Table 10: Part 1: A Novella Series

by Jiffy Kate

  Chapter 3

  “You weren’t here yesterday,” he says as I walk up to the table to take his order.

  “I was, just later than usual,” I tell him, hating that my voice sounds like death warmed over. I think I’m better. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself. I hope I’m better. The last thing I want is to be responsible for the spread of the plague.

  “Sounds like you’re still not well.” There’s genuine concern in his voice, and it kind of throws me for a loop.

  “I, uh … I’m fine. No fever.” That’s a lie. I’m not sure if I have a fever or not. I couldn’t find a damn thermometer anywhere in my apartment. I medicated myself with an outdated bottle of Tylenol and a cup of semi-hot tea.

  “Just because you don’t have a fever doesn’t mean you’re fine.” His voice has an edge to it, like he’s mad at me for being sick. Maybe he’s a germaphobe?

  “I’m not contagious, if that’s what you’re afraid of.” Lies. I have no idea what hit me. All I know is that I was fine one minute and not the next. I didn’t even think I was going to make it up the stairs to my apartment last night.

  “I’m not afraid of you being contagious,” he says, looking me over carefully like he’s a doctor. “But you should be at home, resting.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I have to work … Mack needs me.”

  He nods his head, still watching me intently.

  “So, what can I get you?” I ask, trying to get this over with.

  “LuAnne.”

  “What?”

  “I want LuAnne to wait on me.”

  “Okay,” I finally say, retreating to the kitchen.

  Definitely a germaphobe.

  “Table ten wants you,” I tell LuAnne as she passes by with a pile of dirty plates.

  “I kinda have my hands full.”

  “Here,” I say, taking what I can from her without making them all fall on the floor. “Go take Pie Guy’s order.”

  LuAnne huffs her annoyance loudly but heads out of the kitchen anyway.

  I set the dishes in the large wash tub and lean against the side. My energy is shot. I feel like I could sleep for days, but I should work because my rent isn’t going to pay itself. Mr. Watkins, my super, was already by two days ago to inform me I only have until the weekend to get caught up on my rent.

  After a few minutes of resting against the counter with my eyes closed, I hear loud footsteps and then a snort from LuAnne. When I open my eyes, she’s looking at me and shaking her head.

  “Take that apron off and get out of here.”

  “What?” I ask incredulously.

  “You heard me. Go on home and get some rest. If you’re feeling better in the morning, I’ll see you then. If not, stay home.”

  “I can’t. You know that,” I tell her, pushing off the counter and walking around her, getting ready to push through the swinging doors.

  “Don’t go out those doors.”

  “Why not? What is wrong with you, LuAnne?” I turn around and look her up and down. “Maybe you’re the one who’s sick.”

  “Here,” she says, walking forward and shoving something down into the front of my apron. “Don’t look at me like that. And don’t ask me questions. If you want to know where it’s from, you’ll have to ask Nathan.”

  “Who?”

  “Pie Guy,” she says in frustration, throwing her hands in the air toward the door.

  “Why?” I’m so confused. Maybe it’s the Sudafed she gave me earlier, but my head feels weird, and she’s not making any sense.

  “His instructions are clear. You’re to go home and rest until you feel better.”

  “He’s not the boss, and I need to work. I have rent due by the weekend, and I’m still two hundred short.”

  “That should cover it,” she says, motioning to the pocket of my apron.

  “What?” I ask again, starting to sound like a broken record. I pull out what she stuffed in there.

  Money.

  Folded up money.

  As I unfold the bills, one falls to the ground. It’s a hundred, as is the one still in my hand. “Why?” I ask, looking up at her.

  She huffs and rolls her eyes, muttering under her breath. “Look, when I went to take his order, he told me you were too sick to be at work, with which I agreed. Then he asked me why you were here, and I told him because people like us work even when we don’t feel like it. That seemed to piss him off, so he took out his wallet and folded those up and said to give them to you.”

  “I can’t accept this. You know that. I just … I can’t.”

  LuAnne lets out a deep breath and leans against the counter. “Listen, honey. I knew you wouldn’t want to accept it. I told him you wouldn’t. But you should.”

  I look at the money and then back to her, my body sagging under the extreme exhaustion I’ve felt since yesterday. “Maybe I can pay him back or something?” I say, staring at the money and thinking hard about taking him up on his offer.

  “I’m pretty sure he won’t let you.”

  “Why would he do this for me?”

  “Some people are actually just nice.” She smiles, shaking her head. “But if you ask me, I think he likes more than the pies you bake, and he’s worried about you.”

  My cheeks flush with heat, and it’s not from the fever. “No,” I say, shaking my head in disbelief. “There’s no way. He’s …”

  “Yeah, yeah. He’s gorgeous and rich and successful. You’ve already told me. But he obviously thinks enough of you to pay for you to have a day off work. So, you should take him up on it. If you think you need to pay him back, then find a way to do that.” She winks at me when I look up at her, and my face heats up even more.

  “LuAnne!” I exclaim, ready to run back out into the diner and throw the money at him. “I’m not like that. I don’t do stuff like—”

  “Kadi,” she says, grabbing me by the shoulders and forcing me to calm down. “I’m not saying you have to do anything like sleep with the guy.” She laughs, rolling her eyes. “I was just suggesting baking him some pies or something. I doubt he expects anything in return.”

  I chew on my lip, unable to clear my head enough to think straight.

  “I’m a good judge of character,” she says, her hands still wrapped around my shoulders. “And I don’t get any weird vibes from him. I think he’s genuinely concerned about your well-being. Let someone be nice to you for a change.”

  “Lord knows no one around here is ever nice to me,” I tell her sarcastically.

  “I plan on working you double when you’re feeling better.”

  “I’d expect nothing less.”

  “Now, get out of here. Go home, and go straight to bed. I’ll stop by tonight and check on you.”

  Without my approval, my body sags in relief at her demand, completely betraying my resolve. I look at the money wadded up in my hand and decide to just accept it. For now.

  On my walk home, I look up at the shiny buildings and wonder which one this Nathan guy works in. What does he do? I don’t even know his last name. How am I supposed to thank him? What does he expect from me?

  My head begins to spin from all the congestion paired with the weird situation I’ve been handed. After I climb the flights of stairs to my apartment, huffing and puffing from exhaustion, I practically fall into bed fully clothed.

  Table 10

  A banging on my door wakes me from a dead sleep. Forcing my eyes open, I realize it’s night time, and I must have slept all day. I look down and see I’m still wearing my work uniform and shoes. Undressing was the least of my concerns when I got to my apartment. Not passing out on the floor was much more important.

  I groan at the ache in my head as the banging continues. After a few more seconds, knowing whoever it is isn’t going away, I pull myself up. Shuffling to the door, I’m forced to catch myself on the wall... and then the door frame, before finally making it to the finish line.

  �
��I was about to call your super,” LuAnne says as I crack the door open. Her face is worried and there’s an edge of panic in her voice. She’s holding a brown paper sack in one hand and reaches up to feel my forehead with the other. Something a mom would do. I guess for all intents and purposes, LuAnne is the closest thing I have.

  “You’re warm,” she says, pushing past me to get inside. “Why don’t you go take a shower? And I’ll make you some soup and tea.”

  I stand there staring at her, wondering what I’d do without her. Most of the time, we only exchange sarcastic comments and grumblings about customers. Occasionally, she’ll ask about my life, but it’s not like mine is much different from hers. She’s me in fifteen years … or I’m her fifteen years ago … however you want to look at it. Basically, we’re the same, so not much to tell.

  “What are you just standing there for?” she asks, walking into my small kitchen area and digging around for a pot.

  “It’s by the sink. I only have the one,” I tell her, pointing to where I had it drying on the towel. “And do you know how to cook soup?”

  “Don’t be a smart ass.”

  “I just don’t want you to burn my apartment down while I’m in the shower.”

  “I can see you’re not as sick as you’re putting on.” I give her a fake cough and an even faker smile before heading to the bathroom and shedding my clothes.

  I can’t remember the last time someone besides me was in my apartment. I also started to think, I can’t remember the last time someone was this nice to me, but that would be a lie. Nathan was nice to me. He was nice the day he stood up for me with the douchebag attorney, and he was nice today when he convinced LuAnne to convince me to go home. Usually, nice people make me leery, but with him, I’m not sure what to think. So instead, I climb into the shower and wash away the day and hopefully this sickness. There’s no way I can afford to be off work anymore than I already have been, even with the generous donation from the Nathan Foundation, which somehow I plan to repay … with interest.

  Chapter 4

  Rolling over in bed, I realize my T-shirt is damp, meaning my fever must’ve broken overnight. I lean over to look at the alarm clock on my night stand, and it’s not quite 4AM. I practically slept for an entire day. The only time I was awake was when LuAnne came by and I took a shower and ate some soup, which she managed not to burn. Color me impressed.

  Slipping off the side of the bed, I test the waters and place my feet on the cold floor. Sometimes, it’s hard to tell if you still feel bad while you’re lying in bed. Regardless of how bad my body still aches, my fever’s gone, so I’m going to work.

  And since I’m up early, I might as well go ahead and get dressed.

  If I get there early enough, I can make an extra pie for Nathan as a down payment on his loan.

  Once I drag myself to the bathroom, I take a minute to look at myself. My brown eyes look exhausted, highlighted by the dark circles under them. My brown hair is a mess. The freckles across my nose that I’ve always hated are more pronounced due to the paleness of my face. I look like death.

  But at least I’m not dead.

  I’m breathing.

  Things could be worse.

  So, I force myself into the shower and twenty minutes later, when I glance back in the mirror, it’s not quite as bad. The dark circles are still there, but my hair is tamed back in a ponytail and there’s a little color back in my cheeks. It’ll have to do for today.

  On my way downstairs, I stop by my super’s apartment to slip my rent in the slot on his door. The reality of what Nathan did for me sinks in a little further, and I hesitate for a moment.

  The notice by the door, stating that all tenants who have not paid the previous month’s rent in full by the twenty-fifth will be evicted, makes me drop the money before I can rethink it, or overthink it.

  Nathan seems like a perfectly nice guy. Deep down, somehow, I know his intentions are honest.

  Or at least, I hope they are.

  I’m sure we can work something out.

  ***

  Mack is already in the kitchen prepping for the breakfast rush. Sometimes, I think he lives here.

  Maybe he sleeps in the office?

  “Hey, Mack,” I say as the back door closes behind me. I pull a clean apron off the hook by the door and wrap it twice around my waist, tying it in the front.

  “Hey, Kadi,” he says, looking up. “Hearing LuAnne talk, I wasn’t sure you’d be in today. Feeling better?”

  “I think so. No fever this morning, so …”

  “That’s good. We had a lot of unhappy customers yesterday when they found out there wasn’t any pie.”

  “Job security,” I tell him, laughing on my way to the walk-in freezer for supplies.

  “I think you slip something in those pies,” he teases. “Whatcha making for us today?”

  “Well,” I say, pausing to peruse the shelves, “looks like I have everything for a cherry and maybe a fresh apple, unless you’ve got plans for these?” I hold up the bag of Granny Smiths.

  “Nope. All yours, kiddo.”

  “Thanks.” I drop all the ingredients on the counter and get to work. “Hey, Mack?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Can I pay you for the ingredients for another pie? You can take it out of my check, if that’s okay.”

  “What’s it for?” he asks, not saying no, just being nosy.

  “For Nathan—that guy who gave me the huge tip that one day,” I tell him, pouring flour into a large bowl. “He gave me two hundred dollars the other day … for nothing, just because I was sick. And he told LuAnne to send me home.” I mull it all over as I tell Mack. “It felt weird. No one’s ever done anything like that before. I mean, I’ve had a couple weirdos over the years who thought a fat tip would get them some extra service, but he’s different. Never even tried to give me his number or anything.”

  “So, what’s the pie for?” Mack asks.

  “Just thought it’d be a good start to paying him back. He really seems to like pie.”

  “Or just your pie.” Mack snorts as he dices potatoes.

  “Stop,” I say, feeling my cheeks flame, just like they do every time someone mentions Nathan liking more than just the pie or my pie. “I think he’s just a nice guy. Innocent until proven guilty and all that.”

  “If he makes you feel uncomfortable, you come see me.” His voice is stern and final. He doesn’t say much, but one thing about Mack is he never lets anyone take advantage of his girls. The day of the dry-cleaning fiasco, he was ready to shove that guy’s pants down his throat, but I told him not to worry about it. Mack’s temper is why LuAnne and I take care of the front. He’s not a people person.

  “I will,” I tell him, even though I don’t see myself needing him to come to my rescue. At least, not with Nathan. For some reason, I want to deal with him all on my own. He intrigues me.

  Among other things.

  But I’m not going to let myself go there.

  Just like I told Mack, as of now, he’s a nice guy who did a nice deed. I won’t read anything else into it.

  ***

  After letting Nathan’s pie cool, I wrap it in Saran Wrap and then some foil. I dug around in the storage room for a box but came up empty-handed, so a grocery sack will have to do. This is a “don’t judge a book by its cover” moment.

  When LuAnne tells me I’m up at table ten, I look at the large clock on the wall and know this is my cue.

  Setting the grocery sack down on the table in front of him, I preface it by saying, “The pie is a hell of a lot better than the presentation.”

  He looks up with a quizzical arch of his eyebrow.

  “It’s a, uh, down payment of sorts.”

  He glances back at the pie, and a small smile creeps onto his lips.

  Very nice lips.

  I roll my eyes at myself before continuing. “It’ll take me forever to come up with the two hundred dollars, but I will pay you back.” I look down at my apron a
nd smooth the front out of nervous habit. “And, um … thank you for that.”

  “Feeling better?” he asks, cutting off my nervous rambling. He meets my eyes and gives me a once over. The way his gaze travels around my body feels like more than just observation, but that could be me and my overactive imagination.

  “Much.” I place a clean coffee cup in front of him and walk to the counter behind me for a hot pot of coffee.

  As I’m filling his cup, I watch him peek into the sack and inhale deeply.

  “Blueberry?” he asks, taking another whiff.

  “Blueberry Lemon,” I tell him, smiling, because those have been his two favorites so far. “Especially for you.”

  His tongue darts out and licks at his bottom lip, and I have to swallow hard to keep from making inappropriate noises.

  Seriously, I need to get a grip before I do or say something stupid.

  “Anyway, thank you. I haven’t had a day off in … I can’t tell you how long and …” I know he doesn’t want to hear my woe-is-me story, so I stop myself. “Just thank you.”

  “You don’t have to pay me back. It was a tip,” he says, looking up at me. “And I think we’ve already discussed the fact that there isn’t a cap on how much a customer can tip for good service.”

  “I’ve never done anything worth a two-hundred-dollar tip,” I tell him.

  He quirks his eyebrow and smirks at that comment, causing me to stutter and stumble over my words.

  “Wh—well, what I mean is, uh, that was the second time you’ve bailed me out.” I pause, trying to not get flustered. “I … I don’t take advantage of people, and I won’t feel right unless you let me pay you back.”

  There, that’s my final answer. I stand up straight and wait for him to agree, but for some reason, I know it’s not going to be that easy. I can tell by the way he keeps watching me, looking at me. I wish I knew what he was thinking … why he thought it was a good idea to give a waitress two hundred dollars … why this waitress. Does he do this kind of thing all the time?

  He nods, clearing his throat. “I know you don’t take advantage of people, Kadi. And I wouldn’t have given you the money if I didn’t want to. If you can’t look at it as a tip, look at it as a gift.”