I close my eyes as Harper drives the seven miles out of New Albany and into neighboring Gahanna where the Dead End Diner sits at the end of, you guessed it, a dead end street. Open twenty-four hours, the Dead End has been owned by the same family for over sixty years and has become a Columbus institution. You can get a cheeseburger at nine in the morning and coffee and eggs at midnight if you want. The owner says he doesn’t even have a key to the place anymore since they never close. Even on Christmas Day.
As Harper pulls into the gravel parking lot, I open my eyes. There are a few cars parked in front of the classic fifties diner that looks more like a train car than a building. I look for Luke’s truck. The Dead End is his favorite. He’s not here.
“Caffeine awaits you,” Harper says, turning off the SUV and hopping down on the gravel. We walk in silence up to the front door, her hand placed gently on my shoulder blade. The crunch of the gravel and the buzz of the Dead End’s neon sign fill the space between us, drowning out the silent questions that have to be running through Harper’s brain. How could you? What’s wrong with you? I asked myself the same questions while downing a half a bottle of Mad Dog that looked like Windex and didn’t taste much better. Mad Dog tastes like somebody liquefied blue Jolly Ranchers in cough syrup and then mixed it with rubbing alcohol. The taste still lingers on my tongue.
A couple tables are occupied. One booth holds a group of teenage boys I don’t recognize, scarfing down big plates of fried eggs and hash browns. In the back, a twenty-something couple share loving gazes and a plate of fries. Vom. A Gahanna cop sits on a red stool at the cream Formica counter, sipping a cup of coffee and reading yesterday’s newspaper.
Harper and I slide into our favorite booth next to the cigarette machine that even with Ohio’s strict smoking laws, the Dead End still keeps.
We don’t even bother to look at the menus. Rachel, the forty-something night shift waitress, brings freshly refilled pops to the boys three booths behind us. She sees us and walks over to our table.
“Hey, girls,” Rachel says, pulling a pencil out of her messy bun. “French fries with a side of ranch and coffee?”
“Please,” I answer, fighting the urge to lay my head on the table while Rachel grabs two ceramic cups and one of the pots behind the counter. The cups clang, clang, clang with every step back to our table. She places them in front of each of us and pours.
“Reagan, you look like you’ve had a long night,” Rachel says, studying my face. She fills my cup, slides it closer to me, and places the pot on the table. “I’ll leave this for you ladies. French fries will be up in a few.”
The Dead End’s fries are the best. Hand cut and generously seasoned. I know I should get something in my stomach to soak up the alcohol but I’m not very hungry. In my Mad Dog state, I almost forget why. But Luke’s shattered face comes back to me. Pain crawls up my body, tightening my muscles and squeezing my lungs. I deserve it. I deserve every gut-wrenching breath. There’s no such thing as a happy ending for a girl like me. How selfish am I to forget that?
I pour cream into my coffee and stare at the swirling patterns until the milk takes over, infusing itself into the hot liquid, turning its black hole a caramel cream. I can feel Harper’s eyes on me, the air between us dense with questions she’s too good a friend to ask and answers I’m too broken to give.
“So…” she says, breaking the silence. “What are the chances Mal gets some rare form of mouth herpes after making out with that Australian guy?”
I spit out a laugh. Harper always knows exactly what I need.
“From what I saw, he was pretty cute,” I answer and bring the coffee to my lips. I blow at the steam before taking a sip.
“Yeah, too cute for me,” Harper declares, stirring cream and sugar into her cup. “You can just tell he’s banged a ton of chicks, right? He’s got that look to him.”
“Well, I think Malika won’t let things get too far with that guy,” I answer and fold my hands in front of me. “Maybe just a kiss so she can scratch another continent off her list.”
“She’s freaking hilarious,” Harper says and shakes her head.
“So what else did I miss tonight?”
“You mean while you were downing a Mad Dog basically by yourself?”
“Exactly,” I answer with a nod.
“Let’s see,” Harper says, tapping a finger to her forehead. “My Australian soccer player seemed like a nice guy until he spotted Madison wearing a dress about an inch from her vag. He took one look at her, turned to his friend, and yelled ‘dibs’ right in front of me. So that was awesome.”
“What an asshole,” I reply and take a gulp of coffee. “Would you like me to beat him up?”
“Not necessary but thank you for the kind offer, darling,” Harper answers with a wink. “Let’s see, what else … Owen cheated on Annie with some skanky freshman, the Goldach twins broke some really fancy, expensive crystal vase in the foyer, and I heard Renee puked all over the wine cellar after she and Jenna chugged a two-thousand-dollar bottle of wine.”