Unexpected Up Ahead

Chapter 6

        I pushed open the back door of the diner. After moving out of my dad's house, I immediately went here to see if I could get a job. When the owner saw how well I could scrub a plate clean, she hired me on the spot.
        I went over to the sink and began to wash my hands. The warm water loosened my mind, and I breathed in deeply as a memory began to come to the surface.
        "Dad, what are we having for dinner tonight?" I tugged on the corner of his shirt. He turned around, trying to shake me off. "What are we having?" I continued to ask. I knew that my voice was starting to have an annoying whine to it, but I so needed him to lean down, smile, and tell me he was making spaghetti, did I want to help?
         Instead, he muttered into the phone, "One sec." Glaring at me, he hissed, "Bianca, will you shut up? I'm trying to talk to someone!" He turned back to his phone, adding, "Make yourself a sandwich or something!"
        I bit my trembling lip and ran to the kitchen. Pulling myself up onto the counter, I stood, blinked my tears out of my eyes, and began to pull ingredients out of the cupboards and fridge. I turned the heat up on the stove and began to fry bananas on one pan and make pancakes on another. After half an hour, I placed two plates on the tiny wooden table and flopped several pancakes on each, piling fried bananas and drizzling a healthy amount of chocolate sauce on top. I poured orange juice into one glass, milk into the other, and ran to go find my dad.
        He was no longer on the phone, but sitting at his desk, with a paper covered in figures, equations, and numbers. His fingers, armed with a pencil, flew.
        "Dad?" I whispered. He didn't look up. I raised my voice a little. "Dad?" He turned, frowning. "I made dinner. Pancakes." I offered.
        His face softened a smidgen. "I'll come in soon."
        "Oh." I opened my mouth to ask if he wanted me to bring it to him, but he'd already turned back to his paper. "Okay," I whispered, closing the door softly.
        Back at the table, I chewed slowy. At any second, I told myself, my dad would come in and sit down. I imagined his face breaking into an amazed and proud grin as he took his first bite. I knew that once he took a bite of the pancakes, he wouldn't be able to stop.
        Before I knew it, I was waking up, my face pressed onto the table. The other plate of pancakes still sat there, cold and uneaten.
        "Bianca, table five wants seconds of your pancakes."
        I snapped out of my reverie. "Coming up."
        The short-order cook, Mabel, and I had a special arrangment: She would take over my duties as waitress if I would take over hers on Thursday nights, which were Fried Banana Pancake Night at the diner.
        Just before I turned to start making the next batch of pancakes, something in the corner of my eye caught my attention. I stopped and peered out the order window. Then I quickly turned around, almost running, to the other side of the kitchen.
        But it was too late. He'd already spotted me. The kitchen door changed as he pushed it open.
        Gritting my teeth, I slowly turned to face him. "Did you follow me to work?"
        "No." I glared, narrow-eyed, at him, he admitted. "Sort of."
         "That's creepy." I folded my arms.
        "Noted." He gestured to the plate of pancakes he was holding and took a bite. "These are really good, by the way."
         "Okay, get out of my kitchen." I pointed with a spatula at the door. When he didn't move, I added, "You've got ten seconds before I call Mabel in here to take you out." Mabel, besides being the short-order cook, did wrestling in her spare time and biceps the size of watermelons.
        "Just hear me out!" Alf held up his hands.
        "Ten!" I prodded him towards the door with the spatula.
         "You need me!"
         I glared at him. "Nine!"
        He stood firm, despite my vigorous prodding with the spatula. "I can help you! With Lucy!"
        "Eight-hang on, how do you know about Lucy?"
        He grinned. "I'm a creepy stalker remember?"
        "As I said before, you're really not helping your case."
        "Okay, so Mrs. MacQuoid may have called me after you left their house." Alf took another bite of his pancakes, and his eyes closed for a brief moment, savoring their deliciousness. I made a mental note to call Mrs. MacQuoid to complain after my shift was over.
        "YOU." Alf turned, whiplash-fast to face the door. I turned with him.  There, standing with her hands on her hips, was Mabel, steam practically coming out of her ears and a growl emanating from her throat. "GET OUT OF MY KITCHEN."