Standing at the mostly bare breakfast bar, I methodically push a half-empty coffee cup between my two sore hands. There is a set of gentlemen chatting at the counter and two other couples seated quietly in booths.

I closed my eyes for a moment. I’m tired today.

My eyelids flippd open at the sudden feeling of warmth. Cook stands beside me, dumping ice into his favorite cup. He eyes me closely and then gives an insistent smile. My own smile appeared, pained, but automatic and true.

“You alright?” he asked, still grinning, but with narrow eyes that forced the truth from my lips.

“Not really,” I answered, cracking deep.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. I shrugged, still smiling, but fighting the wall of tears pushing on the back of my eyes. “Go out back for a minute.”

“I have customers,” I said, accompanied by a soft blubbering in my throat. Cook shakes his head and gently points me in the direction of the kitchen door.

“I’ll check on them,” he promised. “You go ahead.”

I turned to the swinging door, catching a glimpse of the falling rain through the window before vanishing. By the time I entered the kitchen and the door returned to its closed position, tears were dripping off of my face and onto my apron. I obliviously passed all of the kitchen equipment as I made my way to the dark and quiet backroom. The second my foot reached the bottom of the single step, the blubber finally escaped my throat as a quiet, suppressed squeal. It caught on my clenched teeth as I leaned on the freezer, desperate to catch my breath, but desperate not to cry. My lips twisted shut and pursed in an effort to hold it all in, and my cheeks inflated to accommodate the growing pressure. I teetered on shaking legs with rubber knees, barely staying up right, and barely wanting to. “Just choke it down,” I thought miserably. “Just choke it down until you crawl back into bed tonight. Just—”

Just moments before my legs gave out from under me, arms bigger than my own suddenly enveloped, and I felt my heart cave instead of my limbs. I want to claw at my chest, but hooked my hands around those arms instead. Hard, steady breath overpowered my own, and that storm in my ribcage barely, but noticeably, quieted to a bitter squall. “I’m such a miserable fool,” I thought scornfully while struggling to feel anything but shame. “I always spill over. I always—”

Those arms tightened and squeezed as a soft nuzzle grazed the nape of my neck. As if I had spoken aloud, he said, “Hey, you’re alright. It’s okay.” I spin around. Cool hands touch my warm, wet face as I squeeze my eyes tight. I feel like I am molting as our hot breath mingles between us. A thumb gingerly flicks away the tears as they come.

“I just want everything to be okay,” I said, and momentarily felt weakened by the words alone.

Then, he smiles, making it look so easy. A bit of my strength returned, and I almost began to feel my legs under me. Almost. “It will be.”