"I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" Milo asks the little boy, smiling down at him. Inside, though, he's cursing himself. He had promised himself there would be no more spacing out, no more missing orders, no more daydreams.
"The kids' pancakes with extra whipped cream, please."
"You got it," Milo says, forcing out cheer he doesn't feel. That's what being a waiter is all about, after all. Being happy.
He heads back to the kitchen to hand off the order to Martha, the cook. She's a large, commanding sort of woman who arrived from Boston about a decade ago. Since then, she's lost most of her accent, but kept all of the famous Boston briskness, and also a taste for Dunkin Donuts coffee. Milo tried persuading her that The Diner's was better, but to no avail.
"Two veggie egg omelettes and one kid's pancake with extra whipped cream," he says.
"Two veggie egg omelettes and one kid's pancake with extra whipped cream," she repeats, but it sounds more like a slur of indecipherable sounds. That's another thing about Martha. When she's excited, which is whenever she's in the kitchen, her words tend to mesh together so that only those who are used to it can understand. Milo's not sure if that's a laziness thing or a Boston trait (he's never been to Boston) but either way, it's all part of Martha's unmistakeable charm.
Milo heads back out into the dining room, making a quick circle around the perimeter to check and make sure everyone's enjoying themselves. He walks to the small coffee-refilling station and picks up a boiling pot, wincing at the smell. Milo hates coffee, hates the way it slides heavily down his throat and makes his hands shake, and he doesn't understand why people will waste their precious money on a drink that's so unfulfilling.
He refills a mother's cup with a smile, ignoring how her pre-teen daughter stares at him a little too intensely. He imagines he's far away, somewhere like New York City or London, surrounded by interesting people going interesting places. It takes all his willpower not to sink into another fantasy, one where his mother isn't sick and the bills aren't due and he's free to return to college with enough money to spare. NYU told him they were holding his place, that they understood his predicament. That was a year and a half ago, and Milo's stopped hearing from them.
He turns with a sudden, sharp movement and his hand collides with a small mug, knocking it to the floor. The person at the table, a young woman with an open laptop, looks up and blushes.
"I'm so sorry," Milo says, bending down to pick up the broken pieces. "I'm such a klutz, honestly."
"It's okay," she says, closing her laptop and smiling down at him. "I was done anyway." Milo recognizes her, which isn't unusual. He knows all the regulars, not their names but their faces, their personalities, their orders. His eyes dart over to Chatham Girl, who looks like she might just have a heart attack. Whenever she's in, he tries hard to avoid loud noises and yelling. He turns back to Laptop Girl, whose cheeks are still tinged red.
"Can I get you anything else to eat?" he asks stupidly, unsure what else to say. She's really quite pretty, with skin the color of the coffee he's knocked on the floor and nails painted a pretty pastel blue. It makes him nervous, and he admonishes himself. There's nothing to be nervous about.
"Oh, no thank you."
"What are you working on?" Milo asks, or attempts to ask, because his question is cut off by Martha shouting from the kitchen.
"Two veggie egg omelettes and one kid's pancake with extra whipped cream!" she yells, and Milo sighs. "I'll see you in a bit," he says to Laptop Girl. "Let me know if you need anything else."
"I will. It was nice meeting you..." her voice trails off, waiting expectantly for him to fill in his name.
"Milo. And you?" He's proud his words don't come out scattered.
She smiles again, her cheeks burning brighter still. "Monique."
So Milo heads back into the kitchen, piling plates in his arms, and delivers them to the family. Monique has opened her laptop again, staring intently at the screen. He gives a slight wave, and she tilts her head in acknowledgement.
He goes to take the order of the young couple who just walked in, and the girl has to repeat herself five times.
--
wow ok it's been a while. i know this is short, but yay monique is finally here! things are shaping up, guys. it's getting real.
as always, if you find any mistakes or have any suggestions, please let me know! i love talking to you guys. comments make me smile. i'd love to know what you're thinking, if you like the story, etc.
again, i know this is rlly short, but i've been swamped this summer, in case you care. enjoy, don't hate me, etc.
(image at the top is milo. but imagine him with glasses)
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Pancakes at The Diner (on pause)
Teen FictionThe Diner has seen its fair share of the people of Midland, New York. There's Andrea, who doesn't quite know why she keeps coming back, save for the fact that it's the only place she doesn't feel constantly watched. There's Gregory, who people-watch...
