EMILY
I'VE GOT a cleaning rag in one hand and a spray bottle in the other. My hair is plastered to my sweaty forehead. I haven't had time to look in the mirror, but I don't need to see my reflection to know I look like shit.
It's not exactly how I want my ex-boyfriend to see me after our break-up. Although I guess he's seen me look just as bedraggled and beaten-down a million times before.
I sigh heavily. "What do you want?"
"Jeez. Hello to you too." Patrick slides in the booth I just cleaned. Starts fiddling with the salt shaker and spilling some grains all over the freshly-wiped table top.
I try not to visibly wince.
"Hi," I say, softer this time, "Sorry. Long day." I put the rag and cleaner bottle down. "What's up?" "Sit with me. Let's talk. It's been too long."
I sit down hesitantly. Patrick is smiling at me. Looking engaged.
Interested. Hopeful.
It's more enthusiasm than I've seen on his face in a long time.
