My Wrath is a Mirror | ONC 2022

Seven

The smell of deep fried goodness hits my nose before we even step into Lola's 24-hour diner. The scent brings back fond memories that make me want to curl up in a booth and order an extra-large milkshake and fries to share, just like old times.

And maybe that's what brings the broad smile to my face—Lola's is the one place that hasn't changed at all in the last six years. "It's just like I remember," I say mostly to myself, but Wesley's eyes dance as he takes my hand and leads me to my favorite corner booth. His fingers are so warm and gentle that I almost whine when he lets go to take our seats. Damn hormones.

The menu hasn't been altered at all since I'd been here last, so I already know what I want to order when the waitress comes around—strawberry banana pancakes with a side of bacon.

"I should have known," Wesley says after putting in his order of a burger and cheesy fries. "I guess all-day breakfast really is the best part about this place."

"You know I could eat breakfast food for every meal, I don't know why you're surprised." I love this easy talk with him. It feels old and new at the same time, like re-reading a book you haven't picked up in a decade and forgot what happened in the story. It's almost like Wesley and I are writing an alternate ending to the book we'd thought had been closed.

At least, that's how it feels for me. I didn't think I would ever see Wesley again. Not because of him or anything he did, but because my coping mechanism is distance. At least, that's what my therapist in college said. I was in survival mode. By separating myself, I thought I was protecting myself, and after a couple years went by I realized what I was missing, but I doubted Wesley even thought about me once.

"Did you ever think of me after I left town?" The words fall from my mouth like a boulder downhill and I am mortified of the crushing blow, but Wesley counters my ultra-personal out-of-the-blue question with one of his own.

"Are you saying you didn't forget about me either, or am I just being foolishly hopeful?"

My breath is caught in my lungs and my words are stuck in my throat. He's showing me his vulnerable side and dammit, I had just told myself that I'm not here to rekindle any relationship with him, but he's making it damn difficult! Should I be truthful and tell him all the things I've been feeling for him the past few days? Wouldn't that only make it worse when I leave again?

"I thought a lot about how terrible I was to you before," I tell him, deciding to go with a half-truth. "I know you were just trying to be there for me after the wreck, but there was nothing that could have helped me then. I didn't think you'd ever forgive me."

"I know, Kamille. I've done a lot of growing up since then too and I now realize there's some battles you have to fight yourself." I look up at him through my lashes to find him twisting the bracelet on his wrist.

"I can't believe you still wear that," I gawk. How did I not notice it before? The leather is soft and faded now, but the beads on it are distinct. I tied it to his wrist with a knot he taught me how to make—one he learned as an Eagle Scout—that he swore wouldn't come undone.

Wesley reaches across the table so I can get a better look at it. "It's not like I can take it off without breaking it, and it just hasn't fallen off yet," he says, and I'm impressed. Who knew the bracelet I'd make him for Christmas junior year would have held up for so long? And the fact that he'd worn it this whole time and not ripped it off the moment I left him...

"I'm happy you still have it," I admit, and it patches up a place in my heart I didn't realize was so tender. He did think of me, every time he felt the strip of leather circling his wrist. Such small trinkets hold so much emotional essence, like Wesley's bracelet, Kamryn's keychain, and the twin stars around my neck. I pull the necklaces from my collar so Wesley can see, to show him that he's not the only one who hangs on to people who are gone.

When our food arrives, Wesley digs into his burger with fervor, and I do the same with my pancakes, suddenly aware of how hungry I am. They are drenched in strawberry syrup and layered in banana slices and whipped cream. We eat in silence for a while until our stomachs are mostly satiated, then Wesley waves a cheesy fry in direction.

"So how exactly did you become a landowner the day your house is sold?" He asks before popping the cheesy fry in his mouth.

I stifle a giggle at the cheese dripping from the corner of his lip, but then suck in a breath the moment his tongue darts out to lap it away. His eyebrows rise, as if he knows exactly what I'm thinking, and so I fling my straw paper at him.

"It was my mom's idea, actually. We were thinking it could be a kind of memorial to Kamryn and Dad," I shrug. I feel weird saying out loud, as if the idea were laughable. But Wesley's bright grin makes my chest flutter with hope.

"That's awesome, Kamille! Are you going to revitalize the playground, or turn it into a greenspace or something?" He asks.

I pick at a piece of banana on my plate. "Actually, I haven't thought that far ahead. And the deal isn't done yet. We meet with them tomorrow to go over the details." He smiles at me again and I manage to look away this time, finishing off my bacon. "How long has it been abandoned?"

Wesley shrugs and rubs the back of his neck with one hand, leather bracelet dangling with the movement. "Hard to say. Maybe five years or so? When Reading began expanding, there were newer places for people to spend their time, I guess. Not that many kids are the outdoorsy type these days."

I shake my head. "Things aren't like they were when we were kids. When did you get your first cell phone? When you were like twelve?"

Wesley laughs. "My niece is six and she has one. Maybe when your park is open again, we can take her there." He blinks and nibbles on his lower lip for a moment before continuing. "If you don't mind, that is."

I want the park to be a place for others to go and enjoy themselves, but I hesitate at making plans for the future. Who knows where I'll be when the park is open?

I'm saved from giving a half-lie when the waitress comes with our check. When Wesley reaches for it, I stop him with a gentle touch, fingers softly brushing his. "I got this one—just sold my house, remember? I'm rolling in dough."

Wesley snorts out a laugh. " Alright moneybags, as long as you promise to let me get the next one," he concedes, mirth in his voice and a vow in his eyes. I hide my grin as I turn to dig my wallet out of my bag, secretly hoping the next time I'm out with Wesley will be soon.