Bittersweet by Sareeta Domingo Page B

Whatever they say, I don’t want to know. I think the overall message is clear enough. He did try to tell me he was “broken”. And that running away is his thing, just like her .
    I should have listened.
    I slam the door behind me, feeling sick to my stomach again as I see Max’s text messages gleefully congratulating me for not having come home. I could be in a ditch for all she knows, I think grumpily, though I know none of this is her fault. She just wants me to be happy.
    I pass the elevator, but I can’t face getting in it, so I trudge down the stairs, cursing under my breath as I catch Wanda Priddy’s eye and see her smirk at watching me walk out of here alone. Like I needed to feel any smaller. I blink hard to get rid of the tears that begin to well up, and blink again as the harsh morning sunlight hits my face. So much for a “sunrise”.
    I start the short walk home, feeling like the very definition of a fool.

Chapter Eleven
    When Dinah Washington sang “What a Difference a Day Makes,” she’d obviously not had a bizarrely meaningful one-night stand with a ridiculously gorgeous, frustratingly mysterious guy who then up and left with the most cursory, insulting of goodbyes. I can’t stop reliving it all in my head, and three days have made absolutely no difference at all.
    “Shit,” I hiss as I overfill yet another salt shaker. My dad glances up at me over his glasses as he checks the cash register, but I know there’s only so many times he’ll ask me what’s crawled up my ass before he knows to leave me be. I think he gets flashbacks of me being a pre-menstrual teenager and he’s still battle-scarred.
    “Say, whatever happened to that handsome stranger you sent our way, C?” Jenna asks casually from across the restaurant. My jaw clenches, and it takes every fiber of my being not to bite her head off.
    I take a deep breath and shrug. “Who knows?”
    She comes over, leans against the counter, and sweeps the spilled salt into her hand. “Too bad, I thought his head had turned for you,” she says with a warm smile.
    “Well then, I guess it turned right back,” I say. Jenna raises an eyebrow, and with the salt cupped in one palm she lays a sympathetic hand on my shoulder with the other, but lets the topic drop.
    “All right. Night, hon. Goodnight, Joe,” she calls, heading out and throwing the salt over her shoulder as she steps outside, looking back at me with a wink. I feel horrible for thinking maybe she and Greg had hooked up—I’m glad she wasn’t consigned to that fate. I sigh for the umpteenth time today. I just don’t understand why—
    “I’ll finish up here, sweetheart,” Joe says, interrupting my thoughts and frowning at me as he shuts the register. “You look like you could use some rest.”
    “Look who’s talking.”
    “I’m almost done, Cath. Go on now.”
    He has his stern face on, but I know he’s just looking out for me. The last thing I want is him to be worrying about me on top of everything else. I force a smile and go over to give him a kiss on the cheek, seeing as nobody else is around.
    “Night, Dad.” He grins at that.
    I pull out my cell from my purse as I walk home through the balmy evening, and then have to remind myself for the millionth time that I never even gave Greg my number. I definitely don’t have his. I walk past the hotel, fighting the urge to go inside, but I don’t want to risk the chance that Wanda’s on the desk again tonight. I sure as hell don’t want to witness her smugness at my desperation. I can’t believe I still want to see him. Some stupid, idiotic, ridiculous part of me thinks that there must be some kind of explanation for why a guy would give me a mind-blowing orgasm, fall asleep holding me close, then decide it’s See ya later, thanks for the memories.
    I get home, and to the shock of my eyeballs—and nostrils—I see Maxine is in the kitchen, dashing from sink to stove, stirring pots and chopping vegetables in a