Jane was supposed to be taking the orders of three tables at the diner during the breakfast rush, but instead she was resting her elbows on the counter and thinking about broken hearts.
Leon had broken her heart, it was true, but it had not been as bad as her first heartbreak. That honor belonged to Burke. She thought a few boys in high school had broken her heart, but those had been mere bruises. And Dominic, the supposed "heartbreak" from that long-ago summer when she was 11, that was a simple scrape, nothing more. Burke taught her what true heartbreak was.
After Burke, her heart was already delicate, so the second rupture hadn't been as terrible. What is already broken can't really break again.
What is dead can never die, as the Ironborn say in Game of Thrones. Jane did not like the conniving and treacherous people of the Iron Isles, she much more identified with the brave and loyal Starks of Winterfell, but she did like the Greyjoy motto.
"What is dead can never die," Jane whispered.
"Excuse me?" a man in a suit snapped at Jane. "We've been sitting here for over ten minutes."
"Has it been ten minutes?" Jane said dreamily. She pulled her notepad out of her apron. "Sorry about that, what can I get ya?"
The man blinked at Jane's nonchalance and then began his order. She had probably just lost a tip, but maybe she could win it back with speedy food delivery and a few smiles. And no more spills.
The thing about Burke was that every time Jane told herself the story of that relationship, which had spanned three years during college, the story was very different. Sometimes it was the stuff of true romance, nights spent under the stars and falling in love at first sight. Other times, it was a study in realism – living daily life with someone, doing homework side by side in the library, meeting up for coffee between classes, talking for hours, yet never really knowing him. And then other times, it was pure horror, complete with jump scares and monsters at every turn.
They had met at a student production of The Importance of Being Earnest. Jane wasn't Batty, she couldn't sing, but she loved the Oscar Wilde play, and since there was no singing required, she tried out. She got the role of Cecily due to her pure enthusiasm.
Burke had been Algernon.
Yeah. Destiny.
Jane was a sophomore, and Burke was a freshman. The school was small, but they had never crossed paths until then. Jane had thought, at the beginning, that since she was a bit older and wildly popular, that she held the reins of control. She had the power.
For a while, she did. She couldn't pinpoint exactly when she began to care more than he did. It was so predictable, that's what killed her. All her life, Jane cared too much about everything.
The bell and Dawn's shout of "Order's up!" shook Jane out of her musings. She grabbed the plate of scrambled eggs with bacon and whisked it over to the man in the business suit. No spills, a happy smile, Jane was pleased with herself.
After her shift, Jane headed home to write. Her life might be boring and repetitive, but she had to admit, she was writing a lot. She had the time now. With Burke, and then with Leon, there had been so many dates and then arguments and then making up, and then more dates. Then there were the hours spent agonizing alone or with friends over what Burke or Leon was thinking. And even more hours spent on the phone with her sisters or writing long emails to Skye when Skye announced she couldn't take another 2 hour phone call.
All that time, and Jane's writing had suffered. She had still written. Jane was always writing. But it had been inconsistent, and too many of her short stories had descended into angst since all her male characters, one way or another, ended up being copies of Burke or Leon.
Now that she had sworn off men, Jane had a good routine. She wrote over a thousand words, each day, every day.
The oath to give up on love had been a good idea. It had.
And yet Jane sometimes wondered...She had always believed that in order to write, one had to live. A writer needed real life experiences to put to the page.
And right now, with all her shifts at the restaurant, then walks to her apartment, then long hours of writing – was Jane really living at all anymore?