Progress (Progress #1) (2 page)

I prayed for a sudden rush of customers, perhaps a tornado, or horde of zombies to enter the restaurant. Unfortunately, when I opened my eyes the lobby was still empty, the phone remained silent, and no one needed to pay for their tab.

Great.
Now I
have
to talk to him.

I looked down at my XXL wrinkled uniform tee, attempted to straighten it, and wiped away any runny mascara from under my eyes. “Pull yourself together, dammit,” I whispered to myself.

I told myself that he was just a person like anyone else. No one special. Not put on this Earth to twist me until I didn’t know which way was up. And certainly not someone who would be interested in me.

That last one helped.

I took another deep breath, tucked my hands in my pockets, and strolled into the bar. I made my way to his booth, straightening silverware and napkins as I passed each table. Time slowed. Quiet noises boomed and echoed in my ears.

With an empty mug, he anxiously checked his watch while his leg bounced under the table.

“Jesse,” I said, looking at the floor and trying to disguise the blush in my cheeks.

His eyebrows shot up. “Charlie, right?”

I nodded and cleared my throat. “Jake just called saying he was on his way. He got…detained.” I smirked. “I felt it was important that I add the pause.”

“Ha! I bet he did. Did he say how long he’d be?”

I shook my head. “No, sorry.”

Message delivered. I should’ve turned and walked back immediately, but instead I stood there like an idiot. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of him, which was more than a little embarrassing.

When it was obvious the conversation was over, and I’d maimed the past few seconds with awkward silence, I turned to head back to the lobby.

“Wait!” Jesse shouted over the music.

I looked back and tried to remain calm. “Yeah?”

“You have any smokes?”

I shook my head. “Not on me, sorry.” That time I turned immediately, and was proud of myself for playing it cool. This time.

This isn’t going to be easy.

***

I avoided the bar completely after my shift, which was rare. Having grown up with a few of the servers in the small city of Eagan, I’d gotten used to my friends joining me after work in the few weeks since I’d gotten the job. As a rule, we’d all get a free beer if we’d worked that night, and we’d talk about the latest gossip and engage in idle chitchat.

Everywhere I went, it seemed that people flocked to me in order to vent, cry, or look for a sympathetic ear. Confessions, confessions everywhere. The Crimson was no different. Maybe I was a good listener, or maybe it was my patented “tell me all about it” look.  Whatever the reason,
Charlie Johnson
had always been labeled with the tag of a good friend.

I was
always
the friend. And I tried to be okay with that.

I was stuck in this life—this body. I’d been overweight since I was born. There wasn’t a photo album in the house that contained a picture of a thin, average-sized me.

Fat.

Heavy.

Gross.

Chubby.

These were the words that echoed around in my thoughts as I walked down the sidewalks of our Minneapolis suburb. I didn’t like to think about the torture that was high school.

The laughs. The stares. The mockery. Giggles when I’d enter a room. And the words. Words that drove a stake through my heart. I always tried to stand straight, find some dignity, but no one—including myself—came to my rescue. I didn’t care how strong I was supposed to be, no one could’ve endured that daily torture.

As a result, I remained quiet, and became a sponge for everyone else’s woes.

I stayed home as much as I could. The agony of knowing that every whisper I saw when I walked into a room, every snicker I heard from a distance, and every sinister word that flew from someone’s mouth were all for me, left me believing that I was hideous. Incompetent, damaged, unlovable…and unloved.

I was thankful that Jesse hadn’t appeared to make any assumptions about me at first glance. He hadn’t laughed or judged me for my size. At least not to my face. It was a quiet interaction, relatively normal, and unpretentious. I was certain he found me disgusting, but at least he hadn’t mooed in my direction or made a disparaging remark about my back fat that was all too noticeable underneath my shirt.

That was a first for me.

I was grateful for the short ride home. I didn’t want too much time to drive myself mad with overanalyzing every moment of my brief interaction with Jesse. I waved to my parents on the couch as I walked downstairs to my bedroom.  My feet were sore from the four-hour shift, and I lay down on my bed  to ease the swelling.

After an hour of doodling in an oversized sketchbook, I got into bed that night feeling energetic, antsy, and anticipatory. I debated watching a movie to chill out, but instead I did something completely out of character.

I exercised.

I put an aerobic DVD—one I’d gotten from my uncle on my twelfth birthday—into my player, threw on a pair of tennis shoes, and started moving. I tried to bend and twist like the scantily-clad female
Sports Illustrated
models in the video, but after ten long minutes of huffing and puffing, I finally plopped down onto my bed.

As I lay there recovering from what shouldn’t have required coming down from, I stared at my thick calves. Then my eyes followed my legs up to the bulge of my stomach. It was rare that I ever looked at myself in the mirror, and picturing what I might look like thin was more painful than anything. I hadn’t exactly embraced the part of me that society shunned. That was my fault.

Dreaming of the person I
could
be was detrimental to my emotional health. There was no end to that rabbit hole.

It was a dark and scary place.

Chapter Two

Charlie

We all have that one person we’d always remember.

The one who made our lives a living hell.

A neighbor, a parent, or a teacher. It didn’t matter.

Whoever it was, we remember those moments that it all became clear how much we loathed them. Riding the bus and making us feel like fools the whole way to school. Or maybe it was that teacher who constantly picked on us for answers that we never had. Or it could be that kid who, every time he saw us between first and second period, would trip us in the hall.

I had them all. Every. Single. One.

Everyone looked at me like I was an abomination. Everywhere I turned, someone was spewing hateful remarks. People used me as their personal punching bag. If I were to take pride in anything, it would be that at least I made others feel good about themselves.

I don’t know why they said the things they did. Popularity? A dare? Self-esteem? They all had their reasons.

Especially Aaron Paulson.

Aaron came from a wealthy family. There were a lot of those in my school district. Statistically speaking, Apple Valley was the second richest city in Minnesota. He was smart, on the wrestling team, and popular. He wasn’t that great-looking, but that didn’t seem to matter when he had a mouth that made everyone around him feel like total shit. There weren’t enough curse words to describe that loathsome, sorry excuse for a human being.

He used to seek me out between classes just to torment me. He egged my house and toilet papered my car. If he happened to find out my crushes, he made sure that whoever they were, they had a front seat to my humiliation.

That’s when the anxiety attacks had first begun. They’d become rarer in recent years, but memories of Aaron always caused my hands to tremble and my heart rate to spike.

If being an asshole were an art form, he had mastered it. And he made sure his friends joined in on his sadistic fun.

Just when I felt like I was gaining ground, defining myself, and building a positive outlook, he’d swoop in and stomp all over it. He consistently succeeded in making me feel completely inadequate.

But no grudges, right?

It had been four years since I’d had to deal with him, and staying within the confines and safety of my parents’ home eliminated any threat of seeing him again.

I’d heard he had gone on to become a doctor or lawyer. The saying that bad things happen to bad people was total crap. If that were the case, he should have been working the drive-through at McDonald’s while blowing old men in alleyways for crack money.

But no. The douche had to go and become something
important.

I kept telling myself that there had to be a reason for all the bullshit. Character-building? Facing adversity? A lesson?

I was pretty stubborn about the weight. I didn’t want to lose it to gain popularity, because I’d be doing it for the wrong reasons. And if I lost it for health reasons, I didn’t want anyone thinking I’d done it because of the teasing. Besides, I was a firm believer that no matter how much weight I could lose, it would never erase any underlying issues.

I had my fair share of tough days, but the majority of my existence relied on complacency. The little things made me happy when I stopped dwelling on the big ones.

I’d had a small handful of friends who stayed by my side during the blackest days, but when we graduated from high school, we all went our separate ways. Life happens. For most people, anyway. Though I’d successfully avoided most of it.

Don’t get me wrong—on the outside I was tough, funny, and was able to easily laugh at myself. But inside I was a festering cesspool of shame and self-loathing. But I guess we never know how bad it is until someone hands us a mirror.

***

“Hey, Marco!” I called out as he walked into the dining room. “How are you?”

“Hey, Chuck,” he said, giving me a small nod.

“Everything okay? You seem a little out of it.”

Short in stature, Marco was the epitome of the feisty and sensitive Italian. Long black spikes of hair stuck up from his head, and each tip was dyed fiery oranges and reds. He walked liked he dominated the room, but there was no denying his admiration for me when one deep dimple sunk into his cheek with every smile slung my way. He was definitely attractive by most definitions, but I never felt uncomfortable around him.

“Angel broke up with me last night,” he mumbled, tossing himself into a booth.

“Oh no, Marco.” I sat across from him, and tilted my head. “Why? What did she say?”

He shrugged, scratching his chin. “Some other guy.”

“Again? Isn’t this why you guys broke up two weeks ago?”

“This is it. I’m not doing this with her again. It’s totally over,” he said, firm in his resolve.

“Look, someday you’re going to realize that you’re better than all of this shit. You can’t see it now, but in ten years you’ll look back at this time in your life and smile. Angel will be gone, and you’ll have adorable children and a wife who adores you.” I reached across the table and grabbed his hand. “When the time is right, you’ll understand it. It’s about respect. She doesn’t deserve you.”

His puppy dog eyes surfaced, and he smirked. “Will
you
be my girlfriend?”

I chuckled and rose from the booth. “Okay, Marco. I’ll see you here in a couple of weeks. Same bat-time, same bat-channel.” I mussed his hair with a grin.

“Hey, Chuck! Watch the hair!”

I walked up to the front, but no one was ever in the restaurant at four o’clock besides servers, drunken regulars, and one of the managers. Paulina and Angie were in the bar eating before their shifts, and I gave them a quick wave before I began wiping down the plastic menus.

Paulina and Angie were sisters. We grew up in the same neighborhood and had spent every summer before the age of twelve having sleepovers and playing videogames. Unfortunately, as the years had passed I had continued isolating myself more, and my fear of public ridicule kept me from joining activities like they did. I engaged in more solitary pursuits: fine arts and movie binges. And if I was feeling particularly wild and crazy, a crossword or two.

“Hey, Charlie.” Karalee approached from behind me. “It’s going to be a tough night.”

“Why’s that?”

Karal sighed. “I’ve been frazzled all afternoon. The busser we had scheduled for a double called in sick. I can’t seem to get ahold of anyone else to fill in, so I’ll be stuck again tonight bussing tables. On top of that, the dishwasher is broken. Can you just do me a favor and keep an eye on things? Let me know when you think servers should be cut from the dining room floor. I’ll be in the kitchen up to my knees in dirty plates and running out to the floor to clear tables.”

I smiled. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll help as much as I can. It’s a Wednesday—I doubt we’ll get hit too hard.”

Famous last words.

The night was a disaster.

Everyone was busy, and we weren’t able to pull someone from another area to help out. Delivery was slammed, and the restaurant was filled in a matter of minutes due to an after-party for a dry wedding reception. Adam, the restaurant manager, sat in the back office while Karal and I worked our asses off.

It was the busiest I’d ever seen The Crimson since I’d been hired, and my body wasn’t equipped to handle the rush. When the time came to cut the first server from the dining room floor, I sat on a lobby bench staring at my swollen ankles.

Wearing a stained white apron and wiping her brow with her forearm, Karalee approached me with a sigh. “Thank you so much, Charlie. You saved us today.”

“No problem,” I chirped. “I like keeping busy.” Okay, I lied.

With a smile, Karalee walked toward the bar, passing Angie on her way. “Adam said you could go home now,” Karalee told her, slapping her a high five.

“Thanks, girl!” Angie said on her way to see me. “Ugh, finally!” She crossed her name off the seating chart and looked up. “I wish all our hostesses worked like you do,” she said with a smile. “This place was a clusterfuck tonight.”

“I noticed. And so did my feet.” I looked down with a frown.

Angie cringed. “Why don’t you call Christy? Maybe she could come in and close tonight. You’re in rough shape,” she said.

“No offense, but I’m not sure she could handle it. She’s seventeen years old and runs to the bathroom every ten minutes to check her lipstick.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet it feels more like a babysitting job for you than anything. But I guarantee you it’s better than being back in Delivery. That poor bastard has to babysit teenage boys. Between pocketing cash and huffing the cans of whipped cream in the walk-in cooler, I guess I’d opt for the toddler beauty queens.”

I stopped rubbing my ankles and looked at her. “They huff aerosol cans of whipped cream?”

“Yep. Ben was bitching about the dessert order last week.” She pulled her hand through her short curly hair. “I busted two of the guys myself.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Which two guys?”
Subtle enough
, I thought. After all, Angie had no idea I was hoping to inquire of a very
specific
delivery driver.

“I don’t know their names.” She waved a hand in dismissal.

“Well,” I began, “there’s Dom, Kelly, Jesse—”

“Oh. It wasn’t Jesse,” she cut me off. “Though I have heard a thing or two about him.”

“Isn’t he new? Why haven’t I met him before now? I mean, I met him the other day and he seemed to know more about this place than me. Has he worked here long?”

“Yeah, he’s been here for a couple of months. I’m not sure why he was gone for two weeks, though. Some medical leave of absence or something. I don’t have all the deets.”

I nodded slowly, letting my eyes wander to the bar. “Oh” was all I managed to say.

Having known me her entire life, Angie narrowed her eyes
and licked her bottom lip. “I recognize that ‘oh,’ Charlie. And I want you to get him out of your head right now. He’s bad news.”

I put my hands up defensively. “I know nothing about him. And nobody is in my head. I was just curious. He seems a little bit old to be a delivery guy, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, I think he’s like twenty-five or something.” She dipped her chin. “That should give you your first red flag.”

“What else have you heard about him?” I asked innocently.

She looked around the room to make sure no one was near, and brought her voice to a whisper. “He hits on all of the underage hostesses—which is just wrong, and gross. And I hear he does a lot of drugs—”

“Angie!” Karal called from the bar. “Eight-oh-two needs their tab!”

I shook my head and smiled. “We’ll chat more later.”

“Sounds good. But I mean it, hon: don’t give him another thought,” she scolded, walking back to her table.

Drugs and underage girls. Awesome. I sure knew how to pick ’em.

I rolled my eyes at my fixation with him the other night, hoping that the next time I saw Jesse I’d have my hormones in check. I’d thought about him a few times since, and had secretly wished he’d be working with me that night, but I hadn’t seen him.

With a small wobble, I stood and winced at the pain.

“Hey, Charlie,” Adam, the manager, said with an oily grin. His lips lingered on the syllables of my name a bit too long, igniting an instant stomachache.
See? Why can’t I get
that
feeling when I look at Jesse? He’s obviously just as vile.

I avoided eye contact and smiled while Adam eliminated names from the seating chart.

He continuously stole sideways glances at me as I tried to find something to clean. I was about to take out a feather duster when he finally turned.

“What are you doing tonight?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Oh gross. Why is he asking me?

“Nothing.”

He took a step closer and I took a step back. Just as I was about to pull the duster from the cupboard to arm myself, the front doors swung open.

Thank you, Jesus.

I faced the new customer, grateful and shocked when I saw his face.

Holy.

Shit.

Under the dim track lighting in the entrance, Jesse’s eyes landed on mine. His hands were in his pockets, and he jingled change inside his baggy jeans. His light hair showed off his perfect tan, and a small silver stud stuck out from his chin. A wide smile spread across his face when he saw me.

I hadn’t given facial piercings much thought before, but I suddenly discovered that labrets were my favorite.

From behind him, a girl appeared. He threw his arm around her and bile crept up my throat. It was Christy, the seventeen-year-old hostess.

She whispered something in Jesse’s ear, and with a nod she walked to the restroom. He then took a few steps forward and leaned against the countertop. With his thumb, he traced along the edge of the flyer coupons and stared at me.

I cleared my throat and felt a small crease form between my eyes. I looked at Adam briefly and he, too, watched Jesse curiously. An awkward and silent conversation between the two of them began, and ended with Jesse jerking his chin toward the kitchen, giving Adam a clear message to leave.