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Linda's been going to the diner down the street from her grandparents' house for as long as she can remember. Every Sunday, pie and coffee, right after Sunday dinner. Gramma on her left, grampa on her right, her mother and father across from her. Hugo never goes. There are some places he isn't allowed, some things she's not ready to share, and that's okay, her mother says. He's not her husband, not yet.
"You want your mother to ride back with you?" Even now, out of college and actually working, her father insists someone ride with her. Even if it's completely out of the way to give her mother a ride home and go back to her own place, her father will suggest it. Her mother squawks, hands flying through the air as they take her grandparents out to the car. They've left her with the check, again.
"So is this, like, a Sunday tradition?" Linda looks up, dropping all her change onto the floor.
"Ah, shit. Sorry! Sorry, that's--"
"No, it's my fault, I'll--"
"Thank you, really, I'll just--"
Under the table, he grabs her hand. She can feel the stone of her engagement ring pressing into his palm, but he doesn't seem to notice. "I see you in here all the time," he says quietly. Linda nods. She's seen him, too. Tall, dark haired, hard working -- he's her type plus one.
"Bobby! Bobby, you can play with your girlfriend later, there's work to do!"
"Dad, she's--" He shakes his head, getting out from under the table and helping her up. "Sorry. I, uh. I gotta go. Here's your change. Tab's on me. Seriously. Just leave it." He disappears into the kitchen without a word. Linda can only watch.
She starts inventing excuses for herself to go back. If anyone in town asks, she's visiting her grandparents. Gramma has wedding advice, she's hunting for that old veil -- anything to get her in the diner, get a cup of coffee in her hands.
"So it's Bobby, or--"
"My old man calls me Bobby. It's Bob, but uh." He grins, wiping a ring of coffee off the counter. "It sounds good, the way you say it." Linda flushes. She doesn't wear her engagement ring here anymore, but she covers the hand it should be on, her cheeks flushed. Bob never seems to notice. "Hey." He taps the counter. "I know you're not that interested in me as a...a whatever."
"I didn't--"
"I'm not trying to come onto you. Like. Like that's not what's happening. I mean..." Bob shakes his head. "Maybe that is what's happening. Shit, I don't know." He goes to refill another customer's mug, brings a few plates when the order comes up. Linda doesn't move. She's a fixed point between him and the entire world, and she could watch him move for hours. Hugo never moves this fast. He doesn't move with...with intent. When Bob moves, it's like he knows there's more places than here he's supposed to be going.
"I'm okay with it," she says quietly, when he comes back.
He scowls. "Okay with what?"
"You. Coming onto me. It's uh." She ducks her head. "It's fine. I'm fine. With that."
Bob stands up a little straighter, his gaze right on hers. She doesn't look away.
"Linda. Linda."
"Wah, what? What is it, who's on -- oh. Hugo."
"Where'd you go, you've been zoned out for ten minutes."
She shakes her head. "Sorry, just...just wedding thoughts. That's all."
Talking about the wedding makes Hugo happier, and Linda entertains the discussion. She's happy about it, too. She loves Hugo. Of course she wants to marry him.
She just wants other things before that.
"We're closed, I just forgot to lock...lock the door. Linda."
She crosses the room, dropping her bag on the floor at his feet and hauling him in by his stupid greasy apron. Hugo's the better kisser, which is the first thought that crosses her mind and it shouldn't be, but it is. But still. It's kind of exactly how she imagined it.
"I would like you to do more than flirt with me."
"I can do that."
"Great. Please tell me you don't live with your dad."
Bob laughs, pulling her back in. It's softer now, and his hands feel good on her arms. "No. I don't live with my dad. I, uh. I don't have a car though. I mean we can walk, it's not far."
"Bob. Lock this hellhole up and go get in my freaking car."
"I think I'm going to really, really like it when you get bossy like that." Linda laughs, letting him pull her outside. She doesn't think about what that means while he fumbles with the keys. Not once. Not even a little bit. "Sorry, I'm just. I'm nervous. About. This. Whatever it is. Just take a right up here at the stop sign." She nods, following his mumbled instructions, distracted by his hand on her knee, the way his thumb strokes her bare skin, the way she wants more, the way she wants, the way she shouldn't.
"Sorry it's such a dump in here."
When he lets her in, Linda looks around, expecting piles and piles of laundry and take out boxes. But there's nothing. Literally. There's nothing. There's a bed in the corner and a recliner nearby. A tv sitting on a box. A table with two chairs. Linda looks at him, really looks at this goofy guy with his goofy mustache and his goofy, empty apartment and she knows.
"It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter at all."
He makes her completely crazy.
She's falling in love, and she should stop it. She should turn around and never come back.
Hugo thinks she's out of town for an interview.
Hugo thinks she's still in love with him.
Hugo thinks she still wants to marry him. Bob doesn't know she's supposed to get married. Everywhere she turns she's dug herself a new hole.
Maybe she does, maybe she doesn't. All she knows is this? The way he kisses her, the way he touches her, the way he talks about the things he wants, the things he's going to do, the little things he's always dreamed of having -- his own place, his own family, his own success -- it makes her want to be a part of it.
"Okay, okay, okay. I'll stop laughing, I'm sorry!" Linda rolls over to the other side of the bed, dragging the sheet over her head. "Bobby. Meatsiah?"
"I will make one for you right now, I am not kidding. It's so fucking good."
"Bobby. Bobby, I love it. I love all your ideas. Every single one of them."
"I'm gonna leave next month. There's this place, this town on the ocean. I got a good spot, I'm going for it. My old man is selling the diner, and I'm gonna be free." Bob reaches out, cupping her cheek. "Come with me."
"What?"
"You should come with me."
Linda sits up. "What are you saying?"
Bob frowns. "You know what I'm saying. What have we been doing all summer?" Linda shrugs. "Look. I...I love you. Linda, I love you. And I want you to come with me. We can get married, settle down a little bit. This place has an apartment upstairs, I'll rent that, too. I'll get something nice for us, we'll...we'll do this together."
Linda stares at him, feeling an angry heat rise up in her face.
Angry at herself.
"Bob...Bob I gotta go. I..."
"Linda--"
"I'll call you. I'll be back on Friday, I promise. I just...I need to sort something out." She tugs her dress on over her head, slipping into her shoes. "I'll be back, I swear."
She leaves with the idea that she might not come back, but she knows that's not what's going to happen.
She knows she's in love with Bob, that she's fallen out of love with Hugo. That this has gone somewhere she didn't mean for it to go, but now she's realizing -- this is the only place she was ever meant to be.
"Ma. Ma!"
"Linda. Linda, what. What do you want, it's the middle of the night -- oh. Sweetheart." She must look worse than she thought she did. Her mother takes her inside, screaming at her father that nothing is wrong, go back to bed for the love of Christ. There's a cup of tea in her hands, a splash of whiskey for good measure. Linda drinks half of it. "Tell me what's wrong."
"I don't want to marry Hugo."
"Who did you meet?"
Linda looks away, worried the truth is as obvious as she thought it was. Of course her mother knows. Her mother always knows.
And so she tells her. She tells her about the lies, about Bob, about what he wants to do. She tells her about how he makes her feel, how he has dreams and plans for the future and how Hugo can't talk beyond next Tuesday, and she doesn't love him anymore.
"You need to tell Hugo, before you get yourself into a bigger mess than you already are."
"Ma."
"Truth hurts, sweetie. Go upstairs and get some rest though. You can -- Al, will you shut up?" Linda shakes her head, pressing a kiss to her mother's cheek and heading to bed.
It hurts a lot less than she thought it would.
Sure, Hugo cries. Linda can't seem to. Sure, Hugo accuses her of cheating. She doesn't deny it. Sure, Hugo talks about the deposit he put down for the caterer's. Linda tells him she'll pay him back. He gets up and leaves her apartment.
She goes to Bob's.
"Oh, nine-three, I like that."
"Huh?" Bob looks up from another box he's unpacking as Linda slides their marriage certificate into a photo album.
"Nine-three. We got married on September third."
"We did?"
"Bob. It was a week and a half ago."
"I'm bad with dates. I forgot my mother's birthday every year." He sets another box down. "Shit, I forget my own all the time."
"Bobby, you can't forget your own birthday."
"Yes. I can. I do it every year. Can you set those ketchup bottles out?"
"I'm just sayin', a person doesn't forget their own birthday."
Bob puts a hand on her shoulder, grinning at her. "Linda. Trust me. I forget my own birthday."
For some reason, for just a second, she falls for him all over again.