Page 49 of True Colors

I dive back into the model, rechecking everything I’ve done—everything Erin mocked, everything Luther didn’t acknowledge. I fix what isn’t broken. Rewrite sections that were already clean.

My eyes burn, but I keep going.

Maybe if it’s perfect, Luther won’t think I’m incompetent.

Maybe if it’s perfect, I won’t feel like I’m a child again, standing in a courtroom with words trapped in my throat.

At nearly ten, I finally shut my laptop.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, Market Street glows with headlights and motion, the city moving on without me.

As I step toward the elevators, I’m startled to see a tall figure, hand pressed against the “down” button.

Luther turns.

He looks surprised to see me. “Still here?”

“I had…work.”

He tips his chin in acknowledgment. “Me, too.”

We ride down in silence down to the lobby.

When the doors open, he hesitates. “Have you eaten dinner?”

I short-circuit for a second. “N-no.”

“Let’s grab something nearby.” He shifts his backpack on his shoulder. “Pinecrest Diner’s still open.”

What does this mean? Nothing, Anouk. It means absolutely nothing. It’s a “you worked late and so did he” thing.

I respond without thinking, without weighing my words. “O-okay.”

What the hell are you doing, Anouk?

I don’t know!

We walk the two blocks to Pinecrest Diner, the city buzzing around us. I’ve been there a couple of times before. It’s typical with a big neon sign, chrome counters, and red vinyl booths.

We sit in a booth by the window, and a waitress in a blue apron comes over almost immediately and places menus in front of us.

Luther gives her a warm smile. “How’s your night going, Martha?”

She brightens. “Slow, hon, but slow is good at my age. You working late again?”

He laughs. “You know me! I’ll take my usual.”

Martha gives him an indulgent smile. “Alright, hon. One coffee and a patty melt with feta and extra onions.”

He nods and then glances at me. “Anouk?”

I scan the menu. I’m not getting a patty melt, for sure. It’s half a pound of ground beef with rye bread, cheese, and grilled onions. I don’t have that kind of appetite.

“Um. Gr-grilled cheese.”

Martha pats my hand. “Hon, that’s not enough food. I’ll bring you a side of tomato soup, too. You want something to drink?”

I shake my head. “Wa-water is fine.” I wait until she leaves and ask Luther, “You come here often.”