Page 5 of Matchmaking On The Menu

I hurry over. “Can I help you?”

“Mind giving me directions to the local tire shop?” he asks. “Got me a flat. And turns out my spare’s flat too.”

“No problem.” I smile and walk him through the turns, my hands moving animatedly. I know these streets better than anyone. I’ve never really left them, not properly, not in the way people mean when they say they got out. I know every shortcut, every person who’ll walk through that diner door before they even do it. Sometimes I wonder how many stories I’ve collected over the years and never told. Sometimes that feels like comfort; other times it feels like a life sentence.

Around three o’clock, there’s a lull in the crowd, and I head to the kitchen. I find Shelly there, drinking a cup of tea, and I’m reminded of the conversation about the toys and her comment about batteries not disappearing when things get complicated. I walk over, trying not to look like I’m about to ask her anything deep and meaningful. Shelly has a tendency to act like a caged animal when things get serious.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey, you, yourself,” she says. “What an afternoon, huh?”

“Yeah, but I kinda expected that since my day started off with a bang.”

“What happened anyway? You’re usually so great with time management.” She drains her mug while she waits for my answer.

“Charger betrayed me.”

She nods. “Been there.”

“I think I’m just so exhausted that I’m doing things half asleep.”

“Yeah, you’re about six seconds away from burnout. And I miss you. We hardly see you anymore. Outside of here, that is.”

The guilt hits hard, stacking on top of everything else already sitting on my chest. “I know I haven’t been the best friend lately.”

She turns to me immediately. “Stop it. That’s not what I meant. I’m just saying you’ve missed girls’ night so many times recently. We worry about you.”

“I know, I know. I just have to get through the harvest festival, then things will slow down.” I pause, studying her. “But let’s not talk about me. How are you?”

Shelly turns to the sink and rinses her mug. Her movements are a little too sharp, a little too precise. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t say you’re fine. You’ll just make me feel like an even worse friend. I noticed your comment this morning.”

“Ugh.” She huffs out a breath. “I should zip my lips.”

“It’s okay to be vulnerable, you know?”

“Yeah,” she says dryly, “because you do it so well.”

I ignore her and get to the real point of the conversation. “He was a dick.”

“He was.”

“He didn’t deserve you.”

“I know.”

There’s a long beat while the water continues to run, and Shelly doesn’t turn it off. I don’t make a move to either. I don’t want to move a muscle in case I break the spell.

“And in case you’re wondering,” she adds, her voice going a little flatter, “he didn’t just wake up one day and decide I wasn’t fun anymore.”

My chest tightens. “Shelly⁠—”

“Apparently, when my dad got diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, that was his cue to panic about the future.”

I step closer.

“He said he didn’t want to spend his life worrying about being saddled with a wife who might not remember his name one day.” She lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Can you believe that? One Google search, and suddenly I’m a liability.”