The Rebound Agreement ✔

fourteen

[unedited;
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If I said that the reason I started picking up all of Amanda's shifts at The Frost was so that she could have time to recover emotionally from the messy breakup with her boyfriend, I would only be telling half of the truth. The more I shove the ice cream scoop into various flavors of ice cream, the more my sore wrist reminds me of how much I am overworking myself. But truly, I'm grateful for all the extra work; it's a good distraction my inner turmoil surrounding Liam, an problem that I have almost talked myself into believing is nonexistent.

However, the extra work meant I saw Owen more, and seeing Owen more meant that he saw straight through me. He'd accused me of avoiding Liam multiple times, but I prefer to call it distancing myself from him. Him and my emotions that he prompted. A week or two without my so-called boyfriend is an efficient way to get my emotions under control and return to the normal, level-headed me. And so far, it's working.

My days fall into a steady routine without Liam's spontaneous adventures mixed in. I go to classes, I go to work, and I think. I think a lot, maybe too much. I've always been a skilled over-thinker.

Granted, Liam would fit some adventure in if I let him, but when he calls me, I don't answer, and I respond to his requests to see me over text with excuses, usually work or classes.

I'm sad to admit that I even wrote one of my papers for class even earlier than I had it scheduled to be written. It's pathetic, but I needed something to occupy my time so I didn't have to lie when I said that I was too busy for Liam.

Today is about as regular as all of my days have been lately. After some morning classes, I headed to work. The frigid February temperatures keep our customers to a very minimal amount, so of course Owen uses our spare time to psychoanalyze me and my strange actions. If only he knew that I was doing enough psychoanalyzing of myself for both of us.

Today, Moose Tracks seems to be a popular flavor choice made by customers. Through a running tally in my head, I keep track of how many customers select it versus other flavors, and I mentally calculate a percentage. Despite how nerdy it is to do mental math to pass my time, it becomes habit after I work a couple of shifts in a row, and the steady rhythm of it comforts me in an odd way.

I keep catching Owen studying me in stolen moments when he thinks I'm too preoccupied to notice. He sees too much. I know I'm acting strange, but every time I try to act normal, it comes off stiff and rigid, so I give up easily.

The bell jingles at the door, our last customer exiting as someone else enters. I look up at the person walking in, my vision unfocused as I stare off at the wall by the door. It takes me a moment to wake from my stupor and realize who is approaching us.

"Manda," Owen breathes beside me. Amanda pulls her coat around her tighter, her arms hugging herself.

She smiles half-heartedly as she swipes some of her long, blonde, wind blown hair away from her face with a mittened hand. "You weren't supposed to come in to work today," I scold her softly, crossing around the counter to stand in front of her.

She laughs, but it's the unhappiest laugh I've ever heard. I frown, opening my arms to her, and she comes to me quickly, clinging to me as I embrace her. Immediately, a shudder racks her body, her chest shaking against me.

Over her head, I glance up at Owen. I didn't know it was possible, but the expression on his face as he watches her steadily is full of much more worry than he's directed at me in the last week and a half.