"We, as in 'the human race?' Or we, as in 'our friendship?'"
He smiles, and I finally have him back. "You must think I'm a lot more introspective than I am."
"What? You're offended that I find you interesting?"
This time I get the real smile at my teasing. "Not offended, but concerned you'll be disappointed by the truth about me at some point."
"Which truth? That you used to be the life of the party and silly? It's already out."
He shakes his head, the grin still in place. "True."
"Fortunately for me and my morning breakfasts at Jemma's, I don't think you're as shallow as you think you are."
"I used to be shallow."
"Maybe. Or maybe you used to pretend you were shallow."
"I wasn't pretending."
"Then maybe we have different definitions of shallow."
"Obsessed with celebrity and all that comes with it?"
It's my turn to smile. "Ok, maybe we do have the same definition of shallow."
He returns it. "It's hard not to be shallow when you're a celebrity and drowning in all that comes with it."
Another piece falls into place. It's the way he says it. The way his eyes change. The way the circle just completed itself. Drowning. He didn't have to use that word. I start to understand what the media and masses could not. He had to walk away from them because he couldn't be a celebrity anymore. He didn't want all that came with it. I just need to find out why.
"I should probably go. I have a long day ahead," Luke says, and I regret letting the conversation die.
"Anything interesting planned?"
"Nothing that isn't personal."
"Sorry."
But he's smiling, so he's not really upset. "Don't be." He tosses some bills on the table and pauses. "It's mostly legal stuff."
I nod like I understand what that means.
I don't.
Day Seven.
"You're late today," I observe.
"Am I?"
Luke takes off his jacket and slings it over the back of the chair.
"I thought we make our own hours," he argues.
He's got a point.
"I thought you like to beat the admiring horde traffic."
I have one, too.
"Fair enough. I had a late night."
"Anything interesting?"
I was joking, but he's not, and looks away. "No. Couldn't sleep."
"I'm sorry."
He shrugs and stares back at the menu like he hasn't practically memorized it by now. I know I have. We need something to study when we don't want to look at each other or the chair. I like the "Breakfast All Day" insert. He seems to prefer the senior specials. I have no idea why. Then it occurs to me that when he buries himself in the menu he doesn't actually read it like I do. I wonder if he even notices his gaze tends to linger on the senior specials. I decide to find out.
"You know, you have to be over 55 to order from that page."
He clears his throat, and I can actually see the moment when his eyes change from vacant to focused.
"I'm sure they'd let me, I just wouldn't get the discounted pricing."
"That's true. And to be honest, I bet Ailee would overlook the age restriction and still give you the discount."
"Ailee?"
I motion toward the hostess station. She's not watching us. At least, not at this second. But she was before we looked because there is no other way to explain the awkward way she leans against the counter in the opposite direction she should be facing.
"I don't think I've ever seen a person do such a complete 180 before. You were a thorn in her side a few days ago."
"I still am, probably."
"Yeah, sure. A thorn from a beautiful fragrant rose she will dip in gold and hang above her bed."
"That's disturbing on so many levels."
"Maybe. But am I wrong?"
He glances over at her discreetly and smiles.
"I bet she saves your receipts," I continue.
"She wouldn't be the first."
"It's memories and an autograph all in one."
"Nah, just memories. I pay in cash."
"To avoid leaving an autograph?"
"To avoid having my credit card stolen."
"True. Yours would probably be more tempting than mine."
He smiles again. A crafty one this time. I haven't seen that one before. "Yeah, maybe, but they'd be disappointed."
"Why's that?"
"I only have a thousand dollar limit on the card I use for this type of stuff."
"That's smart."
"I said I was silly, not stupid."
"Yeah, about that. Does silly mean the same thing in South Africa that it means here?"
"Frivolous."
"Ok, fine. Although, for the record, it can also kind of mean stupid."
"I was making a point."
"I know, sorry. I just struggle to see you as silly. Either definition."
"You wouldn't have a year ago."
"When you were the life of the party."
"When everything was a joke and I refused to take life seriously."
"A lot of people are like that."
"Silly people."
"Scared people."
He quiets. I struck something.
"You sound like a psychiatrist."
"I'm sensing that. And how does that make you feel?"
His grin is genuine this time, and I relax. Nothing personal. I keep forgetting that.
"So just to be clear, you're paying for the coffee today, right?" he asks.
"I don't know if I can risk it. I have more than a thousand dollar credit limit on my card."
He glances at Ailee. "I think you're good."
Day Eight.
Luke isn't alone today. At first I'm disappointed and wish I could disappear into the floor. I begin to anticipate the embarrassment when he will pause on his way by, apologize, and strand me at our table by myself.
I brace myself as he approaches, my mind trying to formulate a response that can help preserve my dignity by some impossible miracle. I can almost feel our morning audience's curiosity about how the drama will unfold.
"Callie."
"Luke."
"This is Casey."
"Hi. I'm Casey."
Luke rolls his eyes and pulls out his chair. My breath returns when I realize I haven't been rejected, I've been included.
I have trouble tearing my eyes away from Luke, like always, but I also realize there's a limited window to evaluate Casey while he's distracted with his own chair. He's dressed like Luke. Same styled hair that's meant to look like it's not. Monochrome tattoos, jeans from some high-end store I don't have access to. An air of confidence bred by more than unjustified ego. Casey has to be a band-mate.
Ailee is probably hyperventilating right now.
"Do you always get up this early?" Casey asks, a little teasing and a lot serious.
Luke shrugs. "If you come later you don't get to eat. You know how it is once you're spotted."
Casey seems to understand, but I get the sense he's not as bothered by the intrusive attention as Luke. Casey didn't walk away from celebrity. Casey might still be silly. Casey doesn't have a ghost chair.
"Welcome to our breakfast club," I say, mostly because if I don't say something soon I will lose my status in the group. I don't want to be downgraded to Luke's diner sidekick.
"Yeah, Luke was telling me about your little breakfast club. Pretty crazy story."
It is, but I don't want to discuss it. I don't know Casey yet. "Then I'm sure he also told you about how incredibly witty and smart I am. I'm great company."
Casey grins and casts a look at Luke that I don't miss. "He's told me some things," he responds cryptically.
Surprised, I watch Luke, figuring I'll get more information out of his response. Sure enough he doesn't look happy about his friend's confession. And of course, now I have to wonder what "things" Casey was told.
"How about you not be a jerk for twenty seconds," Luke mutters, and Casey's grin only widens. Our guest turns to me.
"Don't let his puppy dog eyes and sob-story fool you. This man is no boy scout."
"Casey, not now."
"What? I know you, dude. You get lost in your head and shut down."
Now, Luke is very upset. "Will you stop? It's not your business. Not now!"
We're starting to get more attention, and Casey's smile falters. "I'm just looking out for you. You have to move on. You can't keep doing this to yourself. You screwed up. We all do. That doesn't mean everything that happens from that point on is your fault."
Luke's eyes narrow, and I think they might bore a hole through his friend's brain.
"You agree with me, right?" Casey continues, drawing me into this for some reason. "He needs to stop punishing himself. It's been a year. He can't torture himself forever."
"Casey!"
"What? I'm just … "
"She doesn't know," Luke hisses.
Casey looks startled. "What?"
"She doesn't know, ok?" Luke repeats, and now we all feel miserable.
An awkward silence follows.
Casey figures out there's a menu he can pretend to read, but isn't good at that yet. He turns the pages too fast and doesn't move his eyes enough. Luke abandons decorum altogether and glares through the restaurant, seemingly irate at some offense of the coatrack. For my part, I'm both haunted and fascinated by the new clues into Luke's story and almost forget about my companions as I try to piece them together with the old ones.