Letters to Angie

Part 5: The Diner

They drove through town and took the nearest ramp onto the highway. This late in the afternoon, traffic chugged along as a majority of people drove home from the jobs they hated, making a long-distance commute they hated almost just as much if not more.

Unsurprisingly, Tegan drove with little regard for the laws of the road. Vicious and hasty, making turns as sharply as possible and cutting people off whenever she felt like it. In turn, when the same happened to her, she would simply smile and lean back in her seat as if road rage was some euphoric experience.

Eventually, after five songs, of which Henry hadn't recognized any, they pulled off into a roadside diner parking lot. A pair of bikers stood beside their motorcycles and smoked cigarettes by the front door.

"I don't know about you," Tegan said, ejecting the key from the ignition with a forceful yank, "but I am famished. Could you eat? I could eat."

Henry, gripping his seatbelt for dear life, shrugged. It seemed his throat had constricted in on itself, suffocating his words into nothing.

They went inside and found an empty booth, which wasn't difficult considering the vacancy of the restaurant. The sole piece of evidence any business had occurred was a pair of empty coffee mugs at the main counter. Henry figured that's where the bikers had been sitting before going outside.

"What can I getcha two?" a waitress asked, tossing down two menus and a handful of straws. She removed a small notepad from her apron, poising her pen against the page.

"Two double cheeseburgers, everything on them," Tegan answered, scooping up the menus and passing them back to her. "And I'll have a Coke."

The waitress looked to Henry. "Water."

"Be out in a moment." The waitress retreated from the table and went into the back, yelling across the kitchen at the cook to get to work.

Tegan retrieved a pair of straws and drummed them against the table. Midbeat, she decided to ask: "You're not like a vegan or anything, right?"

They shared the same lunch period every day for the past eight months. She'd seen him eat pepperoni pizza and oven-made chicken nuggets at least fifty times.

"No."

"Good. You'll love the burgers here," she said. "Trust me, they're packed."

The waitress returned with two glasses. One filled with water and the other crackling with carbonated Coca Cola. She set them on the table and disappeared again.

Henry stabbed his straw against the table, breaking it from its paper sheath. Aimlessly, his eyes drifted to the window, taking in the sight of passing traffic. He watched as the two men snubbed their cigarettes and mounted their bikes. One of them started laughing as the other waved his hands around sporadically in sync with his anecdote. Once he finished his story, they rode to the exit, waved, and went in separate directions. One headed toward town while the other drove south.

"So, that guy at your house—"

"My stepdad?" Tegan said, using one of the extra straws to launch wads of crushed paper across the table at him.

"Yeah," Henry said, swatting away her ammunition as it fell to the table. Sometimes, it was like babysitting a child. "What's his deal?"

"His deal?"

Henry shrugged.

"Is this your attempt at normal conversation?" Tegan remarked. "Because it seriously needs some work."

"Alright, never mind."

She snorted. "His deal is that he married my mom after she kicked my dad out about ten years ago."