Don't Tell Me You've Gone Astray

Gerard's POV

I stuff my hands into my jacket pockets as I step out of the car. The grey sky tells me it will probably rain soon. It's the perfect weather for a cup of coffee.

That's what I try to convince myself I'm here for.

Someone is standing by the entrance, smoking a cigarette. I instantly regret leaving my own at home. He's wearing the typical waiter's uniform. A white, button-down shirt and black pants.

"Gerard? What are you doing here?" He asks, as I approach the door. I know that voice from anywhere. It's rare to find someone around here that doesn't have a thick Jersey accent.

"Adam! I didn't recognize you! How are you?"

He flashes me a bright, white smile. Adam Lazzara had been working at the diner longer than Frank had. He was the one who got Frank a job as a waiter. We were regulars at the diner before I moved to Miami. He offers me a cigarette and I take it, thanking him for his generosity.

"Frank's working today." he says, handing me a lighter.

My face flushes red with embarrassment. He knows what I really came here for. Does he know about what happened? I don't know what to say.

"If you're here to apologize to him, I can tell him you're here."

He knows. At least he doesn't hate me for what I did. I'm confident Frank probably does.

"Thanks." I mutter, looking down at the ground. I finish the last of my cigarette and stomp it into the ground. Maybe I should just turn around and go home.

Adam goes inside, leaving me standing by the door. I decide to leave. I don't need to make amends with Frank. He's probably already with someone else. Hell, maybe he's married or something. I tell myself that he forgot about me. That he doesn't wonder what things would be like if I hadn't cheated. I take a deep breath. I need to talk to him. The door opens. I inhale sharply, half-expecting to see Frank. It's not him. A woman who can't be any younger than fourty walks out dragging her two kids along with her. One of them is crying. He says something about not getting ice cream in between sobs.

I wait for a few more minutes, wishing I had another cigarette. The door swings open again.

It's him.

Shit.

"Hi." I say, sheepishly, not really knowing what else to say. I feel slightly nauseous. My hands shake a little bit. I'm not sure if it nerves or the need for another smoke.

"How was Miami?" He asks.

Small talk is better than nothing, I guess.

"It was okay. Too hot."

He nods, knowingly.

"Look--" I start. I need to get this over with "I'm sorry about...Y'know."

"It's okay. It happened a year ago. I've gotten over it." He says it like it's no big deal.

"Well. I think..." I trip over my own words. "Maybe we should go out for a cup of coffee or something sometime...to catch up...and stuff."

I sound like a teenage boy asking a girl on a date.

Frank smiles. I'm not sure if he's smiling because I sound like an idiot or because he likes my idea. I hope it's the latter.

"That sounds fun."