mari 💝

Situated comfortably between the cash registers is an old radio softly playing music. The sun beams in through the rightmost window, warm on your skin as you reach forward to replace the last ketchup bottle.

Your Monday morning regular had just come in– a nice middle aged nurse that works in town. Every Monday without fail, she comes in at 5am– the minute you open up– ending her night shift at the hospital here at the diner. You two always joke about how you’re just starting her day as she’s finishing hers. She doesn’t even bother ordering anymore. As soon as you see her sit down, you shoot her a nod and a thumbs up before bursting through the double doors to the kitchen.

“Rick! The usual for Ms. Sheila please!” you say, multitasking. Annoyed, you dump last night’s coffee down the drain, then toss the soggy, gunked up filter into the garbage. The smell of stale coffee grounds hit your senses stronger than you would have liked. 

“What’s the matter with you?” Rick asks. 

“Nothin’, you just suck at closing up by yourself is all,” you say, smiling, but giving him just enough attitude to keep him on his toes (as you’d often liked to do). 

He groans, clearly exhausted from the back to back shifts. His hand tightly grips the back of his neck as he speaks to you. 

“Sorry ‘bout that… long night,” he sighs. You start to refill the coffee maker, scooping the fresh grounds into the container with a new filter, letting your mind wander as you do so. You get a good look at Rick for the first time this morning, and he looks like shit. He has dark circles under his eyes, hair sticking in all directions, where he was usually clean-shaven, he’s now scruffy and dark, and by the looks of it, he was wearing the same shirt and jeans from yesterday. 

Nothing was worse than a closing and opening shift back to back. The diner stays open until midnight and opens back up at 5am and the short turnaround was just miserable. 

Though, a lot of folks in town appreciate the late hours. After around 10pm, you usually only see a few local cops, some night shift workers on their ‘lunch’ break, and the occasional group of teens being out later than they should. 

While the late nights were admittedly slow and granted Rick enough time to rest his feet or shovel some food in his mouth, it was still exhausting. 

The diner is owned by Rick’s father, who up until very recently was running the place like the navy. He suffered a stroke about three and a half weeks ago and hasn’t made much improvement since. When Rick isn’t at the restaurant, he’s probably half-asleep in an uncomfortable chair in his dad’s hospital room. So suddenly, Rick– who was just the diner owner’s son, part line cook, part waiter–  was now in charge of both taking care of his dad full time and taking over the restaurant, also full time. The stress has begun to take a toll on Rick to say the least. 

You’d offered to help several times in the last few weeks, asking if he needed an extra hand with anything, and of course he declined. Not taking no for an answer, you brought a casserole to his house one weekend morning when you knew he’d be home. 

“Wanna make sure someone in this town is lookin’ out for you too, Rick,” you’d said. 

In hindsight, you feel a little bad for teasing him so early in the morning. But, in some ways you want to keep treating him like you usually would– maybe he’s tired of getting that same sorry, sympathetic look from everyone he sees. News spreads like wildfire in a town this small; everybody and their mom knew what the Grimes family was going through. And while the looks of concern and kind condolences from locals are well-intentioned, he doesn’t care to talk about it much with anyone. At least your teasing makes him crack a smile every now and then. 

Rick finishes plating up Ms. Sheila’s food: blueberry pancakes, no butter, with a side bacon. He slides it onto the pass through, ringing the bell to let you know it was ready. You’d been bent down below the counter on the other side of the pass, shoving some sugar packets in your little apron pocket to go refill a few tables that are running low– looks like that didn’t get done last night either. The chime of the bell shocks your still-sleepy-system. You shoot up too quickly, causing you to hit your head on the underside of the counter. Now, you’re really glaring at him. He looks at you with a tired, sly smirk.

“Food’s ready,” he winks at you. 

“Thank you, Rick, I had no idea,” you say sarcastically and force a smile back at him.

You take the plate in one hand, a fresh cup of coffee in the other, and walk over to Ms. Sheila in her booth. 

“Blueberry pancakes, no butter, and a side of bacon,” you set her plate down with a sincere smile, “and here’s your coffee ma’am.” 

“Thank you darlin’,” she says, her southern accent strong and sweet. 

“I think Rick gave you an extra piece of bacon, looks like he’s feeling nice this morning,” you strike up a conversation with her, as you usually do. 

“That’s awful sweet of him,” she says with that aforementioned sympathetic look, “how’s he doin’? How’s Mr. Grimes?” She refers to Rick’s dad, lowering her voice, speaking so only you can hear her now. 

You match her tone, “Oh, I think they’re holding up best they can,” you say, checking over your shoulder to make sure Rick isn’t listening in, “but I think Rick is running himself into the ground. I try to help every now and then, but I don’t want to overstep, y’know?” 

“I do, I do,” she says, finishing up a bite of her pancakes before speaking again, “just keep an eye on him, will ya? I worry about’im.” 

“I sure will,” you nod. You continue to talk to her from a distance as you refill the sugars on the surrounding tables.

“How was the hospital last night?” you ask.

“Nothin’ terrible, thankfully. Just lookin’ forward to gettin’ some shut eye here pretty soon.” Ms. Sheila lived a short drive up the road. You nod, telling her to enjoy her pancakes before making yourself busy elsewhere. 

You burst through the double doors again, nearly colliding with Rick this time, causing a splash of cold coffee to join the many stains on his dirty white t-shirt. 

“Shit- sorry, Rick,” you say, grabbing a dish towel and trying to wipe him off before the stain sets in. 

“You’re fine sweetheart just slow down, will ya? We’ve only got one customer in here right now, what’re you rushin’ around for?” You always blush a little at the nickname, even though you know it didn’t really mean anything. Terms of endearment are used very casually here in the south, but a girl can dream.  

“I’m just trying to get ahead before the rush- I didn’t grab enough sugars to refill all the tables, the utensils and napkins still need to be rolled up, and did you even count the cash last night? I’m about to ring Ms. Sheila up and-” Rick interrupts your rambling, all but shoving a fresh coffee mug into your hand. 

“Sit down, drink this, then get to work. How’s that sound?” Rick bargains with you. 

“Alright, fine. Can I at least count the cash while I’m drinking my coffee?” You bargain back. 

“Deal,” he says. In an attempt to avoid another spill, he opens the double doors for you this time, letting you out of the kitchen.

You take a seat in the booth closest to the cash register, taking a sip of your coffee as you begin to count the cash from yesterday. It’s perfectly sweetened. He remembered how I like my coffee? You think to yourself with a smile- black, no cream, with a packet and a half of honey. You’d only mentioned it once in passing and that was months ago. And, Rick didn’t usually make your coffee (because he knows you’re rather particular) but he took it upon himself this morning as a thank you for doing a bunch of catch-up on things he skipped over late last night.  

~~~

Morning turned to afternoon, all of the regulars providing their usual small talk and offering their condolences to Rick. You could tell he was starting to get sick of it. You understand people are trying to be kind, but they’re acting like Mr. Grimes is already dead. 

As the end of your shift approaches, you start to gather your things. With your bag lazily slung over your shoulder and your denim jacket tucked under your arm, you head out the back door to find Rick outside smoking a cigarette. 

“Since when do you smoke?” you jest. 

“Since three weeks ago I guess,” he throws a forced smile in your direction, angling the open pack of cigs toward you– an offer. 

“Why not,” you shrug, taking a cigarette from the box and allowing him to light it for you. 

The two of you wordlessly smoke together for a few minutes, the silence anything but awkward. Quiet moments with Rick are more common nowadays, you’re learning to appreciate it best you can. 

Handsome as he may be, Rick truly looks like shit. His stress is palpable, so you do the only thing you know how– offer to help (again). You know he’ll reject it; you speak up anyway. 

“So, uh, why don’t you let me close up with you tonight? We’ll get out of here in half the time. I could use the extra hours anyway. Been a while since I worked a double.” You offer. Maybe if you frame it as something you want to do for yourself, he’ll be more inclined to accept. 

Rick thought to himself for a moment, never wanting to take advantage of your kindness. He knows you have to be up early to open the diner with Maggie tomorrow, which is why he didn’t schedule either of you to close up tonight (seeing as he is in charge of the schedule now). But if you really needed the extra hours, who was he to deny you. 

“Alright, fine.” He accepts. You grin as though you’d won an argument- if you could even call this an argument. “But you have to take a good break. Come back in an hour, yeah? In time for the dinner rush?” 

You try to hide your girl-ish grin, pleased with your ability to have convinced him so easily. 

“Sure thing, Grimes,” you press the butt of your cigarette into the bottom of your shoe before tossing it in the dumpster behind the diner. “See you in an hour!” You holler at him as you walk backwards to your car. 

“See ya,” he waves at you, biting back a bit of a smile himself. 

You’d love to go home and freshen up, but you live too far from the diner to justify the drive. It’d take you the whole hour just to get there and back, so you spend your break listening to some CD’s in your car. 

~~~

To your surprise, the dinner rush seems to go by just as fast as the morning did. Before you know it, it’s time to start closing up for the night. You slightly regret your offer as you realize you have to be back here in– you glance at the wall clock– five hours. It’s not like you plan to make a habit of working doubles, so you suck it up. 

Rick starts in the kitchen- rotating the stored food, washing all the remaining dishes, mopping up the floor, replacing the mats, and locking the walk-in freezer. He’s lost in thought as he works through the list of tasks to finish up, wondering why you’re so insistent on helping out, though he knows it's because you’re just too kind for your own good. You were always willing to go the extra mile, even for people that don’t deserve it at times. 

You start tending to everything outside of the kitchen- wiping all the tables, stacking the chairs, sweeping, mopping, tying up all the trash bags, refilling ketchup bottles and syrup dispensers, emptying the coffee maker. You smile to yourself as you do it, shaking your head as you think about your interaction earlier with Rick. Your favorite part was refilling all the creamer, sugar, salt, pepper, jam, and butter packets– getting them all organized and lined up neatly on each table. It was satisfying, even if they only stay this way while the place is closed. 

After that, you haul a (extremely overfilled) trash bag over your shoulder and shove your way through the back door to the dumpster when you see Rick burst through the double doors. 

“What’re you doin’?” he asks, already knowing the answer. 

“This is the last thing I have to do and then we’re closed up out there!” You huff, still trying to open the door. You’re at an awkward angle with the way you’re carrying the trash bag. 

“It’s late darlin’, I don’t want you goin’ out there on your own, gimme that,” he takes the trash bag from you and places his free hand on your hip to scoot you out of his way. Mind a little fuzzy, you do move in the direction of his gentle push, allowing him to shimmy out the back door to the dumpster.

A blush creeps up on your cheeks at the contact, but more so at the gesture. Rick did have a tendency to be a bit protective, it’s just who he is. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t turn you on a little bit. Although you know this doesn’t have anything to do with Rick specifically, it had just been a while since you’d been laid. You and Rick have been friends for far too long for him to ever see you that way anyway. 

The click and shut of the back door thankfully snaps you out of your thoughts. Rick gives you a warm look as he walks past you and back into the kitchen. You do a quick double check of everything on the main floor before following Rick into the back. 

“What else do you have left? I’m all done out there,” you say with your hands on your hips, catching your breath a bit after the long day. 

“Really? You’re quick, maybe I should let you close up with me more often,” he jokes, taking his waist apron off and hanging on the hook, “and I actually just finished up myself.”

“I’d be happy to, you know,” you say, a little meeker than you’d intended. 

Rick looks at you, holding your gaze for a moment longer than usual, then he nods.

“Alright then, I’ll uh- I’ll work on moving your hours around,” he pauses, eyes tired and gentle, “if you want.” 

You nod, “I’m ready for a change anyway. The early mornings are starting to make me feel crazy. I just end up sleeping all afternoon after I get off work, then I’m all screwed up in the evening… I’m rambling, sorry.” You offer a weak laugh to soften the mood. 

“I don’t mind it.” Rick says plainly. You nod in response. 

You gather up your bag, your denim jacket, and hang up your apron next to his on the hooks by the door. 

The two of you reach at the same time for your car keys, he swiftly pulls away, taking a step backwards and gesturing toward the hook as though to politely say, you first. You oblige, grabbing your keys. You then mimic his actions, pulling a small laugh from him. 

Rick holds the back door open for you, you thank him with a nod and start to round the corner of the building toward your car in the parking lot out front. Rick fumbles with the keys as he goes to lock the diner’s door.

“Wait up-” he says, finally finding the right key and locking the deadbolt, “lemme walk you to your car.” 

He jogs a bit to catch up with you. 

“Why, Grimes?” You say, bumping your hip against his as the two of you walk (albeit quite closely) to your car. 

“As a thank you for tonight, was nice of you to stay and help. I’m usually cleanin’ for another hour or so when I’m here by myself,” he says earnestly. 

“It’s nothin’ Rick,” you say, trying not to make a big deal out of anything, “just needed some extra hours,” insincere- knowing the only reason you’d offered to stay was to help him get out of there sooner so he could get some much needed sleep. 

“Right,” he smiles and nods, playing your game a little bit. “Well, happy to give you the spare shifts whenever you need ‘em sweetheart,” he bumps your hip back this time. 

The two of you arrive at your car, and you’re not sure why, but you feel like you’re supposed to hug him goodnight. 

So you do. 

Briefly, sweetly, you wrap your arms around his waist and press your cheek to his chest, giving him a quick squeeze. He hardly has time to process what you’re doing, barely wrapping his arms over your shoulders before you’ve already pulled away. He wears a caught-off-guard expression. 

“It’s gonna be okay, Rick,” you say, your quiet voice mixing with the electrical buzz of the warm street lamp illuminating the parking lot, “but, you’ve got to let us help you out– me, the Greenes– we’re here for you, alright?” 

“Thank you.” Rick says hesitantly. This is the first time you’ve gone all sympathetic sincerity on him since everything happened with his dad. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate it, he does, it was just a little left-field coming from you. 

You unlock your car and climb into the driver's seat, rolling down your window so you can keep talking to him. 

“Like I said, it’s nothin’, really,” you say, starting up your engine. 

“Get home safe, yeah?” Rick says, leaning down to peek his head where he can see you again. 

“Always do,” you tease, the two of you share a laugh, and you speak again, “see you Wednesday?” 

“See you Wednesday,” he confirms, tapping the roof of your car twice before walking away. 

You watch him walk in his bow-legged, confident, Rick-ish sort of way he walks– always with purpose, and always a little crooked. He gets in his truck, and the two of you leave the parking lot at the same time, pulling out of the lot in opposite directions.

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