October 11, 2016

The Shipyard was a restaurant with an identity crisis. It seemed to want to be taken seriously, based on its overpriced menu options and trendy industrial look, with huge paned windows, reclaimed wood tables and metal chairs that scraped loudly against the concrete floor. But there were televisions on the walls and typos on the menus. There was a huge deck that overlooked the LaSalle river and the boat harbor, with lights strung overhead and tiki-themed decor. The deck was a popular spot for sunburnt middle-aged people to get sloshed on light beers and oversized specialty margaritas in the summertime. I already hoped to have a different job by the next summer.

The Shipyard, also known semi-affectionately as the Shityard, tried to do it all: Tex-Mex, Italian and burgers, sports bar and grille, family restaurant and tiki-bar party spot. They did none of it well, but provided multiple options in one location like a lot of small-town businesses. Louisa's Cafe was also a laundromat, the bowling alley had a sports bar on one end and a separate outdated nicer restaurant that faced the river, and the first gas station off the expressway exit had a Taco Bell and a Subway.

On the navy blue walls of the hallway leading to the restrooms there were black and white photographs of the Osgood shipyard, which the deck would have overlooked if the restaurant and actual functioning shipyard coexisted. Each day I paused by the picture of the launch of the Bethesda in 1886, taken at the exact moment the huge wooden ship crashed into the small river. The photograph couldn't capture the sound it made as it hit the water, the swell of excitement among the observers, or the smell of burning coal, but I remembered. My eyes scanned the crowd and I wondered which straw hat was mine. Anxiety twisted my stomach, and I couldn't tell if it was the memory of that afternoon with Paul or dread related to my upcoming shift.

Eric was right about the friendliness part. During my first week as a trainee, I'd already decided that I was not cut out for being fake nice to hungry strangers for hours on end. At the end of each shift my face hurt from forcing smiles just as much as my legs ached from standing.

On only my fourth day, Eric showed up as promised, sitting alone at a table near a window. It was a Tuesday and the beginning of the dinner rush was more of a light trickle. Spotting a teenaged boy who was unlikely to complain about the service, the waitress who was training me nodded in his direction and told me I was on my own.

I put on my fake smile, introduced myself as his server, and set a plastic bowl of popcorn in front of him. I couldn't keep myself from glancing curiously at the second menu on the table.

"My brother will be here in a minute," Eric explained. "Everyone's at my sister's away game. So we thought we'd hit up the Shityard for some popcorn."

"You'd better actually order food, too," I warned, already dropping my friendly customer service persona.

"Oh, we will. I'm starving from practice."

"I didn't know you had a brother. Younger or older?"

"Older."

"I'm surprised."

"Why?"

"You have a strong oldest child vibe."

He looked offended. "Wrong. My vibe is middle child all the way. Maybe if we hung out more you'd figure that out."

"Mmm hmm." I got out my little notepad and positioned my pen to signal that I was done socially conversing.

"Are you going to Homecoming?" Eric asked, ignoring my cue to cut the chit chat.

"No, I'm working that night."

"Tyler's having an after-party. You could come by after you get out of here."

"Nah." I shook my head and started doodling spirals on the paper.

"Maybe we could hang out some other time then, like not for school-related purposes."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?"

I sighed. "I mean, you know."

"I don't know," he said slowly, "which is why I asked."

"Sophie!" I blurted.

"I told you nothing's going on with me and Sophie. Is that it? Because that's not an issue."

"Oh." I couldn't contain my small sigh of relief. "Well, that's not the only issue."

His jaw dropped in mock indignation. "There are more issues?"

"Why not before? I mean, before you knew I lived in...an alternate reality." I chuckled awkwardly.

"Well, before you had a boyfriend and now you don't."

I flinched. The reminder was like a shot through the heart. "It's still a no."

"Why?"

I scoffed. If someone rejected me, I wouldn't ask for reasons why. I'd think, Well, okay, that makes sense, it was a long shot anyway.

I didn't notice that I was gripping my pen tighter and tighter, until my fingers snapped and the pen flew out of my hand and clattered on the table between Eric's crossed arms and the popcorn bowl. He picked up the pen and handed it back to me, but gave it a little tug as soon as I touched it.

I bit my tongue, but I knew I was going to unleash what I was thinking anyway. A simple 'no' should have been enough, but if he wanted reasons I'd give him reasons. I sucked air through my teeth and went for it.

"Okay, if you really want to know; you're too perfect. You're like one of those sugar cookies that's all nicely decorated with the shiny, smooth frosting. But the cookie's dry and crumbly and the frosting is flavorless and the thick cookies with the buttercream frosting that's kind of rough on the top are better."

"So," he said slowly with a widening smirk, "you prefer thick and rough?"

I threw my hand over my eyes. "Ugh! Forget I said that. Bad metaphor."

"I'll never forget you said that. Do you want to try a different metaphor? One less...purple?"

My face was so hot it was getting itchy. I was probably turning purple. I looked over my shoulder hoping I was needed elsewhere, but the dining room was dead.

"Um, you're like a real life Disney prince."

He laughed. "Interesting. Let's go back to the cookie one. That's not fair to assume that the nicely decorated cookie is bland and flavorless. How do you know unless you've had a taste?"

I scoffed. "I don't need a taste to know."

"Are there more issues? Because Sophie and the fact that you think I'm a perfect cookie seem like non-issues."

"I feel like you're always looking at me like a chemistry experiment," I admitted.

"Like a chemistry experiment? What do you even mean by that?"

What could I say? Perplexed, curious, expectant, mildly disturbed?

"Like you're watching me, waiting for something to happen."

"I am," he raised his eyebrows suggestively.

"Stop. We can't be friends if you act like that."

"So we can be friends? Great. That's all I was trying to say anyway," he said with a smug smile. He was so infuriating. "I have one more question: which Disney prince am I?"

"If you need to know, I'm sure you can find a quiz online. Do you want to order something to drink or what?"

"Not yet." He flicked his menu to stand it upright. "Can you come back in a few minutes? And can you bring another bowl of popcorn? This one's gonna be gone in like ten seconds."

After running potato soup to a party of four elderly ladies, I was shocked to see Eric sitting with none other than Hot Running Guy. HRG was even hotter when he didn't have that pained running expression, but he still seemed tense and agitated. His eyebrows were drawn together in a frown and he was tapping his foot as he looked out the window.

In between stops at other tables that were filling up, I stole glances at the Anderson brothers and tried to figure out why I found the older one more attractive. Even though they were sitting, I could tell HRG was taller than Eric by the way his legs didn't seem to comfortably fit beneath the table. His hair was darker, with waves that curled at his earlobes and the nape of his neck. Maybe it was just because he was older. Or the palpable angst. Or because I'd never heard him talk.

My stomach twisted up in a knot. Or because at first glance, he kind of resembled Pete.

When I finally replaced their empty popcorn bowl, Eric introduced me to HRG, whose actual name was Owen. I felt a little starstruck since my friends and I had elevated him to local legend status.

"It's nice to meet you in real life." I rolled my eyes at my stupid comment. "I mean, I see you running a lot."

Blotches of pink appeared on his cheeks. I wasn't sure if he was embarrassed for me or embarrassed by the fact that his intense dedication to running was noticeable to strangers.

"It's nice to meet you in real life, too," he said with a crooked grin.

He leaned back in his chair and his eyes narrowed as he studied my face. The familiar fear hit me that Eric had told him something about me, before I realized that the same fear was reflected in his eyes. I got the feeling that was guarding something, and he was assessing whether I knew what it was.

"We're ready to order," Eric said abruptly, slapping his menu down on the table.