Page 66 of Lessons in Lemonade

Stripping off my apron, I toss it onto the counter and catch the eye of my sous chef. He pops one eyebrow up, confirming to me that everyone is onto me. Looking around, I see a few more of the kitchen staff is watching, and I can’t help but feel defensive.

“What?” I call out to them, tossing my arms in the air, trying to look at least five of them in the eye simultaneously. All of them evade me, out of fear, of course.

“Nothing, Chef. You all done over there?” He tilts his head toward the mess I’ve made.

I look back at the counter and frown. It really is a big mess. “Yes, I’m done.”

“All right then, we’ll clean that up while you’re out talking to Ms. Taylor,” he says. It’s subtle, but his words are enough to tell me the staff is uncomfortable around me and they’re ready for me to go. I should have picked up on that; they’ve been tiptoeing around trying to keep quiet and not disturb me.

“Thank you.” I nod to him. Tucking my tail, I make my way out to the dining room and then to the patio.

Sitting at my favorite table, I look around at the garden we’ve made. Last year, we made the decision to screen off the patio. We weren’t sure the city would approve of the outside changes, but they did and we’ve never looked back. The mosquitos around here can be vicious at times, and with the herbs, vegetables, and flowers on the patio and outside down the sidewalk, this keeps the bees away from the diners.

“So, Jack left?” Taylor says before she even gets to her seat.

“He did.” There’s no sense in denying it; everyone seems to have figured it out already.

As she sits, she hands me my glass and asks, “When is he coming back?”

I take a sip before I reply. This coffee is hitting the spot.

“I don’t know. Never?” I shrug my shoulders and frown. There’s a twinge of humidity in the air today, and the outside of the coffee glass is quickly covered in condensation.

She leans forward in her seat. “So, him leaving is not about him just checking in with his trainers back in Tampa?”

“No.” It didn’t occur to me that people might think I was working extra hours just because he went out of town for a bit.

“What happened?” She looks genuinely concerned about this new discovery.

“Nothing.” I shake my head then take another sip. Man, do I hate these types of conversations.

“Well, something had to have happened.” Her tone is slightly animated and accusatory.

“Nothing happened. I just can’t give him what he wants.”

People on the sidewalk pass us, and I overhear one say to the other that they need to stop in and eat here again, that the food was delicious last time. It lifts my spirits a tiny bit, but Taylor keeps going, and she’s a complete buzzkill.

“And what is it he wants?”

“A relationship. A forever. I don’t know. We were just meant to be friends, and he wanted to change us. I can’t do that.”

Looking past her, my gaze catches on the magnolia tree across the street. It’s in a random spot, in the corner of the lot, and there are a few blooms left on it, but not many as its flowering season is almost over. I can’t help but wonder if Jack cut a few from this one too.

Jack. My heart twinges.

“I hate to break it to you, but for all your determination to say you’re just friends, you’re kind of wrong.”

My eyes come back to hers, and she’s scowling at me.

“You were in a relationship with him whether you want to admit it or not. Think about it.” She leans back in her chair. “Y’all were living together, spending all of your time together, being intimate with each other, and don’t deny it because I saw it firsthand the day of the brunch, and well, it’s the significant other who always holds the title of best friend. Open your eyes, Meg, and see this for what it is. You were in a relationship with Jack. Jack Willett was your boyfriend.”

Hearing her put it like that, the dull pain that’s been simmering in my chest since he left intensifies.

How do I answer that? Because looking at it from this perspective, she’s not wrong.

Guilt washes over me, because even more than before, this solidifies to me that this situation between us is my fault. I’ve been trying to put it on him, telling myself he’s the one who changed us, but I allowed the change to happen. I gave in to it, and in doing so, I gave him false hope. I led him on, which makes me a horrible person. I did this to him; he didn’t do it to himself.

“Maybe, but then that makes his decision to leave even more the right thing to do.”