was a sport. She was always trying to come up with clever new ways to rebuke us.
There was a reason I hadn’t cleared table seven. That was Malcolm’s usual table. If he came in, I wanted an excuse to be near him. “Sorry. I’ll go do it now, Heidi.”
I cleared that table and two others that were recently vacated, and still no sign of Malcolm. I was in the back, obsessively peeking out the window in the kitchen door, when I saw him walk through the front door with Paul. Celia sent the other waitress, a woman named Tippy, to their table.
I kept an eagle eye on the rest of the tables in the restaurant, hoping for a reason to go out there. Why was everyone eating so slowly? Finally, a couple finished and paid their bill. I tried to walk casually out into the dining room carrying my tub, but I was tied up in knots and could only manage a shaky shuffle. I kept remembering the way he had looked at my mouth the day before, feeling the weight of his glance as though it still rested there. I wiped my lips with the back of my hand, but it didn’t erase the feeling.
I cleared table five at a snail’s pace, hoping Celia would leave the dining room for a break or something so I could tell Malcolm that I would not be coming to his place for lunch. The phone call with Freya last night had renewed my hope, and I didn’t dare do anything that might cause trouble and make my parents come home too early, before they mended things. I wondered what my parents would think of it all. I knew they would loathe the entire situation. If they were here, it wouldn’t be a situation at all.
I looked up at Malcolm and my resolve crumbled. I wanted to be a decisive person, but the solution eluded me. I had lain awake last night debating my obligations to please my family versus my growing curiosity toward Malcolm. He had looked at my mouth, after all. I lined up four coffee cups in my tub, pondering it.
I thought it was pretty stupid the way Celia’s family was about Malcolm’s family. I didn’t understand why Uncle Todd couldn’t see it was his own fault he’d done something worthy of police intervention. He got caught being a jerk and then blamed the person who tried to stop him. Maybe I should go.
I sighed, finished wiping the table, and feeling utterly defeated, looked over at Malcolm one more time, hoping the answer would come to me out of nowhere. He waved me over, but I shook my head at him. Celia was staring at us. She stopped me as I walked past her. “Fay, why have you been engaging in all sorts of non-verbal communication with him? Don’t think I haven’t noticed every glance.”
I knew if I started hanging out with Malcolm, she’d harp at me constantly about it. Maybe being nagged at by Celia was worth it, I thought, as I looked at Malcolm’s arm resting on the table, tan and thick, and dusted with dark hair.
“You’re imagining things, darling,” I told her, in my southern belle voice. I jutted out my hip and gave her a wink. Sometimes being sassy could stop her from getting too serious. I wasn’t sure it would work this time, because she put her hands on her hips and glared at me. But then she crossed her eyes and squinched up her cheeks, and capped it off by sticking out her tongue. We both laughed, and I was able to escape further questioning about Malcolm.
I walked to the kitchen and washed the dishes I’d just collected. Was I a coward? I knew treating the Dearings so poorly wasn’t right, so was I doing the wrong thing by placating Celia and agreeing to my family’s limits? Or did that make me strong and loyal to my family? Or was I not going because he had looked at my mouth and I was nervous about what I wanted to happen next? Either way, I shouldn’t go. Malcolm would figure it out when I didn’t show up, I supposed. After he left, I went to clear his table. On his plate was his napkin, laid flat with my name written on
There was a reason I hadn’t cleared table seven. That was Malcolm’s usual table. If he came in, I wanted an excuse to be near him. “Sorry. I’ll go do it now, Heidi.”
I cleared that table and two others that were recently vacated, and still no sign of Malcolm. I was in the back, obsessively peeking out the window in the kitchen door, when I saw him walk through the front door with Paul. Celia sent the other waitress, a woman named Tippy, to their table.
I kept an eagle eye on the rest of the tables in the restaurant, hoping for a reason to go out there. Why was everyone eating so slowly? Finally, a couple finished and paid their bill. I tried to walk casually out into the dining room carrying my tub, but I was tied up in knots and could only manage a shaky shuffle. I kept remembering the way he had looked at my mouth the day before, feeling the weight of his glance as though it still rested there. I wiped my lips with the back of my hand, but it didn’t erase the feeling.
I cleared table five at a snail’s pace, hoping Celia would leave the dining room for a break or something so I could tell Malcolm that I would not be coming to his place for lunch. The phone call with Freya last night had renewed my hope, and I didn’t dare do anything that might cause trouble and make my parents come home too early, before they mended things. I wondered what my parents would think of it all. I knew they would loathe the entire situation. If they were here, it wouldn’t be a situation at all.
I looked up at Malcolm and my resolve crumbled. I wanted to be a decisive person, but the solution eluded me. I had lain awake last night debating my obligations to please my family versus my growing curiosity toward Malcolm. He had looked at my mouth, after all. I lined up four coffee cups in my tub, pondering it.
I thought it was pretty stupid the way Celia’s family was about Malcolm’s family. I didn’t understand why Uncle Todd couldn’t see it was his own fault he’d done something worthy of police intervention. He got caught being a jerk and then blamed the person who tried to stop him. Maybe I should go.
I sighed, finished wiping the table, and feeling utterly defeated, looked over at Malcolm one more time, hoping the answer would come to me out of nowhere. He waved me over, but I shook my head at him. Celia was staring at us. She stopped me as I walked past her. “Fay, why have you been engaging in all sorts of non-verbal communication with him? Don’t think I haven’t noticed every glance.”
I knew if I started hanging out with Malcolm, she’d harp at me constantly about it. Maybe being nagged at by Celia was worth it, I thought, as I looked at Malcolm’s arm resting on the table, tan and thick, and dusted with dark hair.
“You’re imagining things, darling,” I told her, in my southern belle voice. I jutted out my hip and gave her a wink. Sometimes being sassy could stop her from getting too serious. I wasn’t sure it would work this time, because she put her hands on her hips and glared at me. But then she crossed her eyes and squinched up her cheeks, and capped it off by sticking out her tongue. We both laughed, and I was able to escape further questioning about Malcolm.
I walked to the kitchen and washed the dishes I’d just collected. Was I a coward? I knew treating the Dearings so poorly wasn’t right, so was I doing the wrong thing by placating Celia and agreeing to my family’s limits? Or did that make me strong and loyal to my family? Or was I not going because he had looked at my mouth and I was nervous about what I wanted to happen next? Either way, I shouldn’t go. Malcolm would figure it out when I didn’t show up, I supposed. After he left, I went to clear his table. On his plate was his napkin, laid flat with my name written on
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