Pancakes at The Diner (on pause)

13: In Which Andrea Makes a Plan

         The Diner doesn't look any different when Andrea walks in, not that she expects it to. Still, she finds herself fixating on all the small details: the exact shade of the yellow wallpaper, the feel of the red vinyl seats, the shine black and white checkered floor, half expecting them to have changed in the day she's been gone. But everything is just as it was, which gives her a sense of relief. Coming out to Milo wasn't a huge shift in the universe. The Diner was still there, and Andrea had her regular table all to herself again, and she could breathe easy.

    The waitress who's not Milo approaches her table. "Hi, my name is Alice, and I'll be your server today. Can I get you anything to start?" she asks.

    "Is, um, is Milo here?" Andrea asks, willing herself to keep eye contact. Alice had hair so blonde it was almost white, and a silver nose piercing. Andrea always had trouble keeping eye contact with pretty girls.

    "He wasn't here when my shift started," Alice says. "Martha said he got sick and went home."

    "Oh," Andrea says. She's never been in The Diner without Milo before. In some ways, Milo is The Diner to her. Milo and pancakes, that is. He fits among the retro pictures and bright wallpaper like a puzzle piece. She'd texted him the night before, and in the morning, never picturing him anywhere but here. And he'd never once let on that he wasn't coming to work.

    "Is there anything I can get for you?" Alice asks again.

    "Oh, um," Andrea's feeling flustered now. "Just water. Water is fine. Um." Her hand is shaking. She hides it under the table.

    "Let me know if you need anything else," Alice says, and smiles. Andrea hopes she smiles back.

    It's weird to sit in her seat and know that she won't see Milo wander in, ready with a joke and a smile. She feels very on edge, glancing towards the kitchen door every few seconds for no reason at all, spreading her hands across the table in an effort to stop the tremors. The breathing exercises her therapist taught her help, but barely.

    It sounds almost as though someone is calling her name, but she closes her eyes and focuses more intently on calming herself down and shutting down all sensory input. And it works, too, right up until she feels a hand on her shoulder and lashes out violently, almost involuntarily. When she opens her eyes, she sees Cute Monique standing in front of her, a hand cradling the side of her face where a red print outlines the spot Andrea hit her.

    "Oh g-god, I am so, so sorry," Andrea whispers, and all the breathing exercises in the world couldn't calm her nerves. She's just punched Cute Monique in the face. If there was a crowd of people in The Diner, which there never is, Andrea is sure they'd all be glaring at her. Cute Monique isn't the type of girl you punch. No girl is the type of girl you punch, but punching Cute Monique is like snapping a baby rabbit's neck. Worse, even. Andrea wants the ground to swallow her whole.

    "It's fine," Monique says quickly, rubbing circles around her cheek. "I probably shouldn't have touched you. But jeez, kid, you have a really strong fist."

    Alice, who had been standing nearby with Andrea's water clutched in her hand, offers to head back to the kitchen for a bag of ice. Andrea can't bring herself to look at her. Humiliating herself in front of two cute girls at once has to be some sort of record. The girls at Chatham don't approach her anymore, so there's never really any opportunity to do stupid things near them.

    "I d-didn't mean to," Andrea says once Monique has accepted Alice's ice. "I just... y-you startled me."

    "It's okay," Monique smiles as best she can with a bag full of crushed ice obscuring half her face. "I don't blame you. I just couldn't figure out how else to get your attention. You didn't seem to hear me saying your name, so..."