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Authors: Marisa de los Santos
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on the table before you, not even as impressive as flipping open your cell phone and dialing, but I’d forgotten my cell phone, couldn’t read French, and anyway, I figured that Piper would leap at any excuse not to approach me. So it was with surprise and a sinking heart that I heard her ladylike low-heeled shoes tap-tap-tapping their ladylike way across the hardwood floor in my direction.
In order to put off the awkwardness as long as possible, I waited until the tapping had ceased completely to look up, with a startled expression that I hoped said, “Oh, my, I was so absorbed in my fascinating and very important rummaging that I’d forgotten you existed.”
“Hi, there, Cornelia,” said Piper. I waited for the condescending gaze, the imperious, closed-mouth smirk, but Piper was still pink faced, and her smile was tentative, even shy. She looked a lot like what she could not possibly be: a person hoping to ingratiate herself to me.
“Hello,” I said.
She looked at my plate. “Did you enjoy your, um, your…”
“Pasta,” I supplied. Did she think just saying the word would cause immediate, irreversible weight gain? “Yes. I did enjoy it. Thanks for asking.”
“Listen, I was wondering.” Her pinkness intensified. Very soon, she would be magenta.
“Yes?”
“I was wondering when a good time might be to catch your husband at home?”
“Teo?” I was so taken off guard at the idea of her wanting to see Teo that for a second it seemed possible I had another husband, one Piper might more plausibly drop in on.
“Teo. Yes.” She nodded. Then she took a deep breath, straightened her watch so that its face was precisely in the center of her wrist, and said, “I, well, I was hoping to discuss something with him, and I wasn’t sure, since he’s a physician, if he kept regular weekday hours or if he worked, um, evenings, or if maybe weekends were good. I just sort of thought if we had an appointment or, you know, set a date to talk, it might work well for, well, for all of us because, really, I hate the idea of interrupting your family time…”
The woman was rambling. Actually, the woman was just this side of incoherent, and I realized how very much it must be costing her to ask a favor of a person whom she so disliked. I also toyed with the idea that maybe mixed up in all that stammering was a bit of guilt at having been consistently and unabashedly unfriendly to me. But possibly that was giving her too much credit. In any case, the rambling had to be stopped.
“Piper,” I said sharply. She stopped talking. “Teo has tomorrow afternoon off. Why don’t you come then? Around four?”
“Around four,” she repeated. “Around four sounds fine.” In a flash, an overbright smile materialized on her face. She cocked her head like a chickadee, chirped “Perfect!,” spun around, and walked briskly back to her table, where Kate’s round eyes had been peering at us over the top of a menu, watching the whole exchange.
Piper seated herself, whipped open her napkin, and draped it over her lap. “Gosh, I feel like a salad,” she told Kate in the same chirpy voice. “Don’t you?”
Of course she does, I thought to myself. Kate feels exactly like a salad because Kate is a fucking salad. And even though this insult was unspoken, meaningless, and directed at a person with whom I wasn’t even angry, it helped me get my bearings.
As Lake handed me my check, I rolled my eyes toward the table, made an anguished face, and mouthed the word “Piper.”
After an almost imperceptible lift of an eyebrow, Lake strode over to Piper’s table, smiled warmly at the two women, and said, “Hello. I’m Lake and I’ll be your server today.”
“Lake,” said Piper, flapping her lashes. “Now, that’s a different name!”
Lake swept her gaze around the restaurant, as though to make sure no one was listening. Then, in a loud, conspiratorial whisper, she replied, “Actually, it’s my middle name. My first
In order to put off the awkwardness as long as possible, I waited until the tapping had ceased completely to look up, with a startled expression that I hoped said, “Oh, my, I was so absorbed in my fascinating and very important rummaging that I’d forgotten you existed.”
“Hi, there, Cornelia,” said Piper. I waited for the condescending gaze, the imperious, closed-mouth smirk, but Piper was still pink faced, and her smile was tentative, even shy. She looked a lot like what she could not possibly be: a person hoping to ingratiate herself to me.
“Hello,” I said.
She looked at my plate. “Did you enjoy your, um, your…”
“Pasta,” I supplied. Did she think just saying the word would cause immediate, irreversible weight gain? “Yes. I did enjoy it. Thanks for asking.”
“Listen, I was wondering.” Her pinkness intensified. Very soon, she would be magenta.
“Yes?”
“I was wondering when a good time might be to catch your husband at home?”
“Teo?” I was so taken off guard at the idea of her wanting to see Teo that for a second it seemed possible I had another husband, one Piper might more plausibly drop in on.
“Teo. Yes.” She nodded. Then she took a deep breath, straightened her watch so that its face was precisely in the center of her wrist, and said, “I, well, I was hoping to discuss something with him, and I wasn’t sure, since he’s a physician, if he kept regular weekday hours or if he worked, um, evenings, or if maybe weekends were good. I just sort of thought if we had an appointment or, you know, set a date to talk, it might work well for, well, for all of us because, really, I hate the idea of interrupting your family time…”
The woman was rambling. Actually, the woman was just this side of incoherent, and I realized how very much it must be costing her to ask a favor of a person whom she so disliked. I also toyed with the idea that maybe mixed up in all that stammering was a bit of guilt at having been consistently and unabashedly unfriendly to me. But possibly that was giving her too much credit. In any case, the rambling had to be stopped.
“Piper,” I said sharply. She stopped talking. “Teo has tomorrow afternoon off. Why don’t you come then? Around four?”
“Around four,” she repeated. “Around four sounds fine.” In a flash, an overbright smile materialized on her face. She cocked her head like a chickadee, chirped “Perfect!,” spun around, and walked briskly back to her table, where Kate’s round eyes had been peering at us over the top of a menu, watching the whole exchange.
Piper seated herself, whipped open her napkin, and draped it over her lap. “Gosh, I feel like a salad,” she told Kate in the same chirpy voice. “Don’t you?”
Of course she does, I thought to myself. Kate feels exactly like a salad because Kate is a fucking salad. And even though this insult was unspoken, meaningless, and directed at a person with whom I wasn’t even angry, it helped me get my bearings.
As Lake handed me my check, I rolled my eyes toward the table, made an anguished face, and mouthed the word “Piper.”
After an almost imperceptible lift of an eyebrow, Lake strode over to Piper’s table, smiled warmly at the two women, and said, “Hello. I’m Lake and I’ll be your server today.”
“Lake,” said Piper, flapping her lashes. “Now, that’s a different name!”
Lake swept her gaze around the restaurant, as though to make sure no one was listening. Then, in a loud, conspiratorial whisper, she replied, “Actually, it’s my middle name. My first
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