The diner was never full. Each night we only had two or three groups of people, maybe a loner if we were lucky. For the past couple of weeks, we’ve been stuck in a limbo of serving the same groups of people. The first group, the pimply and wide-eyed teenage boys, would hang around in the back of our sad, little diner. Yelling profanities to rile each other up, their cracked, shrill voices grew louder each night as they tried, but failed, to get the other customers and waitresses to notice and pay them an ounce of attention. Then there was the young couple, bags so deep under their eyes you could spot them from across the street. They’d come in with their heads hung low as they’d drag their screaming, snotty child to one of our stained booths. Hope has slowly dissipated from their tired eyes each week as they’ve now come to the realization that their nightly visit here is the only way to shut their kid up. And then there was you. Sitting with a ripped notebook between your hands, a small smile on your face, and your dark brown hair slicked back with sweat because of the blistering California heat.
You never slept, the bags under your eyes resembled those of the frazzled young parents. Only you had no whiny kid begging for your attention, just a pen twirling between your fingers while you, occasionally and obnoxiously, slurped your coke. You’d spend hours in here, ordering nothing more than a few cokes and the stale pie we had in stock. Although it seemed like you were trying to portray yourself as the cliché, mysterious out-of-towner that has been so overdone in the movies, I liked how quiet you were. Maybe you were genuinely quiet and weren’t trying to play the act, but you were certainly different from the other customers we got.
You were the only interesting person this town had seen in a few months, which was saying something considering the only words you’ve said over the past few weeks were your orders. Now saying that, it probably looks a little sad that you are the only person deemed as exciting in Riverbrook, but how much excitement can there really be at a 2 a.m. shift in Josie’s Diner? When you’d waltz in, they would twirl their hair, and wear tighter and higher shorts to get your attention as they’d saunter over towards your table. But to be fair to them, they faced my issue of living in a town where exciting moments were few and far between. It seems like we all are living each day waiting for the next, hoping more excitement will happen the following day than the last. Maybe that’s what puzzled me about you. You’d spend your late nights and early mornings in a tiny makeshift diner that had no specialties, no interesting people, nothing.
Ever since we got a new restaurant in town, fewer and fewer people would come into the diner. The better food, and let’s face it better service, still never pulled you over to the new restaurant, you’d still come by each night. I never wanted to wait at your table. It could be because I didn’t want to know if you lived up to the hype my coworkers placed on you, or that maybe I was a little intimidated by you. You seemed nice enough. You’d have a smile on your face as you’d whisper your order, careful to not wake up the sleeping baby a few tables down or gain the attention of the unruly teenagers.
But, tonight, after one waitress quit and another out sick, I was forced to take your order. I always stood far back while the other waitresses ogled over you, but I couldn’t help but wonder what you did for a living or why you were here all night. Or why you never got any sleep and willingly let the bags under your eyes grow, yet you’d never make any attempt to leave. You’d just stay until my shift was over, pack up your things and head off, not even saying a word to me at all.
But other than taking your simple order, I was hoping to get a chance to talk to you. God knows there’s only so much I could tolerate from the teenage boys, and trust me, I’ve tried to initiate more conversations with them than I should’ve. After a few weeks of only talking to Gerry, one of our cooks, or Jenny, the other waitress who gossips more than works, these shifts were too long to be spent in silence. Besides, the cooks in the back were also too high to barely cook the food, let alone have a conversation. So, I rushed around each table, probably looking like a lunatic after almost spilling leftover food on myself before I made my way over to you. You were patient, ignoring the fact that I hadn’t even taken your order within you being here for 30 minutes. Instead, you just bore a tiny grin on your face, the pen usually in your hand was laid on the table and your hands were clasped together resting on top of the notebook as you watched me scramble towards you. The disinterested façade I was trying to portray instantly crumbled as your eyes narrowed towards my shaking hands. I felt a blush creep up my cheeks, wishing you didn’t have this effect on me when I hadn’t even spoken a single word to you.
You tore your eyes away from my hands and towards my face and said, “Doing okay there?”
Heat rushed to my face again and I nodded. I tugged at my braid in hopes of calming myself down, fighting a nervous smile before I asked, “Want your usual coke? I think we got apple pie back there tonight.”
Your smile grew wider, I couldn’t tell if it was because of my apparent nervousness around you or that you were finally able to get some food in your system after waiting so long. “I was wondering when you’d finally wait on me.” You obviously didn’t have a name tag like I had on and it took all that was in me to not ask, to not seem so desperate to get to know you.
“Is that a yes on the Coke and apple pie then?” I shifted my weight on the balls of my feet.
You laughed lightly. “That is a yes.” You looked me up and down, taking in my nametag and disastrous uniform that had more stains on it than I cared to admit. “Grace.”
I ran to the kitchen and put your order in, leaning back on one of the counters while Gerry took a batch of fries out of the fryer. He had a prominent smirk on his face before he said, “Don’t tell me you’re falling for pretty boy over there.” I rolled my eyes and slapped him lightly on the shoulder. He grinned as he handed me your thin slice of pie and watered-down coke, looks like I wasn’t the only one that’s picked up on your mundane order.
“Don’t you have work to do?” I retorted. Gerry grunted at this and tied his apron tighter across his body. I shook my head with a smile and returned to your table slowly, careful not to trip over my feet like I’ve already done a few times tonight.
Thank you! I really like this! One problem - I need to know what happens next!😅🩶