Stay away
1792 Words
Percy
I rub my eyes and push my glasses up into my hair. The letters started dancing over the page again, and that rash looks an awful lot like strawberry jam spread on peanut butter, the edges of the picture blurring. I know I should stop, but finishing this chapter is bullet point number 34 on my to-do list for today. And I’m not a quitter.
Also, this is the only way I can keep my mind from running in circles around the whole ‘Stiltzer’ -issue. It’s been two days since Jordan basically put me on the spot in that interview, and they have been calling non-stop. Of course, they saw that interview. And they expect results from me now… or they’re at least going to up the ante a lot. My really fake email didn't pacify them one bit. I tried to word it as non-confrontational as possible, thanking them for the opportunity but asking for some time to think about their 'offer.'
I close my burning eyes and take a deep breath, ignoring the rumble of my stomach. No time. Norma, the grouchy Russian owner, loves me even if she doesn’t show it, but she can’t give me all my meals for free. And I used this month’s funds to get the electricity turned back on in my apartment, an ultrasound appointment for the big ‘Organ scan’ in a few weeks, and enough prenatal vitamins to last me until I give birth. Plus, some iron supplements. Given how much I want to chew on ice cubes all day, I thought that would be a good idea.
When I’m about to open my eyes again, a shadow passes over my face. Call me a creep, but the sound of a leather jacket, the smell of cheap booze, cigarettes, and a surprisingly delicious cologne are telltale signs. My blood slowly starts boiling. He's here.
“Don’t you dare sit down.”, I say, my eyes still closed. I’m seething, and he must notice because he freezes at the tone of my voice.
When I open them slowly, blinking a little against the bright light and the even brighter orange and yellow wallpaper design of the 60-themed diner, a tanned face smiles down at me. Forrest-green eyes regarding my hair and the mustard stain on my sweatshirt. How does he have the audacity to smile when he’s to blame for the sh*t turn this already f*cked-up situation took? My heart races with the anger, and I fist my clammy hands on the table.
“You clean up nicely.” Jordan’s hand juts out to wipe some crumbs from my cheek, but I swat it away.
“And you’re still way too handsy. Why are you here?” Pushing my dermatology textbook a little further into the middle of the booth table, I lean back to make room for my belly, which feels tight after sitting crouched over the flat surface for hours. It’s not like I’m showing, but it will get tight and crampy if I’m in an uncomfortable position for too long.
The second I do, I see Jordan’s gaze drop there. And I hate it. Because it makes me self-conscious. I’m rarely self-conscious. But somehow, this guy with his weird man bun, his jewelry, and the unbuttoned obnoxious silk shirts gets me there a second time in a few weeks. And not because I'm ashamed of being pregnant, but because it feels too intimate.
I defiantly cross my arms in front of me and jut out my chin.
“I repeat: What are you doing here?”
The smirk on his face glitches a little. “I want to propose something to you.” And I can’t help but laugh.
“Hell no.”I push further away from where he’s standing next to the bench seat and tug some of my hair behind my ear. Then I just glare at him. “YOU are the one that messed this up in the first place. Those guys have been calling me nonstop and sending threatening emails almost hourly since your ‘interview.’ And all I can think is: WHO THE F*CK STUCK A VACUUM UP THERE AND SUCKED OUT ALL HIS BRAIN?!”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah, I bet it was painful. They used to do that to the pharaohs after death in ancient Egypt, you know? Stick a long needle up through the nose, swirl it around, and then pull it out.”
“Jesus!” Jordan looks slightly green, and somehow, that’s more than satisfying. Good- get a glimpse of how I felt for days now.
“Oh, he wasn’t involved.” I glower at him. Honestly, I don’t know why I engaged in any conversation with him at all. I should just ask him to leave— my best chance at getting the crazy people from ’Stiltzer’ off my a**.
But no, he’s standing in my safe place, drumming a beat on the table’s flat surface.
“I’m really sorry.” I can’t say that I expected it, but it’s nice to hear from someone like him. Jordan doesn’t seem the type to apologize often.
“Forget about it.” Yeah, I can’t suppress the hiss in my voice. Not a fan. Not at all. “Just… do me a favor and maybe don’t contact me again. Because-
I’m cut off by my phone ringing. A number with a Baltimore area code appears on the worn screen of it while it buzzes over the tiled table top. I know who it is. They are calling with a new number every few hours, and no matter how often I block one of them, they find a way to call again.
“How often have they…” Jordan’s gaze is pinned on my old smartphone between us.
“Since the interview? Almost hourly.”
“F*ck.”
“Yep.” I decline the call and turn the phone around. “So please, do me a favor and just leave me alone. If we could go our separate ways, maybe they’ll lose interest.”
“They won’t.”
“You don’t know that!”
Jordan chuckles darkly. “Actually, I do. We did some digging into them, and they are nuts.”
“Wow, thanks for the assessment, oh wise one.” I glare at him. Unbelievable! He has this info and still goes on and on in an interview when we agreed on trying to smooth things over by ignoring each other and pretending we’ve never met.
Running a hand through his hair, Jordan pulls some of the brushed-back strands out. “I know it might not seem that way, but I truly had a plan when I shared all that stuff during the interview. I— Can I sit down? Standing, looming over you, is getting weird.”
His butt is dangerously close to the seat when I look up.
“Nope.” Waving my arms over the table, I eye him. “My holy grail. No one gets near me when I study unless they have been vetted and earned it. I’m fine with you looming.”
“C’mon, твердолобый дурак (hardheaded fool), let handsome boy sit down.”
Norma comes up behind Jordan, wiping her hands on her apron. If you can still call that an apron. Looks more like a dishtowel held up by two tiny strings.
“Заткнись, старуха.( Shut up you old heck.)”
The matron pushes her hands to her hips and stares me down. “That’s what you use lessons and that fat brain for? No more sandwiches for you. Sergey, unplug router!”
“Hey!”
“What ‘hey’?!” She huffs.
“You can’t starve me, I’m pregnant. And I do your taxes. Not that long until you’ll have to file again.” I pout.
“Well, I not put baby in there, did I?” A mean smile passes over Norma’s face. “And Sergeyhas friend who doesn’t empty pantry in exchange for doing filing.”
“No, he just takes a pinky from each of you. Vito, right?” I say drily.
“You are not nice girl.”
“Well, we all knew that, didn’t we, Mr. Araújo?” Jordan lifts his hands in mock surrender.
“I’m just the handsome boy that wants to sit down, and I feel like whatever I might say now will be the wrong thing, so… smells great. What’s the special…?”
I snort. “Push-over.” But Norma gives me a motherly slap on the back of the hand and smiles at my unwanted companion.
“I make you plate. Sit, sit. Don’t let her shoo you off. I’m owner, not her.” Turning to me, she adds. “Let nice boy sit down, and I give you milkshake.”
“Strawberry?”
“There is nothing ‘strawberry’ in that stuff, but yeah… pink-colored milk.”
“Strawberry.”
“христос (Christ), no wonder baby father ran fast after one night.” She eyes Jordan, who is still standing at the edge of the table, looking like he’s waiting for my ‘OK’ to sit down.
“He chicken finger’s daddy?”
“Chicken finger?” And the wide grin on his face after that makes my heart do something scientifically impossible. There is no room in the chest cavity for it to do a backflip.
“No, he’s not. Just some guy that needs to learn the meaning of the words ‘No’ and ‘stay away.’” And Norma gives the tall guy a once-over. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Sergey drop his hand to the baseball bat I know they have behind the register. After about two rather tense minutes, my friend just shrugs. Well, Jordan doesn’t exactly scream ‘serial killer,’… but neither did Ted Bundy.
“You will need daddy for little one. Let him sit. Maybe he put more than rye cracker in your stomach.”
She rubs my shoulder motherly, which sends warmth flooding through me. This simple gesture almost makes me tear up. My mom never did something like this. Ever.
“Too skinny.”, she adds quietly. Louder, Norma continues. “Put dancing skills to use with this one. But wait till other customers are gone… don’t want repeat of last time.”
I chuckle, remembering the first time I took my friends from the club here. All of us were still a little tipsy because it was Ruby’s birthday, and she handed out free drinks. Let’s just say we made some old truckers very happy, and the jukebox had never been so thoroughly ground on before.
- Writer
