Page 98 of You'll Love it Here

“I don’t know, I think it’ll go better than you think. It’s worth a shot, isn’t it?”

“I’ll think about it.” I grin.

It’s when I’m back on the sparsely filled, moderately sketchy train (if I choose to worry about the guy in the neon-yellow jumpsuit staring straight at me with wide fucking eyes!), that my mind drifts to the other residents. (I’m choosing to ignore the man, until he pulls out a weapon, or anything else, from his pants.)

A couple of hours ago was my celebratory visit with Irene and Ernest (I stopped at the convenience store for ice-cream bars). And a few minutes after my second visit with Sami (the visit was overtaken by Abu, but Sami’s going to come by tomorrowevening and leave the diner to his staff so we can have a proper hang).

I pull out my phone and find myself opening the old Slack. Scanning the messages.

The last ones were filled with my instructions for the city council meeting we were so proudly rallying for. Even Carmen had joined the thread to help prepare for it.

They were so grateful for my help. And then it all went to shit.

After their hopeful messages, the Slack went silent. I wonder if they made a new one that doesn’t include me.

But these aren’t my corporate friends. It’s not that I wasn’t “good enough,” it’s that I hurt them. I start typing and then delete my words several times.

Finally, I just write:Good News! The building is going to be repaired!

I stare at my message floating on the screen for a good while with no reaction, before finally putting my phone down.

(Is that guy moving closer? I swear he was two seats back last time I looked. He catches me looking and I quickly avert.)

My phone lights up with a message. And then another.

Jane Brando, 8:09 p.m.:Mona! That’s great. Thank you for all you did.

Jane Brando, 8:11 p.m.:How’s Alice?

Carmen Thurston, 8:13 p.m.:HOT DOGGGG I’m going to be back

Another message comes in as I’m reading.

Lorna Frank, 8:13 p.m.:Me too. But the Geese must’ve been having a field day.

Jane Brando, 8:16 p.m.:Did you already watch that sexy thriller with the creepy priest on Netflix? Bunch of assholes.

Jane Brando, 8:16 p.m.:Sorry, it’s been awhile. That was meant to be a DM.

Norm Olivers, 8:18 p.m.:Thanks very much, Mona. I can’t wait to come back and see you guys.

Janine Chen, 8:19 p.m.:Happy for you all. Marcus and I have split. We won’t be back.

The Best Building Mixer of All

And four months after that...

I pull the door open—the bell dings as I step inside—and it’s like slipping into a warm bath after a long day.

Every time I come into the diner now, I feel refreshed. The layout is the same, but so many little things have changed over the past six months that it’s hard to tell what remains.

I take in the clean wooden tables, set with tablecloths and vases of fresh-cut flowers. The classic smell of the deep fryer melds with something savory and herbal.

Kelly, one of the servers Sami hired for busier evenings, waves at me between polishing wineglasses. “Hey, Mona. You’re the first one here, obviously.”

I shake my head. “It’s always like that.”

Kelly nods to one of the glasses in her hand. “Would you like a glass of white while you wait?”