The Reason I Stay (37 page)

In the days following, a new routine forms in my life.

I wake up, put on clothes, and go out for breakfast at this little diner called Pam’s Pancakes that opened two blocks away from my apartment. The 1950s inspired place reminds me of The Jukebox, which helps a little with my homesickness. So every morning I sit at a booth by the window, order chocolate-chip pancakes that are not nearly as good as Lexie’s, and drink coffee. After my meal I stay there, hiding from reality in my poor man’s Jolene diner, as I reply to emails and calls from my clients, and call Luke and Joshua to give them their daily instructions.

That’s the only productive part of my day. The rest consists of basically doing nothing but listening to depressing music, feeling like shit, and moping around the apartment while thinking of Lexie, and feeling guilty about pretty much everything I’ve done in my life. It seems like every day I miss her and the person I became with her a little bit more, which quite frankly I didn’t think was possible.

The nights are a whole other deal.

Fitz tries to help by inviting me to go out with him. Although I appreciate the effort, it’s mind-boggling to me that he doesn’t understand that I’m broken, and that parties and dinners won’t fix me. Most days I think nothing will. So I just smile, and give him some lame-ass excuse that makes him roll his eyes.

When he’s finally gone and I’m alone, I walk to the living room, get a glass filled with Jack, and walk back to my bed. I lie there with my phone in hand, and lose count of how many times I dial her number. I look at the screen and let my finger roam over the send button as I remember everything that happened, the good and the bad, but I’ve never been able to follow through and actually call her.

As the haziness of alcohol starts to overpower my consciousness, my mind wanders to all the things we’d talk about. Like a crazy person, I imagine those conversations and in my head. I hear her geeky laugh, and the sweet sound of her voice telling me about her day and the things she’s been up to. And then, as drunken stupor finally takes hold of me, she smiles as I tell her I love her, and says she does too.

O
n Friday morning, I step out of the shower and clean the fog off the mirror to look at my twenty-five-year-old self. It’s funny how nothing and everything changed in the course of a year. I look exactly like I did when I woke up on the morning of my last birthday, but I feel completely different.

It’s officially been more than a week since I last saw or talked to Lexie, and the hurt hasn’t stopped—if anything, it’s gotten more intense. Today, however, it’s damn near unbearable. Although memories of Lexie and the accident have become constants in my life, like a perpetual itch in the back of my every thought, the significance of this day turns that itch into my actual thoughts, and I relive the past year a million times per hour.

The only solution I can find to my crazy-making problem is to keep busy the whole day, and hope that makes it go faster. I don’t know what I’ll do, but I’m definitely not staying in this apartment.

With that in mind, I go to my bedroom and change. For the first time since leaving Jolene I actually put some effort in my look. I stay clear of the suit, vests and ties section of my wardrobe, but I put on a nice pair of snug jeans, a thick, fitted caramel knit over a white tee and boots. The overall look is a perfect mixture of who I was and who I became. The new me, perhaps.

With my satchel over my shoulder, I walk out of my bedroom and into the grand room of the apartment. To my surprise and annoyance, I find Fitz cooking breakfast, and Caitlyn in her pajamas propped over the couch, hanging a
Happy Birthday
banner on the wall.

“Good morning, y’all,” I greet, not acknowledging the banner or the fact that it is my birthday.

From the breakfast bar, Fitz looks up from his omelet and raises his coffee cup. “Happy birthday, y’all.” I narrow my eyes at his obvious mockery—and misuse—of the contraction, which makes him laugh.

A whistle makes me bounce my eyes from my friend to his girlfriend as she climbs down from the couch and walks in my direction. “For a homebody, you clean up pretty damn good.” Fitz protests against the compliment, making both of us roll our eyes. “Happy birthday, Matt.” She folds her arms over my shoulders, and gives me a kiss on the cheek.

“Thanks. But you can take the banner down. I really don’t want to celebrate this day at all.”

All the tenderness she showed toward me just now flies out the window. She pouts, and sighs an exasperated breath. “Too bad, because the banner is staying where it is and you’re getting a party. This homebody thing has got to stop. It’s not healthy. People, including some girlfriends of mine from school who think you’re hot and are more than willing to help you forget your ex, will be here at seven to celebrate you reaching a quarter of a century. Now, if you want be rude and not show up, that’s your problem. We’ll enjoy the party instead, but I really hope you come.”

With anger bubbling in my veins, I look from her freckled face to Fitz, hoping that he surprises me by being somewhat of a good friend and telling his girlfriend to back the hell off. I’m disappointed, but not the least surprised to see that he doesn’t. In fact, he just shrugs, and continues to shove eggs into his mouth.

I look back at Caitlyn. She has her hands on her hips, as if I’m the overbearing one. I run my hands through my hair in frustration, and consider telling her where she can shove this party I don’t want to have, and the girlfriends I don’t want to meet. I consider letting out all the frustration I’ve been holding in towards them and life, but since I no longer want to be an asshole, I just turn around and walk to the coat closet. I shrug my coat on, and without another look or word I walk out of the apartment.

The door is barely closed when I hear Caitlyn groan. “If he’s staying here, you’ll probably have to move, Fitz. Seriously, he’s become so inconsiderate. I’m throwing him a party, and he gives me shit? Gah . . . I liked him way better when he was crazy.”

“I’m starting to think I did too.”

As weird as it may be, hearing them say those things is a relief. I’ve been feeling bad about distancing myself from them, but I don’t anymore. With a smile on my lips, I make my way to the elevator and the snow-covered street.

Despite my lack of desire to celebrate or be celebrated, I decide to keep my phone on in case Lexie decides to call to wish me a happy birthday. I’m aware that she most likely won’t call, but I keep hoping that she does. By the time I walk into Pam’s Pancakes for my breakfast, I’ve gotten three calls, one from my former secretary at Roger’s Law, and the others from a couple of my buddies from Jolene. As happy as I am to hear from them, every time the phone rings my disappointment over the caller not being Lexie grows a bit more.

“Good morning, Mathew.” Anitra, the waitress who has been serving me every morning, smiles at me. She’s one of those people that smiles with both her lips and her eyes, and therefore compels you to smile back.

Even though her chocolate skin and dark hair are the polar opposite of Lexie’s creamy completion and golden hair, as I smile back at her I see Lexie’s face smiling at me as I come in for breakfast. This is becoming a constant in my life. I see her everywhere. She’s the girl crossing the street, the cashier at the grocery store and every other woman I pass by.

“Hi, Anitra. How are you this morning?”

“Cold.” She laughs, and with a menu in hand, starts walking to the left. I follow her through the narrow corridor between crowded booths, not paying much attention to the people sitting in them, until a familiar face to my right catches my eyes.

Large, round eyes watch with interest, blond brows pull together, and an anxious smile curls up her lips. Anitra points to the booth right in front of her, but even as I thank the waitress, I can’t peel my eyes from the familiar face. Instead of taking the seat at my booth, I take a couple of steps until I’m standing beside her.

We look at each other for a second. My insides contract uncomfortably because I don’t really know what to do, or what to expect from this encounter. I can’t believe that out of all the days we could have bumped into each other, this meeting had to happen today?

A part of me, the one that is mortified about how she’ll react, says that I should sit down at my booth, or turn away, or do something to avoid speaking to her, but my body has made a habit of not obeying me, and therefore my lips spread in a wide smile, and I greet her. “Lea Simmons.”

She exhales a deep breath, and I can almost see the anxiety pouring out of her. “Matty Rogers. Long time no see.”

I think of the last time we saw each other. We were both covered in bruises, and she was connected to a bunch of tubes and machines right after her amputation. She was so different from the girl I used to know, and from the girl looking at me right now. The guilt I’ve been stewing on for a week kicks up a notch, and I almost regret saying hello. But then she turns her cheek toward me and points her finger at it, asking for a kiss.

Despite it all, I can’t help but laugh, amazed to see that she’s still her loving, silly self. I bend down and give her a quick peck on the cheek, the way I had done so many times over the years.

“Are you meeting someone?”

I shake my head. “No, just me today.”

She tilts her head. “But it’s your birthday?”

“I’m not celebrating this year.” I shrug.

A crease forms between her brows. “Then sit with me.”

“Are you sure?”

The outer corners of Lea’s lips curl up. “I am. My boyfriend just texted saying he’s running really late, and will take more than an hour to be here and I’m
starving
. Besides, no one should eat alone on their birthday.”

A wave of heat creeps up my neck as my eyes have difficulty holding her gaze. Despite my discomfort, I shrug off of my coat and pick up the menu Anitra left on the other booth for me, and slide into the opposite seat from Lea.

“Blond hair, a boyfriend, and an appetite? That’s practically a new woman.”

“After I got my cyborg upgrade, the rest had to keep up.”

She laughs and playfully wiggles her body on her seat. The hard plastic of her fake leg hits mine four times before she notices. I, however, see no amusement in it whatsoever. My face instantly falls as the jumbled mess of guilt and regret takes over my brain. Her hysterics continue for a few seconds before she realizes I’m not laughing with her.

Her thin brow quirks, and she sighs. “It’s a joke, Matty. Laughing about shitty things is healthy. My shrink said so.”

She stares at me with an annoyed and demanding expression that is so
Lea
for a second longer. With a roll of my eyes, I fake-laugh to make her happy. In exchange she laughs for real, and I think of Lexie and her snots.
I miss the snorts.

Before the longing can choke me, Lea sighs. “Let’s try again.” She straightens in her seat. “As for the hair, the boyfriend, and the appetite, they were perks of becoming a half
cyborg.
” She points a finger at me, prompting me to laugh again. This time the sound is a bit more genuine.

“Tell me more.”

“The agency didn’t have a niche for cyborgs or pirates, so they dropped me. Since the red hair and no ass were their demands, I went back to my natural blond and size four jeans. As for the boyfriend, his name is Thomas and he’s a cardio fellow at the hospital.”

The resentment I expected from her isn’t anywhere in her voice or expression. In fact, she seems downright happy with all the news she’s sharing. It makes me both puzzled and awed. It also makes me disgusted at myself for having spent so many years seeing and talking to her on a regular, almost daily basis without ever noticing how wonderful and strong she is.