by Tricia Goyer
Allyson released a heavy breath and stopped her stilettoed foot. “No. They lost our reservation. The wait is two and a half hours. This is going to totally ruin our night.”
From the corner of her eye she noticed Izzy grabbing a plate of half-eaten appetizers that had been abandoned at the bar. Izzy moved to the waiting bench by the front door and sat, shoveling the fancy nachos into her mouth as if she hadn’t eaten all day.
Allyson puffed out another breath. Is this what their night had come to? Her best friend sneaking leftovers since Allyson hadn’t been able to fulfill what she’d promised?
Sondra smoothed down her dark hair. Every strand was perfectly in place. “You know what? Everything’s going to be okay.” Sondra’s voice was calm, too calm for the situation.
Allyson spread out her arms, in defeat. “There is a man-child playing death video games at home with my son,” her voice rose with every word.
Sondra’s voice was calm. “Ally, Ally, relax. I’m sure that Sean has everything in control. Everything’s going to be alright. Relax.”
Sondra, always the levelheaded one. But even the mellow words of her pastor’s wife could not diminish the angst she felt inside. She’d left her husband and kids at home, but she hadn’t left her frustration with man-child Kevin there. She hadn’t left her annoyance with Sean back in the driveway, no matter how she pretended she had. Instead, she played it all out in her mind again.
I bet Sean’s playing some game with the kids, something like cops and robbers and it’s gotten totally out of control.
She could see it—see it so clearly in her mind’s eye. Kevin and Sean tied up in chairs, backs to each other, wrapped up in packing tape, their arms pinned down so they couldn’t move.
Her eyes fluttered closed, and she could picture the toddlers running wild. Screams echoed off the walls and cabinets. Packing tape strung from every chair, table, and wall to the center of the den. Allyson resisted the urge to bolt from the restaurant— resisted the urge to jump in the minivan and race to their rescue.
She swallowed hard, trying to keep her heart from pounding and opened her eyes.
The house was most likely a plane wreck, and in total chaos. The kids most likely were running—with scissors—as unwholesome music blared from the computer games. Bailey probably jumped up and down, dancing wildly to the music.
Then there was the worst part . . . Brandon playing death video games, and Kevin going into meltdown mode since he admittedly didn’t like kids.
“I didn’t sign up for this. I didn’t sign up for this!” She could hear Kevin screeching in her mind.
Allyson also bet that Marco was all freaked out, crouched in the kitchen, and overwhelmed. Sean would try to control things as he always did, and he’d swagger over to Marco, with Kevin still attached to his back, and offer the Braveheart speech. “This is your moment! Fatherhood . . . man it up!”
And one of the twins would be in a video game coma, which was going to make him have nightmares and which would make Izzy mad at her on Monday. Yes, she played it all out in her mind.
She didn’t have time to ponder it any further, because someone walking by caught Allyson’s attention. She recognized the dark hair and the swagger. “Joey?” He was dressed nicer than usual.
She’d at first been impressed with Bridget’s ex-boyfriend when she’d brought him to meet them. Joey was handsome and engaging. He always dressed nice, and he seemed to have his act together. But it was just for show. He didn’t have a job. He didn’t go to school. He floated through life using that charm of his to get people to like him, to help him out . . . but charm could only get one so far.
Joey paused before her. Surprise flashed on his face, and then something else. “Hey. Hi Allyson.” Joey’s surprised looked turned into a worried one as he adjusted his tie. He looked handsomely sharp. A fedora was pulled low on his brow, and he looked as if he’d just stepped off the set of High School Musical, or maybe Glee. “I, uh, didn’t recognize you without your kids.”
“What are you doing here?” she asked. She fingered her thin gold necklace.
He fiddled with his fedora. “I’m just meeting somebody.”
Allyson swayed slightly. How was he able to waltz in so easily and she got stopped at the front door?
She awkwardly pointed to her friends. “We’re just having dinner, a little moms’ night out.” Or at least that was the plan. This wasn’t turning out anything like she thought. She still waited to hear about the table. Izzy was eating someone’s leftover food. Gross. And Sondra was now on the phone . . . so much for unplugging.
Joey offered a half-smile. “Yeah, Bridget told me.”
Sondra’s voice rose as she spoke into the phone. “No, Zoe, I told you that you cannot take your father’s car. And if you know where you’re going, just tell me where it is. It is so simple.” Sondra motioned with her free hand as she spoke as if Zoe were standing right in front of her. She looked so prim and proper in her cream-colored skirt, white blouse, and tan jacket, but frustration flashed in her eyes.
Some ladies’ night this was.
Joey stood their awkwardly for a moment as if trying to decide what to say, and then his eyes widened and he darted stage right like the Roadrunner. “Have a nice night.”
“Okay,” she spoke between clenched teeth.
Joey didn’t get too far, though. He returned, looking like a repentant puppy who was trying to get on his master’s good side. He walked close and leaned in, trying to play it cool. “Hey, if you talk to Bridget, don’t tell her you ran into me. Okay?” His eyebrows flickered up and he made a quick exit once again.
“What? Why?” she called after him, but Joey didn’t pause this time, didn’t turn, and didn’t acknowledge that she was talking to him. “Joe—”
Allyson’s words were cut short by the hostess returning. She took small steps, and her arms swung from side-to-side, as she gingerly approached the hostess desk. Behind her was the man who Allyson assumed was the manager . . . or visionary as the woman called him. He was dressed in all black with a burgundy scarf on his neck. He stood behind the hostess with a hand on his hip, as if he owned the place. Maybe he did.
The manager was bald on top, which didn’t bother her, but he wore a scowl—which did. At the distasteful look in his eye Allyson had a bad feeling she wasn’t going to like what the hostess had to say.
“Okay, so after a consultation with my superior, there is a very special table that awaits you . . .” The hostess’s smile was bright. Too bright. “. . . that awaits you next Saturday, because that’s when you made your reservation.”
Allyson’s own smile fell. “No, no, I didn’t. I called on Monday
She pasted on a grin. “You did. You called and you spoke with Brie.” The hostess peered over her shoulder to a young blonde woman sitting at a table alone. The young woman offered a slight wave, obviously knowing they were talking about her.
“Yes, yes.” Allyson remembered that was the woman’s name now.
The hostess nodded. “Brie’s really pretty.” Then she returned to the conversation at hand. “And you said, ‘Next Saturday.’” The woman lifted her eyebrows waiting for a reply.
“Yes, next Saturday, as in the next available Saturday, the next one that exists. The next one to be.” Allyson forced a chuckle.
“No, next Saturday would be the Saturday immediately following the current week you are in.” The hostess pointed her fingers downward.
“No, it’s the one immediately following whatever day it is.” Allyson wrinkled her nose. “That’s what next means.”
“Uh-um, no,” the hostess said with a wry little smirk. “That would be this Saturday. As in like this pen.” She lifted a pen and clicked the end of it, and then placed it back on her stand. “As in this little mousey thing.” She lifted it up and showed her, then returned it to her mouse pad.
The hostess lifted the restaurant’s phone next. “As in this phone. ‘Oh, hello.’” The hostess raised her vo
ice an octave, as if pretending to hold a conversation between two people. “I’d like to make a reservation for this Saturday. ”
Then she lowered her voice. “‘Oh you mean today? Yes, you may.’ See like that. But you didn’t say this, you said next” She placed the phone back in its cradle.
Allyson closed her eyes and squished up her face. Pain throbbed at her temple and her mouth felt dry. She opened her eyes and glared at the hostess. “I don’t care what I said.”
Allyson held back the urge to scream. She gritted her teeth. Heat rose to her cheeks and neck. She forced herself to remain calm . . . but she wasn’t doing a very good job. “Just get me a table,” she gasped.
Sondra rushed up to her side. “Okay, Ally. I think she gets the idea.” Sondra closed her eyes and offered her pastor’s wife smile as if that would make everything right.
“Yeah, you’re getting a little angry,” the hostess’s valley girl voice drawled. “And it’s, like, doing something ugly to your face.” She motioned to her own face and winced.
Allyson’s eyes grew wide. She fixed her gaze on the hostess, unsure she’d just heard correctly. She had a dozen ways she wanted to respond. A few choice zingers came to her, but they wouldn’t help. Allyson swallowed her pride, pressed her lips to hold back a short comeback, and then relinquished herself to a moment of desperation. “I’m sorry. I just . . . Can you help a girl out?” She flaunted her doe-like eyes and leaned in, melting into the podium.
“This is my first time out, like, in forever,” Allyson hurriedly explained.
“Ahh—” Sondra cooed, as if comforting a child. She wrapped one arm around her and squeezed.
“I’m wearing heels, and I’m carrying a small purse.” Allyson lifted it and shook it for the woman to see. “I just want to sit with my friends and enjoy a meal without three little people clawing all over me.” Her hands stretched out and clawed the air for emphasis.
The hostess wore a pasted-on smile and nodded slightly.
Sondra leaned in. “So let us know when a table’s available?” She nodded and offered her prim, pastor’s wife smile.
The hostess smiled wider and nodded, yet from the look in her eye she was certain Allyson had lost her mind. “Okay, I’ll do that.”
Sondra wrapped an arm around Allyson’s shoulders and led her to where Izzy sat. Ally took two steps but the emotion overwhelmed her. She could not wait. She could not sit on the bench by the front door. She could not let this night be ruined. Instead of walking toward Izzy, she circled around Sondra and headed back to the hostess.
“I just—I need a break because my job never ends.” Her voice carried strains of desperation. Allyson leaned over and ran her hand up and down in front of the woman’s computer monitor. “Can you please just check your scroll?” Her voice squeaked with every word, and she could feel the muscles in her neck growing taunt. “And change your scroll, please!”
The manager took a step forward. Ally expected him to say something. Maybe he’d offer a bit of grace and find them one teeny, tiny little table, in a small little nook, in a far of corner.
He leaned forward as if he was going to say something and the hostess turned and their eyes locked. Commiseration passed between their gazes. The manager lifted his eyebrows, and then the hostess turned back to them.
“Visionary has decided that you’ve disturbed the aura and you have to leave.” The hostess’s voice was firm.
“What?” The word shot from Allyson’s mouth. “What! This is a restaurant. This used to be Mike’s Barbecue!”
The visionary—the manager—growled. He pointed a finger. “How dare you!”
Sondra’s hands were on her arms again. She turned Allyson away from the people eating in the restaurant, away from the hostess, away from the visionary, away from all Allyson’s hoped for—longed for—plans. Sondra led her with small quick steps.
“There’s no aura.” Allyson scoffed to Sondra, looking back over her shoulder. “Really, aura?”
The manager covered his mouth, and from the look in his eyes he wanted to explode.
Allyson also noted something else in her retreat. His eyes weren’t the only ones on her. Many diners had paused eating to watch. Lucky people, she wanted to call to them.
Yes, all those lucky people who used this instead of that when they called to make a reservation. She envied their use of the English language. She also envied the butternut squash raviolis and seared tuna sitting before them.
Izzy jumped up from where she’d been sitting. Her mouth look full, and she chewed, trying to swallow down the rest of the appetizer. Instead of following Allyson and Sondra out, Izzy rushed up to the hostess. She placed the empty plate before her. “So good,” she gasped.
At least her friend got something to eat. Allyson’s own stomach ached, partly from anger and partly from hunger. She’d purposefully had a light lunch that day so she could enjoy the evening meal.
“Goodbye,” she heard the manager mumble.
And as she walked out the door she wished she had a closet to retreat to, and a bag of chocolate to retreat with . . . as if that would make things better.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The air was cool, crisp as they walked outside, back into the night. Allyson didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Was that a moment? Did she just have a “moment” in front of everyone in the restaurant? She’d come to fix that problem. To fix herself, and what had happened? Instead, she’d just made a big mess. Now there would be no dinner. Now there would be no conversation. Now there would be no unplugging. Allyson’s breaths came short, fast.
And this . . . this was worse than mascara on her eye. It was worse than her meltdown in front of the newlyweds. She’d lost control in front of her friends. She was getting worse, not better. How could she return home worse than she started? Sean would be so disappointed, and then who knew what tomorrow would bring? Yet another failure to heap upon all the other ones.
“That’s okay. It’s okay. I didn’t want to eat there anyway,” Izzy said as she followed Allyson and Sondra out. “Just need to eat somewhere,” she said in a weird, deep voice. “Soon!”
Allyson looked from Izzy to Sondra. Sondra’s face held a look of compassion. “No big deal Ally. We can do this another night—” Her words were interrupted by the buzzing of her phone. She reached into her purse for it.
Allyson threw up her hands in frustration. “No! We are not doing this another night. Tonight is our night. Tonight is NOT a failure!”
Instead of responding to her, Sondra pulled her phone from her purse. She answered it.
Allyson gasped, and then looked up to see Izzy texting. Texting!
“Marco is so clueless sometimes,” Izzy mumbled.
“Just one second.” Sondra lifted a finger. Then she leaned over to talk into the phone.
“Zoe, I told you not to go ANYWHERE till Dad got—”
“So we’re gonna just . . .” Allyson didn’t finish her sentence, but it wasn’t like anyone noticed. They were pulled away, into their devices. They were like bugs drawn to a light, and it was futile to fight.
Allyson stood in disbelief, and for the first time she saw it . . . really saw it. These women were so intent on keeping the plates spinning where they had been—maybe where they felt they still should be—that they were missing the “now.” Is this what Sean meant when he said he wanted her to unplug? Did that mean more than just getting away for a bit? Did it mean unhooking yourself from the worries and cares that never seemed to go away? Was that even possible for a mom?
Even as she’d been here at the restaurant she’d thought about what was happening at home. She’d made up horrible scenarios in her mind. She’d carried anger about death video games . . .
and she’d even been so focused on creating a special moment that she didn’t realize she was in a madness moment. And from the intensity of her friends’ faces, as they talked and texted, they didn’t realize that either.
Sondra pointed a finger into the
air. “Ah! Zoe! Zoe, listen to me, don’t go anywhere.”
Izzy gasped. “Uhh . . . Marco forgot the wipes, I mean seriously.” Izzy continued to stare down at her phone. How common of a look that was. Izzy was always texting on her phone. Always walking without looking. Even now she walked along the sidewalk like a zombie, glued to her phone.
Allyson looked from one woman to another, and she wondered if things had been simpler in the past before women had the ability to connect with everybody at once. Did people enjoy being together more in the past? Because from the way things were now, there really wasn’t such a thing as “together.” Not when everyone else “out there” had the access to butt in at any moment. Not only the access but the accessibility—the welcome.
Izzy stepped from the sidewalk into the street like a phone zombie. She didn’t see the car coming. Allyson rushed out into the street and she wrapped her arms around her friend. Izzy paused and struggled slightly. She lifted her head and had the same startled, displaced look that Brandon always got when he was woken up for school.
“What?!”
A car zoomed by, missing them my inches. The air pushed against them, and Allyson looked to the spot where Izzy would have been if Allyson hadn’t stopped her. Smashed. She pulled Izzy back to a safe place and then grabbed the phone from her hand.
“I’m saving your life!”
Izzy looked at her in disbelief. “What?”
Then Allyson hurried over to Sondra.
“I’m sorry. I’m going to have to go,” Sondra apologized to them, holding up her phone.
Allyson could see the worry in Sondra’s eyes. Sondra wanted to be there for Zoe, but Allyson knew Zoe well enough to know she could handle things—everything—herself. How was Zoe ever going to grow up if Sondra ran to her every time she had a small little issue?
“No, you’re not going to do that!” Allyson grabbed the phone from Sondra’s hand too. And then she started running with both phones. Running as fast as her stilettoed feet would carry her.
