“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’ve got some ideas. Sort of.”
“You going back to the office environment?”
I shook my head and hunched lower in my coat. “No. I know you hate the idea that I work in a restaurant—”
“I don’t hate the idea,” he cut me off. “I just don’t want you to get stuck doing it.”
“I was stuck in the office, I just didn’t realize I was stuck. That’s the thing; people don’t get it, but they’re actually trapped in their suits. Waiting tables is flexible and good money, and it’s giving me time to figure out what I want to do and be creative...”
“You’re being creative?”
“Yes.”
“You’re writing something?” he asked in surprise.
“Eh, I have an idea of something I’d like to write,” I said evasively.
I couldn’t quite bring myself to tell him I was writing a romance novel with thirty-one penis euphemisms in it.
Yes, I’d counted.
My father dropped the writing subject. “And this Aidan… You sure you should be seeing someone right on the heels of a breakup?”
“You didn’t like Matt when you first met him. Though, now I’m thinking you were correct in your opinion of him.”
“I can’t believe that bastard did that to you.”
“It’s okay,” I said.
“It’s not.”
“It is,” I insisted. “Because if we’re being honest, it needed to end. I can say that now, looking back.”
“And this guy—”
“Aidan,” I stressed. “Give him a chance. For me?”
“Okay, Wapa.” He squeezed my shoulder.
We walked a few feet in silence before I said, “So, by the way, Matt’s a homosexual.”
Chapter 18
Burrata [boo-rah-tah]:
1. A fresh Italian cheese made from mozzarella and cream. The outer shell is solid mozzarella, while the inside contains both mozzarella and cream, giving it an unusual, soft texture.
2. I’d cut a bitch for burrata.
After four days, a Broadway show and a few good meals, my parents were on a plane home. I was grateful for how they reacted to my entire life switcheroo. They had been invasive, but also totally supportive of me and my choices, and there hadn’t been any guilt.
Surprisingly.
“How’s the spaghetti and meatballs?” the guy asked, bringing me back to the present.
“Good,” I answered carelessly.
“Is it better than the fettuccine and beef Bolognese?”
“No.”
“Really?”
I held in a sigh. “Really.”
“Hmmm. I just…don’t…know…”
While I waited for him to make a seemingly impossible decision, my gaze wandered around the dining room. It was half-full, mostly filled with customers who’d already paid but didn’t want to go out into the cold. Not that I blamed them. I’d worn long underwear under my jeans—long underwear that went up past my bellybutton.
“What to get, what to get…” the man went on.
“Harold, just choose something!” Harold’s wife snapped.
“You can do two half orders,” I said.
Harold looked at me like I’d just told him I’d give him a kidney. “Really? Oh my god, you’re the best!”
I smiled and gathered up the huge menus after he’d chosen his two dishes. As I punched in the order, I saw another table being seated in the dining room. It was a couple in their late forties, and when the woman took off her coat, she revealed a microscopic, clingy dress that a twenty-year-old might wear on a night out clubbing. It was low cut, tight, and shiny.
“She does know it’s ten degrees out, right?” Zeb asked me.
“If she asks for a hot water with lemon, I’m seriously going to hit her.”
“I’m cold just looking at her.”
“I’m embarrassed for her,” I said. “I never wore those kinds of dresses, even when they were age appropriate.”
“This is a family restaurant!” Zeb said, pretending to be scandalized. “I know they’re in my section, but I can’t take them. I’ll say something I’ll regret. They’ll complain to Jess and I’m already on thin ice with her.”
“Why?”
“I told her that bangs were not good for her face shape.”
“God, we judge a lot.”
“Think we should stop?”
“Nope. What would we do in our spare time?” I sighed. “Okay, rock paper scissors for who takes this table.”
Zeb won, which meant I had to take the woman and her fake boobs. I spent fifteen minutes at the table, taking the order.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Zeb said.
“You so owe me. And I quote ‘No butter, no oil, no salt, no garlic, no onions, no meat, no dairy.’”
“I’ll buy you a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup.”
I glanced over at the woman, catching a glimpse of a lotus flower tattoo on her spine as she adjusted her breasts to take a boob selfie. I looked at Zeb and raised an eyebrow.
“Okay. Two Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.”
New Year’s came and went. Then Valentine’s Day. Another day, another shift. They all seemed to bleed together. The server nightmares were growing worse. There were many nights Aidan had to shake me awake because I was mumbling in my sleep. Apparently I answered menu questions to imaginary guests in Dreamland.
But the money and flexibility of the job were impossible to resist.
Before I knew it, it was March and the entire city was suffering from late-winter blues. The staff at Antonio’s had been having a difficult time faking happiness for the miserably cold customers who came through our doors each night.
I pushed away the empty plate of family meal and doodled on my dupe pad while we waited for the pre-shift meeting to start. The phones were ringing and Jess jumped up every five seconds to answer them. Aidan had taken the lead, shuffling papers and getting situated. His gaze lingered on me for one long moment, and Zeb nudged my ankle, but I pretended not to notice. Thankfully, Natalie was in her own little world and completely unaware.
“So,” Aidan said, “before we go over the food, I want to read you guys an email that someone wrote in about their dining experience:
I had the pleasure of dining at Antonio’s recently and I have to say, I’ve never been so happy. The food was delicious, the ambience warm and comfortable, but the reason for my exceptional dining experience was because of our server, Anastasia.
Anastasia expertly guided us through the extensive menu, helped us select a moderately priced wine, and she felt like an old friend who genuinely wanted us to enjoy ourselves. I will be back, and I’ll tell everyone I know about how much I enjoyed my meal at Antonio’s. Thanks, Anastasia! You are the best!”
“Anastasia?” Zeb smirked, refusing to look at me. “Who’s Anastasia? No one here is named Anastasia.”
“They probably meant Katrina,” I said immediately. “Russian royalty, Russian waitress. Honest mistake.”
Aidan looked at me when he said, “You know, this is not the first letter we’ve gotten about Anastasia. She’s all over our Yelp reviews.”
“You’re kidding!” Zeb said, pulling out his phone and opening the Yelp app. He scrolled through the Antonio’s reviews and started laughing. “Oh my God, this is hilarious. ‘If you go to Antonio’s for dinner, make sure you sit in Anastasia’s section. She’s delightfully funny and honest about the food. It’s like getting a one woman show.’”
“Can we talk about the specials?” Natalie asked. “So we can, you know, start setting up?”
Zeb and I looked at each other, wondering what had Nat in such a foul mood. She was never short tempered. She was sweet and nice, so this was weird and out of character.
“Sure,” Aidan said, not at all phased.
A few hours later, I watched Natalie lose it at a table. I mean, full-on, did-she-cook-your- rabbit-yet, lose it. While she w
as in the middle of her tirade, I went to her side, pasted a smile on my face, and said, “She’s an actress and she’s method acting.” I pushed her towards the direction of the bathroom and then smoothed over the table’s ruffled feathers and quickly took their order.
“Watch my section a minute? Everyone’s okay,” I said to Zeb.
“I can’t watch the whole dining room,” Zeb said. “Where’s Nat?”
“She had a bit of a freak out,” I explained. “Just give me five minutes?”
“Fine. Go. Let it all burn, anyway.”
I ducked into the bathroom and called out, “Nat?” The door to one of the stalls opened, revealing Natalie sitting on the closed toilet, clutching a wad of toilet paper in her hand. Her eyes were red.
“I’m—”
“Not here,” I interrupted. “Whatever it is, don’t say it here.”
She nodded.
“Pull yourself together,” I commanded. “After work. You and me. Got it?” She nodded again, stood up and sniffed. I set my hand on her shoulder, and said gently, “Wash your face. Okay?”
“Okay,” she whispered.
I headed back out onto the floor and Aidan was waiting for me, a look of concern on his face. “Is she okay?”
“I don’t know. I’m going out with her after work.”
“I’ll be at your place.”
I nodded. “Sounds good.”
“Your table is flagging you down,” he said.
“That’s not a wave. I think she’s having a seizure.”
Aidan smiled and strolled away.
I waved back at the woman and yelled across the dining room, “I’ll be right there!”
Natalie inhaled a shaky breath. “I’m…kind of…pregnant.” She whispered her announcement, turning solemn eyes to the table. It was loud in the twenty-four hour Latin diner and it covered the silence between us.
“I—you’re—pregnant. Okay.” I nodded. “I had no idea you were dating someone.”
“It’s new, and I wanted to see where it went before I told anyone.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I really have no idea. Tad and I have only been dating for two months. I was still waiting for the other shoe to drop with him and now this happened.”
“Have you told him yet?”
She shook her head. “Not yet. I wanted to be sure. What the fuck am I going to do?” she nearly wailed, placing her head in her hands.
“Oh, I am not so good with the life advice. I don’t have crap figured out. I’m good with inappropriate comments. Can I offer you one of those?” I asked almost desperately.
“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Natalie said. “I wanted a 401K. I wanted to be married, and be a really hip New York mom. Now, I’m going to have to move to Jersey. And I really hate Jersey.”
“Okay, listen,” I said, taking her hand. “I had a 401K and a stable-ish boyfriend. That all went to shit overnight. Life sucks sometimes, but the detours make it interesting, don’t you think?”
She made a garbled noise and shrugged. “This detour is going to make me throw up for three months.”
“Only if you’re lucky—morning sickness can last longer than the first trimester.”
She looked at me with questioning disdain.
“I read a lot,” I explained.
“Can we talk about something else? Can you distract me, please?”
I blew out a puff of air and grasped at the only straw I had. “I’m sleeping with Aidan.”
She nodded and swallowed. “That’ll do.”
The next afternoon, Aidan and I were enjoying a cozy moment on my couch. “What happened with Nat?”
“Can’t tell you,” I said.
“Why not?” Aidan demanded.
“Because it’s not my secret to share,” I said, not looking him in the eye.
“You so told her about us, didn’t you?”
“No!” Pause. “Yes. But only because I was trying to make her feel better about the secret I can’t tell you—so don’t ask again. Unless…”
“Unless what?”
“We could do an exchange of information.”
“I’m listening.”
“Julian’s cheerful mood has lasted. What’s up with him?”
Aidan shook his head. “Can’t say.”
“Still?”
“Still.” Aidan grinned and kissed me before getting up off the couch.
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“Why?” I demanded.
“Because, as much as I love sitting on the couch and relaxing with you, I want to go out. And by go out, I mean I want to take you out.”
“You mean, like, on a date?”
“Exactly like on a date.”
“But we don’t do that,” I protested.
“So let’s start.”
“No.”
“Sibby… Your parents like me now, but what happens when you tell them we only order take out and spoon.”
“Enough with the spooning jokes. We get it, you’re a good spooner.”
“You know spooning is a euphemism for—”
“Got it, thanks! And my dad doesn’t like you.”
“Yes, he does. We had a talk,” Aidan responded.
“Huh? When?”
“The day before they left. We had a heart to heart. We’re good.”
I blinked stupidly. So much I didn’t know.
“He invited me to next year’s Passover Seder,” Aidan went on. “Told me I just had to try gefilte fish. What is gefilte fish?”
“Gelatinous, slimy…fish patties. The most disgusting Jewish food in the history of the world.”
“It can’t be that bad,” he said, trying not to make a face. Not that I blamed him. The stuff made me dry heave.
“I used to give my share to my childhood dog under the table. Even he wouldn’t eat it.”
“Huh. Maybe your dad doesn’t like me after all.”
“Nah, he’s a jokester. This is his way of indoctrinating you into the tribe. We’ll just put a ton of horseradish on it and it will be okay.”
“Why don’t I believe you?”
I shrugged.
“He told me why they call you Wapa.”
I moaned theatrically.
“So cute. Really. Little Wapa Bug!”
“Veto! You are not allowed to call me that.”
He grinned. “So, I’ll pick you up for dinner at seven o’clock.”
“No,” I stated. “We can’t—I won’t—”
“Nowhere on the west side.” Aidan amended. “Somewhere dark so no one will know that you’re embarrassed to be seen with me.”
“The East Village is good for that,” I remarked with a smile. “And there’s nothing embarrassing about you.” I should’ve been parading him around, blasting Facebook with cute, disgusting photos of us that would make acquaintances jealous.
“I’ll let you choose the place,” he conceded. “We can even stay in Brooklyn if you want.”
“Really? You want to take me on a date that badly?”
“Shocking, I know. God, you make me work really hard for it.”
“Not anymore,” I quipped.
He shook his head. “Seven o’clock.”
“Fine. But you’re not allowed to look cuter than me.”
Aidan grinned and then left. When I had the place to myself, I called Natalie to check in with her. She didn’t answer and I wondered if she was telling her new guy she was pregnant. My life had become dramatic by association—and my life was dramatic enough. Still, good friends were hard to come by.
But I’d take them, drama and all.
I took Aidan to a Polish restaurant in Greenpoint that had a name I couldn’t spell or pronounce. All the waitresses were dressed in traditional Polish serving attire, the walls were lined with animal heads, and the booths were large and wooden.
Nothing on the menu cost more than fifteen dollars, and we split a platter of kielbasa,
pierogees, and other Polish specialties. We were on our second round of drinks when Aidan said, “I haven’t seen Caleb in a week.”
“Really?” I thought for a moment. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen Annie in a fair amount of time, either. She popped in for a quick lunch with my parents and me when they were in town, but that was it. Think she and Caleb are nesting?”
“Yeah, or doing it all the time.”
“Uhm, ew.”
“Guys don’t nest,” he explained. “You all make things pretty, cook us things, and add photos to the place, but dudes just leave their socks around their girlfriends’ apartment.”
“What else do they do?” I asked with a smile.
“Take out the trash, fix electronics, stuff like that.”
“Manly.”
“Yep. So, I know you can’t tell me about Natalie’s secret, and I won’t ask again, but can you tell me…who is Anastasia?”
Maybe it was the second beer, maybe it was because I was tired of holding on to a lot of secrets, but I blurted out, “My alter ego.”
Aidan hid his smile, or tried to.
“Don’t laugh at me.”
“I’m not, I just…you’re hilarious. You know that right?”
“According to Yelp reviews, Anastasia’s a gas,” I drawled.
“So why the need for an alter ego?”
I shrugged. “Remember Crazy Dog Lady?”
“The woman who kept calling you ‘Libby’? Yeah. I remember. Jess and I had a meeting about it.”
“Wait, what? You did?”
“Yeah. We had a discussion about what to do if she ever came back—we won’t let her eat with us again. There’s funny crazy and then there’s crazy dog lady crazy.”
“Good to know. Justice has prevailed!”
He cleared his throat. “So—Anastasia?”
“Right! After that woman, I refused to give out a real name. Customers now get a persona. I can’t believe it’s taken you this long to hear about it, actually. Everyone knows.”
“Everyone, everyone?”
I nodded. “Even the hostesses. When they get requests for people to sit in Anastasia’s section, they don’t bat an eye. They know it’s me.”
Tales of a New York Waitress (The Sibby Chronicles Book 1) Page 16
