Dirty Curve

At first, I think she’s going to decline, but Meyer reaches over, slowly dragging my history textbook toward her and flips open the page with the next little green tab she added for me last week.

She takes a small sip of her sweet tea and then starts at line one.

She reads to me without pause and I watch her all the while.

The way she tucks her hair every couple paragraphs and how she smiles to herself when she gets to a part that interests her. The way her voice elevates the slightest bit when she feels she’s come to a concept of importance and wants to make sure I’m engaged.

Both her feet are now bare and perched on the chair. Her knees pressed against the table’s edge, and she has the book laying across her thighs. With every turn of the page, her head tips from left to right, and every five minutes or so, she blindly dips her chin to pull the straw between her lips from the glass she has tucked to her chest.

Only when a loud slurping sound is made does she lose focus.

Her eyes fly up to mine, embarrassed, and right back down to the now empty glass.

A low chuckle leaves me, and I sit back in my chair, quickly sneaking a look at the clock. “I’m not sure we have time for another glass, but I bet Franny will get you one to go?”

“Of course, I will!” Franny shouts from wherever it is she’s eavesdropping from.

Meyer smiles sheepishly as she slides her feet back into her sandals and stands, beginning to pack her things into her backpack, so I do the same.

Before I can, Meyer picks my book back up, and I don’t say a word but lead us toward the front of the restaurant. Franny steps up, passing two large foam cups to me and hands a to-go bag to Meyer.

“What’s this?” Meyer smiles, peeking inside.

“That’s a half dozen cinnamon knots and they’re not to be shared with this one.” Franny slaps my chest. “Come back and see us, will you?”

“I will,” she promises, thanking her again. “And don’t worry, I’m not sharing these with him. My friend’s coming over tonight for a movie and she’s a sucker for sweets. You just made her night and she doesn’t even know it yet.”

Franny winks, running off to answer the phone.

“You’ll be back in a few weeks to help me finish the deck, huh, Tobias?” Joe calls from somewhere in the back. “We’re almost done with her!”

“Yes, sir, I will. Let me know once it’s delivered.”

“You know I will, and bring that girl with you when you come, huh? Franny likes her!”

Chuckling, I glance at Meyer. “Later, Joe!”

“Yep!”

We step outside and she turns to me. “You’re building them a deck?”

“Helping.”

“Like a patio or…?”

“Yeah, like a patio deck.” Turning, I point at the side of the building. “You can’t tell from inside the restaurant, but their little house is attached to the back. If you go around here, that’s where their front door is. They have a nice little table set and some comfy chairs out there, but it’s down a handful of steps. By the end of their day in the restaurant, their knees are hurting, but they don’t care, they go out there every single night, at least for a little while.”

“It’s their quiet time together.”

Nodding, I look to Meyer. “One of the times I came in, they asked if I wanted to visit for a bit, so I did. Next thing I knew we were at the hardware store,” I say with a laugh and Meyer smiles, clipping her seat belt into place. “I helped my dad put in a new fence years ago, so I halfway knew what I was doing. YouTube helped a fuck-ton, though.”

“I bet it means a lot to them, having your company and your help.”

“Does to me too. There’re not a lot of places I can go around here and take my hat off, so to speak.” I glance her way briefly, and her lips twitch. “That makes me sound like a bitch?”

Meyer laughs, shaking her head. “No, it doesn’t.”

I grin and head back to campus.

I’m about to strike up a random conversation in an effort to keep her talking, but then Meyer grabs her tea from the cup holder and opens up my book once more.

She picks up where she left off, so I slow my speed and take the long way home.

q

Meyer

I’ve been trying to work my way through a single section of my sociology book for the last hour, but every few minutes, I realize I’m staring blankly at the page, my mind on something else completely.

More like someone else.

And to think I sat there completely engrossed in reading his book to him for nearly an hour. Something tells me it had nothing to do with the words themselves, and that’s a scary revelation.