Shut up, brain.
Lifting my cell phone, I held down the number two. The voice was different that time, but the greeting was the same. They thanked me for calling the drug and alcohol hotline. They welcomed me to talk about my current struggles and urges in a confidential setting.
I hung up, like always.
Because people like me, with a past like mine, didn’t deserve help. They deserved seclusion.
My steps moved to the balcony, and I lit a cigarette, resting it against a dry spot on the ground. I listened to the rain hammer against the town of True Falls, and my eyes shut. I took a deep breath, and allowed myself to hurt for the short period that the cigarette burned.
I thought about Alyssa. I thought about Ma. I thought about all the drugs.
Then, I always ended up thinking about the child that I could’ve held if it weren’t for the demons inside of me.
Sometimes the cigarette burned for eight minutes. Other times, ten.
One thing that never changed, no matter how long the cigarette lasted, was how my shattered heart still found ways to break into even smaller pieces.
Chapter Fifteen
Alyssa
Ea
ch day I carpooled to work with my neighbor, a seventy-year-old waitress named Lori. We both worked the morning shift at Hungry Harry’s diner, and hated every single moment of it. Lori had been working there for the past twenty-five years, and told me that her escape plan was to marry one of those Chris boys. Evans, Hemsworth, or Pratt, she wasn’t picky. Every day we’d drive over and Lori always complained about being five minutes early, stating that the worst place you could ever arrive early to was your place of employment. I didn’t blame her.
I’d been working at Hungry Harry’s for the past five years. The worst thing about the job was I’d go in smelling like rose perfume and peach shampoo, and I’d walk out smelling like fried burgers and hash browns—every single day. The only thing that kept me going was knowing that every hour I worked put me closer to my dream of opening a piano bar.
“You can do it, youngin’,” Lori said as we pulled up to the diner. “You’re still cool and hip. You got plenty of time to make that vision become a reality. The key is to not listen to the outside noise from those around you. People always have opinions on lives that they don’t live—just keep your head up high and avoid listening to their bullshit.”
“Good advice,” I smiled, knowing she was only talking to keep us from having to walk into the building a second earlier than our punch-in time.
“You know what my mama would say to me when I was being bullied as a kid?”
“What’s that?”
“One day at a time. That’s all it takes to get through anything. Don’t think too much about the future or keep your brain running on the past treadmill—just stay in the now. Be here now. That’s the best way to live life. In the moment. One day at a time.”
One day at a time. One day at a time.
I repeated those words in my mind when a rude customer screamed at me about their eggs being too scrambled, or when a baby threw a plate of food on the floor and the parents blamed me, or when a drunk dude threw up on my shoes.
I hated the food service industry. But then again, it was good to see the ins and outs of such a place, because when I had the piano bar, such a big part of it would be about running the kitchen.
Just one day at a time.
“Do you always shake your hips like that after you’re done taking someone’s order?” a voice mocked, making me smile when I realized the source.
“Only when I know they’ll be good tippers,” I smiled, turning around to see Dan standing behind me, his hands filled with files. He looked so handsome in his navy blue slacks and light blue, button down shirt with his sleeves rolled up. His smile was big and bright as always, and he was giving that grin to me. Stuffing my pad of paper and pen into my apron, I walked over to him. “What brings you around this early?”
“I was looking into the property we’ve been talking about getting.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I love it. I really do, but there’s a termite issue. Do you have a minute to go over some things? I brought a few more floor plans of other places that we could check out.”
I frowned, glancing around the diner. “I think my boss would fire me if I stopped working to look at piano bars.”
Dan was a friend I crossed paths with a few years ago at a piano bar. He was currently working for one of the best realtors in the state, and when I told him my idea about opening a piano bar, he jumped at the idea of helping me look into places—even though I told him it would be a long while before that day came to life.