Chapter 4
A week's passed. I watch Zane and Brielle go through their new routine. She stays late every night now, "helping with inventory."
"Should we use the good wine glasses tonight?" Brielle asks, setting up table 18.
"Yeah, the crystal ones," Zane says, pulling out our special glasses from storage.
Our crystal glasses. I spent three months of tips buying those, wanting to make our weekly date nights feel more elegant. Every Friday after closing, we'd use these glasses in the empty restaurant, pretending we were somewhere fancy instead of a strip mall Olive Garden.
Those glasses were my investment in us. I wanted to make our cheap dates feel special, like we deserved something beautiful. Now she gets to use them without earning them, without knowing their story.
Brielle lights the candles—same vanilla-scented ones I picked out. "This setup is really romantic, Z. I can't believe you and Harper never thought of date nights like this."
Never thought of it? We did exactly this every Friday for six months.
"Harper wasn't really into... ambiance," Zane says, not looking in my direction.
Wasn't into ambiance? I created this entire ritual. I bought the candles, the glasses, even convinced Kevin to let us use the restaurant after hours. But apparently now it's Brielle's idea, and I just "wasn't into it."
"Teach me to make your sangria again," Brielle says, pulling out her phone. "I want to film it for my Instagram."
"Our sangria," Zane corrects automatically, then catches himself. "I mean, the restaurant's sangria."
She starts recording. "Hey guys! Learning to make this amazing berry sangria from my incredibly talented manager Z đź’•"
My sangria. I spent weeks perfecting that recipe, experimenting after shifts, using my own money for ingredients. But in her video, Zane's the expert teacher and she's the eager student.
"First, you muddle the berries gently," Zane demonstrates. "Not too aggressive, or it gets bitter."
"Who taught you that technique?" Brielle asks, still filming.
Pause. I taught him that. Carmen helped me learn proper muddling, but I taught Zane during our first cooking date in the empty restaurant.
"Just picked it up over time," he says.
"You're so naturally talented," she gushes for the camera. "No wonder this place runs so smoothly."
She posts the video immediately. Caption: "Learning from the best đź’• Can't wait to perfect this recipe! #sangria #worklife #blessed"
Perfect the recipe? It is perfect. I already perfected it. But she's going to "perfect" it, add her own touches, make it hers. Like everything else.
Tyler appears carrying a small box. I drift over to see what's inside.
My pregnancy test. Positive. And a tiny apron, newborn size, with "Daddy's Little Server" embroidered on it. The receipt shows I bought it the day before I died.
And a voice memo on my phone, still in the box. Tyler presses play.
My voice, nervous but excited: "Hey Z... I mean, Zane. I've been practicing how to tell you this. I know we said we'd wait until I finish college, but sometimes life has different plans. We're having a baby. I know it's scary, but I think we can do this. We're good together, we have stable jobs, and... I love you. I love you so much. I can't wait to tell you in person."
Tyler's hands are shaking.
I recorded that memo in the parking lot before driving back. I was so nervous, so excited. I thought he'd be happy. I thought we'd figure it out together, like we always did.
Tyler rewinds, listens again. His face gets harder each time.
"She was coming back to tell him about the baby," he whispers to himself. "And he was already..."
Tyler looks toward the dining room, where Zane and Brielle are still having their romantic dinner.
"Fucking bastard," Tyler says quietly.
Brielle's going through my stuff that Zane kept in his office. The photo album I made for our six-month anniversary. Every page carefully arranged, with little notes about our memories.
"These are cute," she says, flipping through pages. "You two look happy."
"Yeah, we were," Zane says, but he's not really looking.
She stops at a page titled "Our Firsts." First date at table 18. First kiss in the prep kitchen. First "I love you" during closing shift.
"Table 18 was your first date?" she asks.
"Yeah."
"That's so sweet. No wonder you wanted to have dinner there tonight."
He wanted to? I thought it was her idea. But he suggested table 18, knowing it was where we first fell in love? How is that not sick?
"Can I take a picture of this page?" Brielle asks. "For memories?"
"Sure."
She photographs my photo album, my carefully crafted memories, my private moments with him.
"I'll make us a new album," she says. "Start fresh."
Start fresh. Erase me completely, replace my memories with hers.
"What's this playlist?" Brielle connects his phone to the speaker. "'H&Z Forever'?"
My playlist. I created it for our three-month anniversary, a mix of songs that reminded me of him, songs from our dates, songs that told our story.
"Just an old playlist," Zane says quickly.
"Should I delete it? Make room for new music?"
"Yeah, go ahead."
Three months of carefully selected songs. Every one had meaning. "Perfect" by Ed Sheeran because he hummed it during our first slow dance. "All of Me" because he said it reminded him of how I make him feel complete.
Gone. Deleted. Like it never existed.
"There," Brielle says. "Now we can make our own playlist. What songs remind you of me?"
He thinks for a moment. "That Taylor Swift song you're always playing. 'Love Story'?"
"Perfect!" She adds it immediately.
Love Story. Generic, obvious, nothing personal or meaningful. Not like I spent hours choosing songs that actually connected to our specific moments. But maybe that's what he prefers. Easy. Uncomplicated. Forgettable.
They return to table 18 for dessert. Tiramisu, which I introduced him to during our second date.
"You're amazing, you know that?" Brielle says, reaching across the table.
She taps her heart twice with her finger. My signal. My private way of saying "I love you" when we couldn't say it out loud during work hours.
Zane freezes.
"Where did you learn that?" he asks.
"Learn what?"
"The... heart thing."
"Oh, I just thought it was cute. Like a secret code." She does it again. "Does it mean something?"
It means I love you. I created that signal during busy shifts, when I couldn't say the words but wanted him to know. I thought it was ours, special, unique. But apparently it's just cute, just another gesture anyone can copy.
"No," Zane says. "It doesn't mean anything."
Liar.
But Brielle doesn't know she's using stolen language. She thinks she invented it, this sweet little gesture. She'll probably tell her followers about it, their cute secret signal.
Carmen stays late to finish prep work, but really she's watching. When Zane goes to the bathroom, she approaches Brielle.
"Can I ask you something?" Carmen says.
"Of course!"
"Did you know Harper well? Before you started working here?"