Life Lines

3: Old-fashioned Surprises

Work droned on for the hours I was there. Luckily my father didn’t mind that I smelled like coffee because I left fifteen minutes late. We both usually dressed up for these dinners, I didn’t really know why. It was just dinner with each other which we did every night. Maybe it was because we didn’t eat out much or that it was at the country club. Or maybe we both felt like we needed to do it for Mom.

Who knew.

I got dressed really quickly in the locker room of the club, having left my dress in the locker so it too wouldn’t smell like coffee. I freshened up my make up and straightened my hair where it creased because of the pony tail I had it in for work. I waved to the night desk person, Grant, as I skittered across the lobby. He just smiled and waved back, not unused to my hurriedness. I generally ran a few minutes late, my parents chalking it up to the fact I was born two days passed my due date. I was late joining the world so I would be late for everything else in my life. It was true for the most part. I didn’t ‘develop’ until freshman year of high school, didn’t start the ‘woman’s natural cycle’ until around the same time, needless to say…I was a late bloomer. Cecil used to tease me and say there was no point because woman golfers didn’t need boobs. We needed to be flat chested so our swing would be right. Charmer that one.

I got to the restaurant and the hostess for the night, which just happened to be a guy, showed me to my table. My father wasn’t there yet, which surprised me. He was usually punctual for everything, being a golfer and all made him that way. He thought the same would happen to me as I got older but no dice.

The hostess handed me my menu and told me my waiter would be there shortly.

As it turned out she appeared within minutes but my father, not so much.

It was beyond odd. I didn’t order, not wanting to get my food before he showed up. Instead I munched on the bread basket and drank my Sprite. The club’s policy on letting someone sit at a table without ordering was fifteen minutes. Then the non-spending customer got kicked out. But since my father was a prominent member and a constant donator, they allowed me to just sit there, refreshing my drink and even bringing me a second bread basket after I devoured the first.

Making coffee would work up anyone’s appetite.

Forty-five minutes in, I spotted Grant talking to the hostess (were they called hosts since it was a guy?) and hand him a slip of paper. I groaned, closing my eyes and hanging my head. I knew who that slip of paper was for.

And I wasn’t disappointed as the familiar sound of the guy’s voice said my name.

“Ms. Abernathy?”

I looked up at him. “That would be me.”

“This is for you.” He handed me the slip and walked away.

I flipped it open and on the known message paper the club used was my father’s excuse. The first one EVER.

Had to work late. I’m sorry, honey. Dinner’s still on me and I’ll make this up to you. I promise.