We're Not Related Anymore...

Work And Revelations

Maddie: Present Day

"Hi there, table for two?" I ask the couple I spy looking around the restaurant. The woman smiles after I catch her eye and holds up three fingers. 

"A table for three actually. He's meeting my dad," She tells me and I shoot her my best customer service smile. 

"Let me give you the window seat then," I say, leading them to a popular table in my section. I grab menus from the stand and place them in front of the chairs they choose. "Shall I give you a moment to look through the menu before you order drinks?" I ask, digging around in my apron to find the notebook and pen I left there. 

"You can come by again when he joins us," the man explains, he looks nervous. I can see his leg jumping up and down under the table. 

"But can you bring us a few glasses of tap water?" The woman asks and I nod my head.

"Of course! I'll be right back." 

It hasn't taken me long to get back into the swing of things at work. Everyone was surprised by my early return. If I'd taken the bus like I'd intended, I'd probably still be on my way here. But thanks to Jacob I'm not and it's been great being busy again. 

I fetch the glasses of water and place them on the couple's table, noting her father hasn't shown up yet. It makes me sad to think I'll never get to do this thing with my dad. Sander told me to take a few days off before I got back to work but I insisted I was ready. 

The thing is, I'm always going to have sad thoughts like this that sneak up on me. The difference is that, if I'm busy, I can't dwell on them for too long. 

I hear the bell ring and go to the pass to see if the order for my other table is up. It is, and I take it over to the customers. 

I place the pasta and hamburger in front of the elderly couple. "Here you go folks, I hope everything is to your liking." They smile, picking up their knife and fork and digging into their food. 

I see an older man near the restaurant from the outside and have a feeling this is the final person in my trio by the window. I'm about to head back there when a regular snaps his fingers from his table to get my attention. 

"Yes, Mr. Wilson?" I ask, keeping my voice neutral, as I edge near his lone table. He's a retired newspaper editor and has been eating at Alessandro's daily since I started working here. Although, I can't fathom why. Nothing is ever to his liking. 

"The fish is raw," He tells me, shoving his plate of food at me. I keep my smile in place even though I want to roll my eyes. 

"Did you order the salmon medium?" I ask, picking it up. 

"It's raw," he repeats, narrowing his bespectacled eyes at me. "Tell that chef in there that I want a new fish. Now." 

As soon as my back is to him, I drop the smile I've plastered on my face. I march back to the kitchen, saying the old man's name in vain all the way there again.

The sous chef looks at me, her body deflating when she says the returning plate. 

"What's wrong?" She asks, taking the plate and analyzing it to see if there's a hair or any other problem with the food. 

"It's Mr. Wilson," I tell her and her mouth pinches together. "He says it's raw."

"He always fucking does this. Mitchy, fry me up a salmon! Blacken the fucking thing!" She shouts and then takes the fish from me. "He always orders medium salmon and then sends it back. I'm thinking about asking Sander to blacklist."