Small Miracles

I was so tired when I came home that I fell asleep right away, forgetting to change out of my clothes. I forget I’m still wearing the previous night’s outfit until I’m downstairs and Mom is standing there in her bathrobe, making pancakes at the stove. Today is one of the rare days she takes off from the diner, so she likes to make us breakfast.

“Are you working today?” she asks as I stand next to her, making myself a cup of coffee.

“Yeah. With Georgia and Nick and Mark,” I say. We hired another cook, a guy in his thirties named Mark.

“Ah.” She raises an eyebrow at the flannel but says nothing, and I swallow and turn away, sitting down at the table. James is in the TV room, staring mesmerized at the screen.

Mom finishes the pancakes and sets them on the table, along with some fresh maple syrup. The cakes are light and fluffy, perfectly round and golden. My mouth waters. It’s times like these I’m so glad my mom owns a restaurant.

We eat in silence for a while before she finally asks, “You gonna tell me whose shirt you’re wearing?” I start to answer, but she interrupts. “Actually, I think I already know.”

My jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

She waves her fork around. “You know exactly what I mean.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I avoid her eyes, stabbing my food with my fork but not bothering to eat it.

“Would you please look at me?”

“Oh no,” I say, shaking my head. “We are not about to have this sappy, girly, heart-to-heart. We’re not. And I don’t like him, okay? I don’t. It was cold last night. That’s it.”

“Julianna,” Mom says. “I didn’t even say his name.”

That sends my head jerking up, and I stare at her, gaping. She raises an eyebrow again, almost looking a little smug. And suddenly I feel a flood of emotions all at once, embarrassed and angry and kind of like I’m going to cry.

“Stop it,” I say thickly.

“Baby,” Mom’s voice is soft. “Even a blind person could see how that boy feels about you.”

“I said stop,” I snap, my face growing embarrassingly hot. And then, because I don’t even want to sit at that table and feel the awkwardness between us, I stand up and go back to my room. I yank off the flannel and consider throwing it on the floor, but after a moment, I fold it up and place it gently on my dresser.

▲ ▼ ▲

Of course I have to work a shift with Nick today. Georgia’s running late, so it’s up to us to open up. It’s a slow, rainy afternoon, and we’ve got nothing to do. I make sure to keep my distance, staying away from the kitchen to avoid conversation.

There is absolutely no way Nick likes me. No way at all. For one thing, we’re almost total opposites: I’m serious, he’s a goofball. I’m calm and collected, he’s a hyperactive ball of energy. I hate football. He loves it. Simply put, we’d never work.

Thinking about what Mom said earlier makes my stomach twist itself up in knots, because the thought of being liked, actually having someone think about me at least once a day, being that one person someone really cares about, terrifies me. I’ve had my fair share of boyfriends, but ever since Dad left, I haven’t even so much as thought about one. And to be honest, I’m not even sure if I want one.

Avoiding Nick goes well for a while until he corners me when I’m sitting at the counter. “Are you mad at me again?” he asks nervously.

I blink. “Uh, no.”

“Oh. Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m just asking ‘cause I know you hated me a lot but it kinda seemed like we were starting to get along, and I just wanna know if I did something to make you mad.” When I don’t answer, he holds out a plate that has a piece of pie on it. He must’ve snuck it from the dessert case when I wasn’t looking. “Want some pie?”

“No thanks.”

“Are you sure?” he asks again. “It’s good pie. Mark made it.”

“I’m sure.”

“I have an extra fork.”

“I don’t want your fucking pie,” I snap, and before anything else can happen, the door opens and Georgia comes flying in, looking breathless.

“You’re late,” I grumble, but she ignores me, instead thrusting her left hand so close to my face I go cross-eyed.

“I’m engaged!” she all but screams. It takes me a second to realize what she’s said.

“What?” Nick and I say at the same time. I lean back and take her hand. Sure enough, there’s a shiny ring on her finger, glittering in the fluorescent lights of the diner.

She nods, cheeks flushed and eyes shiny. “Tom proposed to me, he wanted to go have a picnic lunch so I agreed, and we were just sitting there eating when he suddenly just gets down on his knee and he just does it and I had no idea, and oh my God, I’m getting married.” She’s crying while she says this, a huge smile framing her face.

“Oh my God, Georgia, congratulations!” I say, feeling genuinely excited for her. I give her a tight hug. “I can’t believe it! When are you getting married?”

“We want to do it after the baby’s born,” she says, patting her stomach affectionately. “I refuse to look like I shoved a watermelon up my shirt in my wedding photos.”

I laugh. “Good call. We’ll be invited to the wedding, I hope?”

She rolls her eyes, still smiling. “Of course. Don’t be an idiot.” She turns to Nick. “You too, Kingston. The whole Blue Sky family will be invited.”

Nick flashes a thumbs-up before heading over to the dessert case and pulling out a large cake. I instantly know it’s my mom’s vanilla cake with homemade chocolate frosting, Georgia’s favorite. “I think this calls for a celebration.”

He looks at me, like he’s waiting for my approval. “Can we?”

I’m caught off guard. “Uh . . . okay. Sure.” I know that Mom would disapprove of us eating cake while we’re working, but the smile Nick gives me is so bright and happy I decide I don’t really care.

Mark comes out and we all sit at the counter and eat the cake. Nick scoots over so there’s an empty seat next to him, but I sit next to Georgia instead and pretend not to see the slightly hurt expression on his face and I also pretend that it doesn’t make me feel bad.

A few people come in, so I go off to wait the tables, and Nick disappears in the back, leaving Georgia to talk Mark’s ear off about Tom and the baby and the wedding and the color schemes and the dress she wants, even though Mark’s only been working here for about two weeks and Georgia got engaged maybe an hour ago.

The diner slowly gets busier and busier, so eventually Georgia and Mark go off to do their jobs. Every time I pass her, though, I can see her shoving her hand in people’s faces, talking a mile a minute. I shake my head and smile.

Finally, the last person’s cleared out, and Mark, Nick, and I kick Georgia out, insisting she go home to her fiancé and leave us to lock up. She has the decency to protest a little before finally giving in and hugging us all extra tight. Before I can do anything else, Nick is convincing Mark to go, too, and he agrees easily. So pretty soon it’s just the two of us.

It’s only while I’m wiping down the counter that it occurs to me that maybe he did that on purpose, and by that time it’s too late. The sound of something sizzling on the grill makes me spin around and peer into the kitchen. Nick is standing there, cooking God knows what.

“What are you doing? You’re supposed to be cleaning up back there,” I snap. He blinks at me.

“I was hungry,” he explains slowly. “You must be, too. Want me to make you something?” Before I can refuse, he starts getting out some bread and cheese. I stand there, wondering why I seem to lose control of just about everything when it comes to Nick.

“We have to close up,” I say weakly.

“It’s only gonna take a few minutes,” he says. “It’ll be fine.” He looks so relaxed, with the radio on as he makes our food, and I just can’t say no, and it makes me mad that I can’t say no. So I wipe down some more tables instead.

Finally, he calls, “Dinner is ready!” I dutifully walk into the kitchen and he offers me a grilled cheese with some roasted potatoes, of all things.

“Why roasted potatoes?” I ask, stabbing at one with my fork and swirling it into some ketchup. I notice he’s got an apple as his side. “And why don’t you have any?”

He shrugs, sitting down with his back against the wall. “I know you like roasted potatoes, and I like apples, so . . .”

I hesitate before sliding down next to him so our shoulders are barely, just barely touching. We eat in silence, and although I can feel him sneaking little glances at me, I stare down at my plate, trying not to look like I’m enjoying the potatoes too much (although I am).

As we eat, it also occurs to me that this might be a date, with the radio playing and the diner empty and all of this food, and my stomach twists even more. I know I’m slowly starting to warm up to Nick, but this just feels too fast, too close to something I’m not ready for.

By the time we finish eating and lock up the diner, it’s nearly midnight and I’m exhausted. “Need a ride?” Nick asks, even though he already knows the answer. I nod, and we walk to his car in silence. He opens the door for me and I hop in, too tired to even say ‘thank you,’ but I think he understands that.

He plugs in his phone and some song starts playing, a man’s voice singing, “And I am not sure that I want any single part of this, any single part of any of this shit, ‘cause everybody pays, everybody’s head is in the noose, you’re part of a program, get with the program . . .”

I lean my head against the window and close my eyes, partly because they feel like they’re about to close anyway, but also because I don’t really feel like talking right now. After a few minutes, Nick says, “Hey, Jul? I gotta pick up some stuff for my mom and get some gas, too. That okay?” When I don’t answer, he repeats, “Jules.” And then he says, “Oh,” and I know he must’ve looked over at me.

The music gets softer then, and I realize Nick must’ve turned down the radio, so it wouldn’t disturb me. It’s only a small act, but it’s considerate and caring and I want to throw myself out of the window.

The movement of the car and the silence of everything outside makes me feel like I’m in a safe little cocoon, and I feel like maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to stay here for a while.

The next thing I know, the car has stopped and the door is open and Nick is standing over me, running a hand cautiously through my hair and whispering, “We’re home now. Come on, Jules, wake up, it’s okay.”

I blink up at him. “You fell asleep,” he explains softly. “We’re home.” I swallow hard and unbuckle my seatbelt. He moves over, letting me get out of the car.

“Thanks for the ride,” I mumble.

“No problem.” He’s watching me, and I want to run, and then he’s reaching out and pushing a piece of my hair behind my ear and that’s it.

“See you later,” I stammer, and without bothering to wait for a response, I turn and bolt back to my house.