Page 40 of Good For Me

Jas

“You should go home,” Brie says, casting me yet another concerned look. “Your feet have got to be killing you by now.”

“Perfectly capable of taking care of my own feet, babe,” I say as I stack clean glasses behind the counter. I try to keep my voice even—I know she’s just looking out for me—but it’s starting to get a little annoying.

Just because my life is a fucking mess right now doesn’t make me any less of an adult.

“Seriously though,” she presses. “We’re dead. I can totally handle this.”

I narrow my eyes. “Trying to hoard all the tips?”

She waves her arms around at the nearly empty diner. “Yeah,” she says sarcastically. “Look at all these sweet, sweet tips from the masses of customers.”

“Because we never get crowds of drunk people in here as the bars close.”

I try to skirt around her to grab more glasses but she presses her hand into my shoulder. “Jas. Seriously. You have to stop doing this.”

My body goes rigid and I shake off her hand. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m working, Brie. Like I’ve done pretty much every day of my adult life.”

She refuses to move out of my way. “Bullshit. You’re hiding.”

I gape at her. “I’m not hiding. I’m—”

“I’m worried about you,” she says, voice low and intense. “It’s beenweeks. And you’re not dealing with it.”

My temper, always so close to the surface these days, spikes. “Iamfucking dealing with it, Brie.” I gesture at the counter, at the diner beyond. “I’m working. I’m bringing in some money—which I’m going to be needing a hell of a lot more of soon. I’m keeping busy and—”

“Hiding,” she says flatly, crossing her arms. “You’re hiding.”

She’s right, but that just makes me more annoyed. “I’m not fucking hiding.”

“Really?” her eyes flash. “So you’ve been making plans, then? You’ve decided what you want to do? You’ve talked to the guy who—”

“Shut up,” I hiss. I’m tempted to cover her mouth, to cover my own ears, anything to keep from hearing what I know she’s about to say. “Just shut the hell up, Brie. This is my life.”

She studies me for a moment, her face softening. “I’m just worried. But you’re right—it’s your life. And you’ve always been good at handling your own life.”

I want to laugh at that. And then maybe burst into tears. If the last several weeks have shown me anything, it’s that I most definitely am not good at handling my life.

When I don’t respond, Brie sighs. I know I’m driving her crazy. My best friend is a take-action kind of girl. Up until a month ago, I would have said the exact same thing about myself. But that was before. And now I don’t know how to explain to her how paralyzed I feel. How the mere thought of making a decision causes panic. How I feel sick to my stomach every time I think about talking tohim.

“Why don’t you take your break?” she offers, voice gentle. I’m pretty sure she can see how close I am to losing my shit. But a break is the last thing I need. I don’t need to go sit in the back room alone with my thoughts. What I need is to work. To stay busy.

To keep hiding, a snide voice in my head whispers. I don’t even try to deny it to myself. Brie is right—I’m totally hiding.

The bell above the door dings and I sigh in relief. “I’ll deal with these customers first,” I tell her. “Then I’ll take my break.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re not fooling me, babe.”

“I would never try,” I mutter, reaching for a tray and some clean glasses.

“Sit anywhere,” Brie calls out to the newcomers as she grabs rolled silverware so I can fill a pitcher with water. From the sound of them, the group is fairly large and almost definitely on their way from a bar. “Just what we need,” she mutters and one of the customers—a girl—starts singing loudly. “Drunk people.”

“Sometimes being drunk loosens the wallet,” I point out. “Think of the tips.”

“And sometimes being drunk means vomiting all over the men’s room. Think of the cleaning.”

The mere mention of the wordvomitdoes something to my stomach. I’m bent over the sink to fill the pitcher, and now I have to use my other hand to cling to the counter to stay steady. I take several deep breaths, trying to fight down the rising nausea.