake of air. It was me, with my long, dark-golden hair; a smile on my face and the look of hope still shining in my eyes. I was wearing the black robes many college graduates had worn, my tassel hanging on the left side. Next to me—with his arm around my shoulder and his quiet smile that never seemed to reach his eyes—was Owen.

It was a moment caught in time, a portrait of the old June that had no idea what the next four months had in store for her. It was a moment I wished I could go back to so I could warn myself I was going to lose my way. On that bright spring day, I knew who I was and I had some kind of idea of where my life was heading. Now—the June sitting on the floor in her new crappy apartment, slightly drunk off a bottle of cheap red wine—was a very different girl.

Seeing Owen in the picture brought me back to our vacation; the sun warming my skin and the ease I felt, how relaxed I was. Anger and hurt rose in me as I remembered how fast that was taken from me. On our beautiful vacation at a white sandy beach, with the bluest of oceans as a backdrop, Owen devastated me with only a few simple words.

Words are a funny thing. You go back to the days when you were running around the playground and the kids were chanting, “Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never hurt me.” As an adult, you think to yourself,
Well, that’s a lie.
Words can be the most powerful thing in the world; they can raise you up, and take you down just as fast. Owen’s words took me down to a point I had never been.

We were sitting at a small table outside, eating our lunch on our last day of vacation, when he looked at me with a type of regret in his eyes, a sullen look that made his normally bright blue eyes darken with dread. I knew the look, but was not expecting what was about to happen. Lacking emotion, he told me he was moving on. With his new job he wanted to focus more on his own path in life. Since my path wasn’t as clear, he didn’t think he needed to be forcing his life on me. He even had the balls to say I seemed a bit lost in my life, and he wanted to be with someone who had it more together. He then kindly pointed out that it took me five years to get my degree, so I obviously had issues with commitment or some stupid shit. I quickly stopped listening. Message delivered: he was done with me.

His words affected me, and that pissed me off. I liked to think I had high self-esteem and I was above this type of negativity, but I was wrong. Instead, with little emotion, Owen said he was done with me, leaving me feeling like shit. How could you not, when someone you thought you wanted to spend the rest of your life with tells you that not only is he done with you, but also points out your flaws? That really fucking sucked. Owen had always been a bit clinical in his dealings of life. Everything had its place, and if it didn’t fit, it had to change. Looked like I didn’t fit anymore.

I heard my phone beep, alerting me of a text and bringing me back to the present. I looked around, trying to pinpoint where my phone was in this mess. It beeped again, and I was able to tell it was in my kitchen. The text was from Jolene telling me how excited she was to see me soon. I glanced at the clock and saw time had gotten away from me, noting I had to be in work within thirty minutes.

Working in a restaurant was completely okay when I was in school, but now I felt pressure from my parents to find a different job and move on from the simplicity of being a server. I felt conflicted about it all. I had a job, and serving wasn’t the worst thing to be doing. At least I was employed, and for now, I was holding on to it while I figured everything else out.

My attention turned to the picture I was still holding in my hands, a pang of sadness hitting me square in the chest. I got up and walked out of my apartment to the dumpster behind the building. I wanted to take the picture and destroy it with a sledgehammer, but I had cried too many tears over Owen. I could vision it breaking into a hundred pieces, but instead I loftily threw it in, a deep clunk echoing in my alleyway. Good-bye to naïve June and the hope in her eyes. Time to face real life.

As I entered my apartment, I went into my bedroom and quickly threw on my work uniform: black pants, a long-sleeved, black button-up shirt, and a red tie. I put on eyeliner and mascara, which highlighted my brown eyes. Dressed and ready, I was out the door within five minutes. With my new place, the drive was quick. The colors were changing in Boise and leaves were starting to fall. The City of Trees was my favorite during fall.

The Shack, or Jackson’s Steak House as it was formally called, was located downtown. The Shack was one of the only few pieces of my life I still recognized. While it wasn’t the most ideal job and didn’t use my degree, I clung to the familiarity of it and the comfort it brought me. I could do this job with my eyes closed. I cherished the routine of it since my life was seriously lacking any type of familiarity.

As soon as I walked in, I felt like I was gaining a bit of my life back; like it was my safety net, even if the job had moments of truly sucking. The strong smell of the wood-lined walls and food drifting from the kitchen mixed together, infiltrating my senses. For a small moment, I felt like I was home. As I put my purse away, I heard a loud, “June!” Suddenly, I was tackled from behind with a loud squeal in my ear.

I pulled away to look at my best friend, Jolene, who was as beautiful as always. Her thick, dark brown hair with bright red streaks was swept up in a twisted concoction; her brown eyes were perfectly done with smoky makeup. Jolene’s tall frame surrounded me, as she glanced at me with the look that asked why this was the first time she had seen me.

I wasn’t even able to get a word in as Jolene hugged me, finally letting go and saying, “You missed so much this summer, and I can’t wait to fill you in on this new guy—”

However, her sentence got stopped as Steve, my General Manager, said to me, “June, welcome back. A table just got sat in your section. Jump on it, all right?”

And that was it. Life back to normal, whatever the fuck that was.

CHAPTER 2

I quickly walked up to the front and looked at the floor charts. Finding my section, I glanced up to see where the table was. I grabbed some paper and turned around, only to walk smack into a hard wall. I looked up into mesmerizing green eyes. My breath caught.

Nope, not a wall.

The first thing I noticed was warmth from the large, strong hands steadying me. Those strong hands felt slightly familiar; a tingling feeling crept up my arm, creating a sense of déjà vu. I looked back up to see a man was standing in front of me.

“Who the fuck are you?” I asked.

Have I mentioned I lack a filter in awkward public situations?

Jolene was suddenly next to me. “This is what I was trying to tell you, Junebug . . .” Her mysterious tone was totally throwing me right now. This was all too weird.

Why was she making this a big deal? I turned my head to Jolene, squinting my eyes towards her, a look of confusion on my face. I looked back to the man whose warm hands were still on my arms. His gaze was intense and currently directed at me. None of this moment made any sense. I mean, I
had
been gone for three months. He was nothing new, even if those eyes took me off guard. Even if his touch felt familiar.

I shook my head, and without a word went past the wall of a man with striking moss-green eyes, breaking his hold on me. I took the drink order from my first table and went back to make them. As I tried to shake off the previous movement and focused on what I was doing, a feeling of comfort settled in; it was like I had never left. The familiar motions of grabbing glasses and filling them, or taking drinks from the bar, gave me a tiny bit of peace. It was amazing where the peace-filled moments came from.

Except . . . there was something different. It was the man standing next to me, unapologetically staring at me.

And I thought I was awkward in public.

I glanced over at him, but he just kept staring. I focused on filling the glass with the syrupy soda, thinking he would go away. A quick look over and nope, he was not going away.

“Can I help you?” I asked him, as if he were someone I was serving rather than a coworker.

Silence lay heavy between us as his eyes took me in. He stared at me, not even trying to hide it, making me feel self-conscious.

What the hell was going on?

I pretended he wasn’t there or blatantly checking me out.

“Reece Day,” he finally said, the deep voice catching me off guard.

“What?” I stopped filling my drinks, and turned my body to face him.

His face was filled with a look, like I was a puzzle and he was trying to put the pieces together. Which didn’t make sense since he was the one totally creeping me out right now and I had just met him. “My name. I was telling you my name,” he said after a few awkward moments of silence.

I frowned. “I didn’t ask for your name.”

This time, he smiled; a big smile that I couldn’t turn away from. He looked triumphant. “Oh, but you did. When you said, and I quote, ‘Who the fuck are you?’ I answered by telling you my name.”

I had no idea what to make of this odd conversation or the man standing in front of me.

“Good for you. Excuse me,” I said as politely as I could. Well, I thought it was polite. I mean, I didn’t drop the f-bomb or anything, so that qualified as polite, right? I hurried past him and went to my table, totally thrown off by the weird man talking to me.

As I came back, Jolene walked up to me. “So what do you think?” she asked as I started toward the walk-in.

“Think of what?”

“About Reece?”

My head whipped up and my eyes locked on hers. Slowly, I said, “What, exactly, do you mean?” I was trying hard to keep the edge out of my voice.

“He’s hot, right?” Jolene had a strange tone of glee in her voice.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t paying attention.” I grabbed the tomatoes and walked out of the cooler. Jolene grasped my arm, stopping me before I could even make it two steps.

“How could you not notice? He is like fuck-a-stranger hot. You can’t help but notice.”

My eyes narrowed as I stared of my bestie. “Thirty minutes. I have been back to work for less than thirty minutes. Please.
Please,
tell me you aren’t trying to set me up with this guy.”

Jolene bit the bottom of her lip and her eyes looked away from mine. She started to shake her head, but still wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Nope . . . Nope, not at all.” Shit.

“Worst liar ever, Jolene. The worst.” Frustrated, I pushed past by her, swinging the container of tomatoes and not paying attention. Not paying attention in a restaurant is always a bad idea. Always. I had tunnel vision because of my frustrations with Jolene, so as I swung the square, hard plastic container, I didn’t know someone had come from the other direction and was following. Nope, sure didn’t know that when I swung the container back . . . and heard a loud grunting noise. The sound was so close I jumped and gave a little shout as I turned around to see the man with a staring problem leaning over.

“Oh, shit, are you okay?”

He slowly rose up, a pained expression on his face. Even with the grimace, this guy was hot. He was a little over six feet with dark brown hair that was bordering on being shaggy, and his eyes were a stunning moss-green. An image of a forest floor crossed my mind. He was built, but not in the obscene way of a bulky football player, rather as a guy who worked hard and played hard.

“I’m fine, but I never thought I could say I had been hit in the balls with a container of tomatoes.”

My face blushed as red as the tomatoes in my hand. I had no idea that was where I had hit him, and my mind went from noticing how hot he was to being extremely embarrassed.

“I am so sorry. I totally didn’t mean to.”

Hot guy laughed a bit. “I would hope not. Unless that’s how you welcome people here, with vegetables to the balls.”

“Tomatoes are fruit.” Oh yes, I totally said that. Hit a hot man in the balls and then correct him; always a great way to make an impression. I knew at that moment I had a deer in the headlights look. Hearing my name in the window being called for hot food, I briskly turned and walked away, completely avoiding him and the situation.

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