Night shifts black

“Stan?”

I motion to the table by the door with my eyes.

“Ah, yes. He’s the one who needs a jacket.”

“I think he’s amazed you actually stayed this time.”

“He’s not the only one.”

Surprised, I go to meet his gaze but he’s not looking at me. That wasn’t a flirtatious comment. He’s not even referring to me. I might be partially responsible for his shocking delay for toast, but I’m just an excuse. Maybe even a roadblock. I’m still not entirely certain he wants to be here right now. The way he fidgets with his fork and absently bounces his knee, it’s like he’s already left the café and his body doesn’t understand why it can’t catch up.

“Look, I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’m being rude. I don’t mean to be. I’m just…”

He doesn’t finish. He can’t. Not because he’s going to cry or anything, he’s just not good at this sort of thing anymore. Conversation.

I understand and smile to let him off the hook. He seems relieved, and I watch as his grip relaxes on the fork for the first time.

“We don’t have to talk. I’m kind of tired anyway. Late night,” I explain.

He nods and rubs his eyes as if commiserating. I can tell he knows late nights, too.

“Thanks. It’s not personal.”

“Oh? I didn’t think it was until now.”

He smiles, but his eyes aren’t in it this time. I’ve definitely lost him and know he’s counting the seconds until he can finish his toast and escape. He’s regretting this, staying, participating in life again. I feel like I’ve been whacked in the stomach but I don’t blame him. He doesn’t owe me anything. This is my fault, not his. I have mercy on him.

I look at my phone and force a curse. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize what time it was. I actually have to be at work in ten minutes,” I lie. “Don’t hate me, but I have to run.”

Our eyes do meet this time, and for the briefest moment, I think he knows what I’m doing. I don’t know how or why I think that, but he almost seems grateful for my sacrifice.

“Sure, no problem.”

“Here.” I slap some bills on the table and force the most genuine smile I can. “Breakfast is on me.”

He shakes his head, but it’s instinctive. “That’s not necessary. It’s the least I can do for making you move…twice,” he adds.

“Really. I wouldn’t feel right forcing you to pay for food I didn’t even eat. But it was nice to meet you...Luke.” The dramatic pause before his name sounds awkward, but it doesn’t seem right to leave him, maybe forever, without making our goodbye personal.

He appears to notice my embellished farewell. He almost seems disturbed by the sound of his name, like he’s not used to hearing it anymore.

“Thanks. You too. Callie.”

I grin at his pronunciation. It’s not quite right with an “a” that sounds more like an “o,” but I like it better the way he says it. Now, I don’t want to leave. I’m not sure I can, but I have to. I don’t belong here, in his world.

I get the sense no one does.