I'm back at my house.
It's the weekend and I'm left with no homework, no training, and no extracurriculars to hold me over. There are organized events, but try explaining to my parents that those are a valid excuse for not coming home and working a shift at the diner. I feel as though I've barely arrived at Fairridge, and they already want me making trips to help out at a diner which, by the way, I want nothing to do with. But, alas, they've called in a family favour and I'm not so much of an asshole that I'd lie and say I have a club meeting and fifty page pile of homework when I don't. It's honestly a shock that I have nothing to do because honours classes are never light on out-of-class studies.
I've coerced Dimitri and Landon into coming with me. It's not like I don't have anyone to hangout with back in my home town, but I'd rather spend my time with Landon and Dimitri. Even though I had to sit through three hours of listening to Landon complain that he's missing his unorganized football practices and Dimitri saying the school paper isn't going to write itself. I told them that they'd survive.
After a frustratingly crowded train ride and a way-too-long bus ride, we arrive at my childhood home. I guess you can say that visiting home doesn't put me in the best mood. The beige-bricked house is underwhelming due to its simplicity. The doors are painted navy, the roof has a blue tint, and the front yard homes several bushes that are dull from the winter cold. Down the road, there are crowds of kids playing hockey in the middle of the street, and I can't say I didn't laugh when one of the pucks hit Landon right in the middle of his back.
I knock on the door, only to be greeted by the face of my little brother. Conner stands in front of us in a t-shirt and sweatpants, his brown hair ruffled and his brown eyes glistening with excitement. His smile is bright as he runs up and hugs me around the middle, stepping back to hug Dimitri and Landon, who he's met several times.
"I thought you weren't coming," he says, pulling me into the house and slamming the door as I begin kicking off my boots onto the patterned doormat.
"Why would you think that?" I ask, looking around the house as if I hadn't been here just a couple weeks ago.
You can see the dining room from the entrance; a large glass table with six fabric chairs surrounding it. A large chandelier hangs above the table, one of the light bulbs dimmer than the rest. I see the living room, as well, with the same old brown couch and flatscreen TV being the main focuses of the room.
"I don't know, I just overheard mom and dad talking about how they didn't know if you'd want to come."
Huh, gossiping about me mom and dad?
"Of course I'd want to come. Only to see you, though, buddy." I ruffle up his hair more than it already is to drive home my point.
"Did you miss me, CoCo?" Landon smirks down at Conner, who has yet to hit his growth spurt and hates that nickname.
Conner frowns up at him. "Not one bit."
Landon places a hand over his heart, "I'm truly hurt."
"You should be, " Conner says, and then he turns to me. "Come to the kitchen. Mom and dad made grilled cheese."
As promised, I walk into the kitchen to find mom flipping the sandwiches on a large non-stick pan. When she sees me, she throws her arms open to embrace me. I wrap my arms around her petite frame, wrinkling her pink blouse. She's placed her messy brown curls into a high bun and black eyeliner rims her light green eyes.
"Carter! How's are you? How's school?" She's always been more supportive of me than dad.
Mom greets Dimitri and Landon while I take over flipping the grilled cheeses. I'm turning down the flame when a hand clasps me firmly on the shoulder. It's a usual gesture for my father, not quite affectionate, but acknowledging. He's wearing a blue button up shirt with dark washed jeans. He's almost completely bald–having shaved off his blonde mop of hair–and wears a pair of wayfarer glasses on the bridge of his nose. The frames are thick, the lenses slightly smudged, obscuring the view of his dark eyes. There are lines on his forehead and around the corners of his mouth. He doesn't smile to deepen them.
"Son, good to see you," he says, only nodding at Dimitri and Landon. He's never been fond of my friends, yet I don't know why.
"It hasn't been that long," I mumble. I don't want to be rude, but being at home unnerves me, like my father will finally be able to convince me to quit all my dreams and take over the diner as he's always dreamed. I don't know how to get it through his head that I don't want to be holed up at the diner making double-patty burgers for the rest of my life.
Mom plucks the spatula out of my hand and uses it to load up the sandwiches on a platter. "Your father and I have to go into the diner, so you boys can look after Conner. Don't forget you're working a morning shift tomorrow. Landon and Dimitri can be servers, if they have no where else to go, but making food is off limits. Love you, honey." And, with that, she grabs onto dad's arm and they turn to leave.
Conner grumbles "I don't need a babysitter" and Landon makes a comment about him being a literal child. Dimitri is oddly quiet, but it's fairly clear why when I glance at him. He's staring down at his phone, probably texting Angie, who he hasn't shut up about for hours. It's oddly wholesome and so fucking annoying at the same time.
"Are you going to visit home later?" I ask Landon, even though I'm pretty sure of the answer.
"Fuck no," he says. Landon lives a few hours from me, so, when we come back from breaks, he gets a ride to the train station in my town to go back to FP together. I don't press him on the matter.
"So, how's Isabelle?" I ask Conner, placing the grilled cheeses on the dining table for everyone to grab. I take a bite of my own and am thrown into a flood of memories of coming home from school everyday before I got into Fairridge.
"She's good. She let me kiss her on the cheek yesterday. Maybe we'll get married," he replies, nonchalantly, inhaling his food.
Landon snorts, but Dimitri slaps him on the arm. "That's sweet," he says, and I wonder if he's thinking about Angie. Let me tell you, the dude is whipped as hell.
"What about you, Carter?" Conner asks. "Did you get a date to your dance."
"Yep. Her name was Carrie. She was nice." I think back to her guiding me across the dance floor when the last thing I wanted to do was dance. I hate to admit that standing at the punch table arguing with Sadie was more enjoyable than pretending not to notice Carrie's multiple attempts to get me to kiss her. I don't know why I didn't. My mind was elsewhere.
"That's cool. Are you dating?"
"No."
After we finish eating, Conner goes down the street to meet up with some friends while Dimitri, Landon, and I settle on the plush couch and catch up on dumb rom-coms. It's a guilty pleasure that we've agreed to never tell anyone about. Especially since Landon has made it his life's mission to give Anastasia shit for all the rom-coms she reads. Regardless, ever since I can remember, the three of us would spend at least two nights per month going on rom-com marathons, making fun of and enjoying them at the same time. It started out as a joke one night because we were bored, but one look and we knew we were all thinking the same thing: this stuff is entertaining as fuck.
We're watching a movie about some guy who saves this girl from drowning and then dies before he can propose to her. The girl finds the ring in a sock drawer or some shit. Just because we watch the movies doesn't mean we always pay attention to the finer details. They help turn your mind off from everything else going on around you, and I like that.
"That ring is fucking ugly," Dimitri points out, staring intently at the screen.
"Since when do you have opinions on engagement rings?" Landon questions, gaping at him.
"Since never. I'm just saying."
I laugh, "You've been dating her for like a day. Slow your roll."
He blushes, "I never said anything like that! But, to be fair, I've liked her since forever."
"Don't think we don't know. It was two years of Angie-this and Angie-that. I don't know how you didn't get sick of her. Even while you were dating other people."
Dimitri shoots him a look of annoyance, but remains silent.
"Are you trying to say you weren't whipped for Anastasia?" I ask, not believing for one second that he wasn't head-over-heels for her to actually commit to dating her.
"No," he frowns. "That was nothing. And it's over."
"What about Lena?" Dimitri asks, fumbling with the remote as he tries to pick another movie. He picks 10 Things I Hate About You, even though we've seen it at least three times. At this point, it's just background noise.
"We're not dating. She's a good kisser, though."
"Ugh, you're acting like Mr. No Commitment over there," Dimitri sighs, jabbing a finger in my direction.
I stretch my legs off the couch. "Commitment messes with grades. I can't risk that."
"Yeah because God forbid you don't get top of the school and beat your girlfriend," Landon laughs, stretching his arms across the back of the couch.
"She's not my girlfriend," I deadpan.
"Then stop drooling every time you look at her," Dimitri says, shooting me a look.
"I don't!"
"It's obvious," Landon says.
Is it?
It's 9 am and the diner is bustling. People have been walking through the pale blue door, a small bell chiming each time, non-stop for the past three hours. Almost every leather booth is full with families, couples, friends, or singular diner-goers. Landon and Dimitri have been running around with small notepads scribbling down orders, even when they don't know half of the things on the menu. I've taken over for Graham–our head cook–on the flap top, flipping buttermilk pancakes and bacon.
Being in the kitchen gives me a sense of control, and it's the only part of working at the diner that I enjoy. Ophelia, a petite woman who has been friends with mom for years, has taken over as the hostess/cashier. Mom and dad have yet to come in because they prefer to help close up during night shifts.
Their diner is small, but it's the best one within a fifty mile radius.
I finish plating an order with three blueberry pancakes (extra butter), extra crispy bacon, and scrambled eggs. I slam my hand on the bell, "Order 57 up!"
Landon comes rushing around the corner, nearly slamming his hip into the corner of the metal counter. "Fuck, is it always this busy?"
"I wouldn't know. I think so."
Before he can answer, Dimitri rushes into the kitchen, panic coating his features. "I dropped a pitcher of orange juice right in front of Table 22. They're complaining that the floor is sticky. So dramatic."
I roll my eyes, "Then get the mop, genius."
He groans, striding over to the mop sink where he pulls out the large yellow bucket. He mixes together dish soap and hot water before dipping the mop in, wringing it out, and carrying it out, spewing curses under his breath.
"You should fire him," Landon comments.
"I'll fire you if you don't take this plate and bring out," I eyeball him.
He smiles, "Right! Yes, chef!"
I laugh as he places the plate on a tray and carries it out with one hand.
Conner passed on coming to the diner because he has a "date" with Isabelle. I can't blame him for being understaffed, though, because he can't really do anything except pour juice and make fruit salad.
I move through the kitchen with ease, occasionally flipping a spatula in my hand or splashing water on the grill so the room fills with smoke. My knife skills have gotten quite good too, so I easily cut up a pineapple for fruit salad when there's a lull in orders. Sabryn, a server who's a year younger than me, enters the kitchen. Her long blonde hair is nestled within a hairnet and her brown eyes are hidden behind a thick pair of glasses. The black apron around her waist is strained with syrup and coffee.
"Your friend is trying to pick up Betty. It's embarrassing," she says, stepping into the walk-in to refill a pitcher of orange juice.
I snort. I don't have to guess which friend she's referring to. "I'll go out. Cover the grill."
She eyes me. "Please," I add. I take off my apron and chef hat.
Betty–Elizabeth– is a 22 year old nursing student that spends her free weekends sitting in the last booth catching up on homework. I doubt Landon realizes that she's studying for university and not high school. Or maybe he doesn't care. I really can't figure him out these days.
As suspected, I find him looking down at Betty as she sips on her coffee, one hand leaning on the edge of her table. She laughs at something he says as he deposits his notepad in the front pocket of his apron. You're still working, Landon, you flirt. I approach the table and Betty grins when she sees me, turning her attention from Landon. I clap a hand on Landon's shoulder. "Hey, Betty. How's it going?"
"Good. School's kicking my ass, but it's fine." She takes another sip of her pure black coffee. Just like Sadie's, I think.
Landon widens his eyes at me as if to say you never told me about her, but regains his composure. "Yeah, junior year has been rough."
Betty looks at him funny. "You look a little young to be a junior."
I try to bite back my laughter. "In high school. This is my roommate, Landon."
Landon's eyes widen even more. I turn to him, "Betty is nursing student."
"Oh," his face goes pink. "That's cool. I'm going to go take some orders."
I give Betty a smile and let her go back to gawking at her computer. The bell above the door chimes and a group of middle schoolers walk in. They take the booth closest to the kitchen door. I internally groan as I walk toward them, pulling a notepad out of my back jean pocket.
"Hi. I can take your orders whenever you're ready or I can get you started with some drinks." I try to put on my best customer service voice. This is why I prefer the kitchen.
Two girls wearing matching red hoodies peer up at me at the same time. They share a glance and breakout into a fit of giggles. Not this again. The guy beside the one closest to me seems to notice and he puts a possessive arm around her shoulders. She ignores it and bats her eyelashes at me. "Hi. What's your name?"
"Way Too Old For You," I reply.
She blushes, but shrugs it off when the guy pulls her to his side. Middle schoolers. "Three apple juices and three orange juices please."
"You got it," I say, heading back to the kitchen.
I begin filling up six glasses; Sabryn eyeing me as she harshly flips the pancakes. I flash her a big grin to show her just how much I appreciate her. Landon comes into the kitchen, his voice booming, "Oh, c'mon, man! She wanted you!"
"You're a fucking creep," I tell him, contemplating dumping a jug of juice on his head.
"I'm kidding."
"You can bring these glasses to them and take their order," I say, shoving the tray of glasses toward him.
"I fucking hate dealing with preteens. I already had to deal with a group of ten that wouldn't shut up about how Jessica was such a bitch," he puts on a mocking high-pitched tone.
"Enjoy," I tell him, giving him a small wave.
"It's so much more peaceful when your friends aren't here," Sabryn comments, shoving my chef hat back on my head and thrusting the spatula into my hands.
"Oh, come on. You love them."
"I would love for them to leave. Better yet, I will," she says. I'm pretty sure Sabryn has threatened to quit at least thirty times.
"Not a chance. You're our best employee," I say.
"You're so funny," she replies, flipping me off as she pushes past the swinging kitchen door.
As soon as she leaves, Dimitri storms through the door with Graham hot on his heels. "The diner life is not for me," he whines. "I swear I spent ten minutes mopping that spot."
Graham rolls his eyes, putting a net over his beard before he sets up a station to make more pancake batter. "Don't spill the juice next time, then."
"That lady bumped into me!"
I turn to Graham and whisper, "It's his fault."
Landon bursts through the door. "They all ordered the French toast and two kids starting making out. I'm putting in my fucking two weeks!"
We all burst out laughing.
Mom and dad headed over to the diner after hugging me goodbye. Well, mom hugged me until I couldn't breathe. Dad patted me on the shoulder and asked, "Still don't want to work at the diner?" I looked at him and said, "Not one bit." He let out a frustrated breath, but didn't press the issue with Landon and Dimitri so close. He clearly doesn't know that I tell them about every bargain he tries to make.
Conner gave me a small goodbye wave, but I know he's going to miss me more than that. I can already see the texts begging me to come back popping up on my phone in a few days. I'll miss him, too. He's my little brother and I'll always want to be there to see him growing up. We've actually never discussed if he would go to Fairridge, but I doubt dad wants to loose another son to academics. Just saying it sounds stupid; what parent isn't happy that their kid is good at school?
The bus ride is quiet and so is the train ride. Dimitri, Landon, and I have silently agreed that we can't wait to get back to Fairridge. It may be stressful to deal with all the homework and talks about the future, but it's our home. And I can't wait to get back.
...
A/N
I hope y'all enjoyed learning a little bit about Carter's life back home.
Happy reading!