Twenty minutes later I’m sliding into a cracked vinyl booth at Mel’s Diner, watching steam rise from coffee cups held by people who probably remember when this place was new.
The whole drive over, she kept one hand on my knee while I navigated through downtown traffic. Every red light, she’d squeeze gently and smile like we’d been doing this for years. Like this was just another Friday afternoon with her husband.
Now she’s sitting across from me, chin resting on her palm, studying my face with those vivid green eyes. The way she looks at me... it’s like I hung the fucking moon. Like I’m the most fascinating thing she’s ever seen instead of a dead man walking through the motions.
“So what’s your name?” The words slip out before I can think them through.
Her expression freezes. The warmth drains from her eyes, replaced by something sharp and cold that makes my skin prickle.
“You forgot your wife’s name?”
She’s not breaking character. This performance is everything to her, and I just stepped out of it with both feet.
“Sorry, no. What I meant to say was...” I pause, scrambling for a way to play into whatever script she’s written in her head. “My coworkers asked me about you, and I wasn’t sure if I should give them your nickname... or maybe... I don’t know, so I figured I’d ask my beautiful wife.”
I reach across the table and take her hand in mine.
She simply melts in her seat.
The transformation is instant and complete. Her shoulders drop, her breathing slows, and that dangerous coldness evaporates like it was never there. She looks down at our joined hands with wonder.
“Well, of course tell them my name is Alyssa,” she says, voice soft and breathless. “Just like it always has been.”
I nod. “Of course.”
The waiter appears like he’s been waiting for this exact moment, pad already in hand. Before I can even reach for the menu, Alyssa’s ordering for both of us.
“He’ll have the full stack of pancakes with extra butter and syrup,” she says, not taking her eyes off me. “And I’ll have the garden salad.”
“I was just going to get coffee.” I say, but she’s already handing the menus back, dismissing the waiter with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“You need to eat,” she says once we’re alone again. “You’re starving.”
The concern in her voice sounds genuine, but there’s something underneath it. Something that expects compliance.
“I really don’t feel very hungry.”
The words barely leave my mouth before I watch her face change again.
“I said you’re starving.”
The silence stretches between us. Other conversations continue around us, the clink of silverware, the hiss of the grill, but our little booth has become its own isolated pocket of tension. She’s staring at me with those green eyes, waiting for me to fall back in line. I have no idea where this train is going but i decide to keep it on the rails for now.
I nod slowly. “You’re right. I am pretty hungry actually.”
The relief that washes over her face is immediate. She slides out of her side of the booth and settles in next to me, her hip pressing against mine on the worn vinyl.
Her body is impossibly soft everywhere we touch. The curve of her thigh against my leg, her shoulder brushing mine as she adjusts herself in the cramped space. My pulse kicks up despite myself, some involuntary response I can’t quite control.
“We’ll have to go grocery shopping after this.”
“Why?”
She pauses, one perfectly arched eyebrow rising as she turns to look at me. There’s genuine worry in her expression, like I’ve just said something deeply concerning.
“Because we have nothing to eat at home, dear.”
“It hasn’t been an issue before today.”
The words hang in the air between us. I watch her process them, see the exact moment her eyes shift. She sets the sugar down very carefully, like it might explode if handled roughly.
“What do you mean it hasn’t been an issue?” Her voice has gone quiet.
I shift uncomfortably in the booth. “It’s just a lot of money for food that’ll go to waste.”
Her hand moves to my side, fingers pressing into the space between my ribs. The touch is gentle but firm, like she’s taking inventory of how little there is to find.
“It won’t go to waste.” Her voice carries that same certainty she had when she declared herself my wife. “And if it’s money you’re worried about, I’ll happily pay.”
Her fingers spread wider, spanning the hollow beneath my ribs. “You’re all skin and bones, Caleb.” The concern in her voice deepens, becomes something almost desperate. “What would I do if you died young on me?”
She doesn’t know it, but she’s just described exactly what I dream about most nights. The only future that makes sense to me.
Before I formulate a response, my phone starts buzzing against the table.
My body reacts before my brain catches up. The shaking starts in my hands and spreads outward, that same ice-cold panic from earlier flooding my system. I grab the phone and see it, the same unknown number.
The panic attack crashes over me like a wave. My vision tunnels, my breathing goes shallow and quick. The diner around us fades into background noise.
Alyssa glances at the buzzing phone with clear irritation, like it’s personally offending her. But then her eyes shift to me and the annoyance melts into something else entirely.
“Baby?” Her voice goes soft, concerned. “Who’s calling you?”
“I don’t know.”
She studies my face for a long moment, and I can see her taking inventory of my distress, my shallow breathing, the way I’m gripping the edge of the table.
“It’s okay, baby.” Her voice drops to a maternal tone. “I’ll take care of it.”
She gently pries the phone from my trembling fingers and swipes to answer.
“Hello, Caleb’s phone. This is his wife speaking.”
A pause. I watch her face as she listens to whoever’s on the other end. Her expression hardens, those green eyes going cold and sharp.
“No.” Her voice cuts like glass. “You have the wrong number. No one with that name has ever had this number.” Another beat, then her tone turns vicious. “Do not call my husband ever again.”
She hangs up and immediately shakes her head. When she looks back at me, I’m still shaking, still trying to pull air into my lungs properly.
“Hey.” She slides closer, her hand finding my face. “Hey, look at me. Whoever that was, they’re gone now.”
This time the panic doesn’t stop. My chest keeps tightening, breath coming in sharp little gasps that don’t seem to reach my lungs.
“They called me Adam,” I whisper.
Her hands move to cup my face, thumbs brushing across my cheekbones. The touch is gentle but firm, grounding me to this moment, to her.
“Then it’s a good thing your name is Caleb, isn’t it?”
The way she says it makes me look closer at her face. There’s no confusion there, no question about what that name means or why it would send me spiraling. Her green eyes hold a certainty that cuts through my panic like a blade.
She knows. Which means she must know about Lauren…
As I process that realization fully, she leans in and kisses me. Her lips are soft and warm, and she tastes like stale coffee. I should pull away. But, why. I’m so lost and too exhausted by everything to stop her.
When she pulls back, she’s smiling at me with relief.
“Let the past die, honey,” she whispers, her breath warm against my ear. “Let’s just focus on the future... together.”
I laugh a little, surprised by how insane all of this is. How clearly psychotic she is.
But it beats spending today alone I guess.
“Okay.”