I look at the clock. 7.30 am. I sigh. Why do I always wake up early on weekends? Why can’t I just sleep through the day like a normal teenager? I would do anything to wake up at 11 and have lunch instead of breakfast. But no. Both my parents are morning persons so, I guess I inherited it from them.
“You’re up early. I didn’t hear you come in last night. Did you have fun?” Mom says the minute I enter the kitchen. Dad’s sitting by the table reading the newspaper.
It’s not early mom. This is normal for me.
“Yeah, I had a great time,” I lie, not wanting to tell them what exactly happened. I’m still processing it myself.
“I’m glad, honey. It’s good for you,” mom smiles and sits down next to dad. She puts the coffee mug on the table and looks up at me. “You can invite them anytime you want. You can order take-out and rent some movies. Maybe…”
Dad puts his hand on mom’s arm and squeezes it gently.
“Sorry. I just…I mean, you had a tough time before moving here and I’m just really glad…”
“Mom, I’m fine!” I raise my voice before exiting the room. Why did she always have to bring that up?
“Go easy on her, Juliet. You know how sensitive she is. She’ll come around,” Dad’s voice is low but I can still hear him as I reach the stairs.
“I know, Mark, I just…”
Oh, dad. What would I have done without you? I know I never say thank you, so thank you, even though you can’t read my mind, for calming mom down. I wouldn’t be able to live alone with her, and only her. She would suffocate me. I know she only wants me to be happy but she always brings up the past just when I’ve made a step forward in letting go and moving on.
Sometimes I wish I was my brother Adam instead. He’s only 11 but his life seems so much easier than mine. I know it is. He got friends the first day we moved in and mom and dad, are letting him live his life, if you can say that an 11-year old has a life. But, he sure is a pain in the ass sometimes; stealing my things and lying to me.
Back in America he always blamed me when he was guilty of something. Like one time, 4 years ago, he was throwing a football through the hallway and accidently knocked down a vase, that mom inherited from a great aunt. It shattered into a million pieces. Adam freaked and started crying, so I cleaned it up, told him it would all be okay. When mom came home from work, he told her I was the one who knocked it down…and that I did it on purpose. Of course mom started yelling and there he was; standing behind her with a smirk on his face, almost laughing. And it was hard to believe he had cried just 20 minutes earlier. I tried telling mom what really happened, but she refused to listen, told me I was just seeking attention. And that was when I realized she didn’t really care about me. But, I have to take those words back. She does care. A little too much sometimes.
I start my phone and see I have 1 new message.
*Are you okay?*
Ashton. I throw the phone back on the bed, not sure what to reply. The phone vibrates again.
*I think we should talk. Do you wanna meet up?*
I look at the clock again. It’s not even 8. What is he doing up this early?
*Sure. Where?*
The reply comes right after I click the sent button. Damn he’s fast.
*Do you wanna get some breakfast?*
I am actually quite hungry, I realize. I never got the chance to take any breakfast because of mom and her big mouth.
*Sure. Where?*
*Is that all you can say? ;-) Anyway, Sunday´s, it’s just around the corner from your house. I’ll be there in 20*
I’ve walked past Sunday’s a few times but have never gone inside. Probably because it doesn’t look very nice on the outside with the sign hanging low and paint is peeling off the wall.
When I get to Sunday’s the lady behind the counter greets me and tells me to take a seat and she’ll be right over. I look around. It’s nearly empty, only an elderly couple, sitting nearest the entrance, and a woman with a baby stroller, is there. It is kind of small, but nicer on the inside than on the outside. Everything is red and white, the walls, the lamps, even the chairs and tables. It looks just like it’s taken out of a 50s movies, only a little more modern. I take a seat further in the back by the window so I can see when Ashton arrives.
“Well hello there, sweetie. Would you like to order?” The lady from the counter comes up to me with a smile on her face. She looks like she’s in her early 60s with wrinkles by her eyes. She’s speaking with an accent but I can’t quite place it. It’s a mix between some southern state and Australian. I look at her name tag, Yolanda.
“Sure, can I have the menu?”
Yolanda leaves me with the menu. My stomach begins to growl and I look up, hoping no one notices. No one does. The elderly couple is chatting away and the woman with the stroller is talking with the baby. I look down on the menu again. Pancakes, egg, bacon, salad… Wow, they have everything. I call on Yolanda to set my order and wait for Ashton to come. I hope he doesn’t mind me ordering, but I’m starving. Besides, he should be here by now. It’s been 20 minutes…
The door swings open and there he is. His curly hair laying perfect on his head and his dimples are already showing.
“Ashton, darling! What are you doing here?” Yolanda greets him with a hug.
“I’m having breakfast. Give me the regular, please,” he smiles and Yolanda gets back in the kitchen. He looks around and raises his left hand to wave, when he sees me.
Why does he have to be so…handsome?
“Good morning. I didn’t wake you up, did I?”
He bites his lips before sitting down opposite from me. The biting looks much better on him than on Luke. Both got my heart racing, but because of different feelings. I prefer the feeling Ashton gave me.
“No, I was already up. Morning person,” I shake my head.
“Same. Always up before 8. It’s a curse.”
I look down at the table, unsure what to say next. I never know what to say after someone makes a joke. Should I laugh or just smile? Maybe joke about something too?
“Darling?” I look up again, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah, I’ve known Yolanda for a long time.”
“Since he was in his diapers, sweetie,” Yolanda comes up behind me with two plates of food. “I used to babysit this youngster before he could even walk. And when he started walking, boy, did I get some exercise. He would run around the house so I realized I had to get him something to do, so I gave him a bowl and wooden spoon so he could help me make some pancakes. He never ran again.”
Ashton blushes and looks down on his plate. His regular is scrambled eggs with bacon and a waffle with strawberry jam and strawberries on the side. To drink, he has hot chocolate with whipped cream, just like me. But I ordered pancakes with syrup instead.
“Too bad it’s not Ashton’s pancakes. You’d love them,” she winks at me.
“Yolanda, please. Don’t you have anyone else to bother?” Ashton’s cheeks are still red.
“Oh darling, am I embarrassing you? Good, because you need some color on those white cheeks of yours,” she pinches his cheek before heading back to the counter to answer the phone.
“She seems wonderful,” I say.
“Mhm,” Ashton rubs his cheek where he just got pinched. They aren’t as red anymore but I can tell he’s still embarrassed.
“You have pancakes?”
“Yeah, I work here. Sundays to Fridays.”
“Since when?”
“Since the day I got the bowl and wooden spoon from that crazy diner lady over there,” he says and points at Yolanda who’s pouring up some coffee for a new customer.
My face must have looked very amusing because Ashton starts laughing.
“Why are you so surprised?”
“You don’t look like a pancake flipper.”
“A pancake flipper?” He smiles and looks into my eyes. “What does a pancake flipper look like?”
“Well… first of all he’d wear a red and white striped apron and a chef’s hat,” I say, still not sure why I made a joke in the first place. What am I doing? Why does it feel so easy being around Ashton?
“I have that.”
“You do?”
I try to imagine Ashton wearing those things but the picture won’t come up.
“Yeah. Why red and white, by the way?”
“Typical pancake colors.”
“Typical pancake colors? You’re really something special, Joselyn”
Now it’s my turn to blush.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
“It’s okay.”
Ashton is the first person to ever give me a compliment, excluding Gavin back in November who liked my shoes but that doesn’t count. I’m not sure how to take it.
“Mom worked a lot when I was little and Yolanda, having just moved here from Georgia, needed some extra cash. So she was hired to babysit me, even though I wasn’t really a baby, and she took care of me. Taught me to cook, to read…to ride a bike, even,” he smiles back at the memories.
“That’s sweet,” I say, glad Ashton changed the subject.
“While she was taking care of me, she got a job here and used to bring me along every now and then. I got to sit on the counter, I talked to customers or was back in the kitchen helping her or Ray, the guy who made your pancakes,” he says. “The first book I ever read was a recipe book.”
“So are you any good then?”
“I’m the best.”
I laugh.
“He is,” Yolanda shouts from across the room.
“Really? Are you eavesdropping now?” Ashton shouts back.
“Just telling the truth.”
Ashton shakes his head and takes another bite of his waffle.