The Other One

by Jiffy Kate

  “Hello, Mama.” I let out a deep breath, as if I’m annoyed, but I can’t help the small smile that creeps up on my face. Closing my eyes, I let her voice do its job.

  “Hey, baby. Just wanted to say good luck today and I’m so proud of you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’ll see ya at dinner tonight.”

  “Yep, see ya tonight.”

  “You’re gonna do great, Tripp.” Hearing her confidence in me and knowing that she’s there for me, no matter what, is just the push I need.

  “I hope so.”

  When I finally put the phone back in my pocket and walk through the door, there are a few people milling around in the kitchen. Two of them I recognize from the day of my interview. All three of them nod their head and greet me with a “hey” like I belong here. I’m not sure I do just yet, but it’s nice to know they don’t look at me like the freak I feel like sometimes.

  The melodic tone from the saxophone player who stands at the corner of the street is filtering through the partially opened window over a large stainless steel sink, and a guy at the counter in the middle of the kitchen is humming along. Everyone seems to work together like a finely tuned orchestra, and the fear of failure hits me again.

  What if I mess up their orchestra?

  What if I can’t do this?

  A girl with a curly blonde ponytail walks through the swinging doors with a tray full of partially empty glasses. She pauses to pin an order slip on the wire hanging over the counter with one hand, while balancing the tray precariously with the other.

  What if I drop a tray and break all of the glasses?

  Do you get fired for that?

  Self-doubt is eating me from the inside out, but just before I can tuck tail and run back out the door, Wyatt’s voice fills the room, handing out instructions and saving me from myself.

  “Julie, the couple at table four changed their mind about dessert.”

  He sets a stack of plates in the steamy sink before practically dancing over to the big stove, where a muscular guy with floppy brown hair is whisking with one hand and flipping with the other.

  “Shawn, I was instructed to give compliments to the chef on the butter sauce today,” he says, tipping his imaginary hat, and then he turns his attention to me. “Tripp, it’s good to see you again. Are you ready to get your feet wet?”

  He can probably tell from the scared-as-shit look on my face that I’m having second thoughts. His smile and a firm hand on my back are all that’s keeping me in place.

  “You’re going to do just fine,” he assures me, gripping my shoulder and easing me toward the door that leads to the main part of the café. I peek out as the doors part and see a few tables with customers, but for the most part, the place is pretty empty. My shoulders sag with relief, and I take a deep breath, trying to convince myself I can do this.

  “You can do this,” Wyatt says, eyeing me from the side as if he can hear the war going on in my mind. “I have faith in you.”

  I nod my head in response and begin following him around the room, shadowing his every move. He allows me to watch and learn without pushing me into the lion’s den. Gradually, I begin to feel more comfortable, moving easily between the crowded tables and knowing when to duck or scoot out of the way.

  “See ya next time, darlin’.” Wyatt waves as one of the last customers leaves. It’s not the end of the day, just the end of the lunch rush, and as he explained to me earlier, a time to get everything back in order before the evening crowd descends.

  I think the time between lunch and dinner will be my favorite time at work. The crowd is gone, the café is quiet, and I’m left to monotonous chores like folding napkins and wrapping silverware. It’s calming, ritualistic like some of my coping techniques, and it’s exactly what I need in the midst of all the newness.

  The bell above the door chimes, signaling a customer. Wyatt opens the swinging doors wide, greeting them as they come in, offering a table by the window and announcing their server will be right with them. Then, he looks over at me with a wink.

  Oh, shit.

  Is that me?

  Am I their server?

  I don’t think I’m ready to fly solo.

  What if I forget the specials?

  “Table five is all yours,” he says, hitting me lightly with his towel as he passes by.

  Slowly, I stand from my spot at the table in the back and place the unused napkins next to the shiny forks I’ve been rolling into a neat pile. Rubbing my now sweaty hands down the front of my slacks, I take a step toward the table. The people aren’t paying me any attention, and looking at them, they seem nice enough. I clear my throat and swallow hard, willing my feet to move in their direction.

  “Welcome to The Crescent Moon,” I say mechanically, walking up to the edge of the table, but not making eye contact. “What can I get you to drink?”

  Out of habit, I sweep my hair to the side to cover my scar.

  The couple takes what feels like minutes to look over their menus as I wait with pencil and pad in hand. My heart is beating fast, but I manage to keep my hand from shaking. Both of them order a rose mint tea, our house specialty, which seems easy enough until I start thinking about delivering two piping hot cups of tea. Without saying another word, I stumble over my own two feet as I turn and head for the safety of the kitchen.

  “Two rose mint teas,” I mumble, internally berating myself.

  “Two rose mint teas,” Sarah repeats, leaning over to meet my eyes with a smile. “Everything going okay?”

  “If you consider being a moron and almost knocking over two tables okay, then yeah.” I can’t help but give her a small smile in return, because something about her big round eyes remind me of my niece Emmie and thoughts of Emmie always make me smile.

  “Don’t let the first-day jitters get to ya. Trust me; we’ve all been there. I’m sure you’ll break a few plates before it’s all over with,” she says, laughing as I turn around and head back out the door, nearly running over Julie and a full tray of dirty dishes.

  “Sorry.”

  “No problem.”

  As I struggle through my first day—forgetting orders, spilling soups, and nearly dumping an entire pitcher of ice water on a lady—my mind occasionally drifts to her . . . Ania. I wonder why she only comes here on Thursdays.

  When Wyatt approaches me and starts making small talk, it’s on the tip of my tongue to ask about her, but he seemed so closed off about the subject the first day I was here, I’m afraid to bring it up. So, I wait.

  Thursday seems like a year away.

  “So, are you ready for your second day at work?” Liza asks as she pours coffee into two mugs, one for her and one for me. “Wyatt said you did well for a newbie.” She smiles as she looks back at me over her shoulder. I knew she would check up on me.

  “I can’t believe he didn’t fire me.”

  “Oh, please. You’re not the first new employee to make a few mistakes on your first day. Besides, it’s a lot to take in and . . .” She drifts off, and I know what she wants to say. She wants to make excuses for me and blame my incompetence on something that’s out of my control. But she can’t make excuses for me the rest of my life.

  “Liza,” I warn.

  She turns around and gives me her concerned look—mouth twisted, worried eyes—making her look just like Mama. “It’s going to take time. You can’t expect to be back at full speed right away.”

  “I know.” I pinch my nose and release a deep breath of air.

  “Just do your best. That’s all you can do. Take it one day at a time, just like the doctor said.”

  “Thanks, Liza.”

  “Anytime.” She kisses me on my cheek as she pushes the cup of coffee into my hand. “Have a good day. I can’t wait to hear about how the second day goes,” she says, closing the front door behind her on her way out.

  The highlight of today is that I’m finally going to see Ania again. My mind races with questions and curiosities, but
more than anything, I just want to see her and have a chance to commit more of her to memory—the color of her eyes, what her smile looks like, and the sound of her voice. I’m hoping I get a chance to talk to her . . . if I have enough nerve to talk to her.

  Today is similar to Tuesday. I check in with Dixie when I arrive, and she gives me my time card and a smile that boosts my confidence. Wyatt allows me to shadow him through half of the day, and then he puts me in charge of a couple of tables toward the front. I try not to watch the door and the clock, but the longer I have to wait and anticipate seeing her, the more worked up I feel inside. Somehow, I have to get a grip before I cause myself to have a migraine and am forced to leave before she even gets here. That would be horrible.

  I ask Wyatt for a five-minute break, and he tells me to go ahead, but not before asking me if everything is okay. I nod my head, telling him nonverbally that it is. But the truth is all of the anticipation of wanting to see Ania has me feeling anxious, and I need a few quiet minutes to take some deep breaths and get myself in check.

  As I lean back against the brick on the outside of the café, I inhale deeply through my nose, taking in the delicious, rich aromas from the kitchen, and attempting to clear my mind, only concentrating on my diaphragm going up and down.

  “Care for a smoke?” someone asks, startling me.

  I turn to look at the dark-haired girl from the kitchen, Julie. She’s holding a half pack of cigarettes in my direction.

  “Sometimes it helps when I’m having a stressful day. You look like you could use it.”

  “I’m fine. I just needed a few minutes alone.” As soon as the word leaves my mouth, I feel like an asshole. I didn’t mean it like that, but sometimes I say things without thinking.

  I turn to her to apologize for sounding so rude, but she waves me off.

  “No worries. We all need a break from time to time.”

  “Well, I didn’t mean it like that. Sometimes I say stupid shit.” My hair falls into my eyes as I turn my head to look over at her.

  She laughs, blowing out a puff of smoke over her shoulder in the other direction. “I like you.”

  “Thanks,” I say, giving her the first genuine smile I’ve had all day.

  There was a time when a lot of people liked me and wanted to be my friend, but that time seems like a lifetime ago.

  “Hey, Alexander,” Evan hollers down the corridor, running to catch up with me.

  I stop and wait for him. “Hey.”

  “So,” he begins, throwing an arm around my shoulder, “you comin’ to the party tonight at Amanda’s house? I hear her parents are gonna be gone, and Whitney’s supposed to be spending the night.” The last part comes out suggestively, and I can’t keep myself from laughing at him.

  “I don’t need Amanda’s parents to be gone to get Whitney alone,” I reply confidently because it’s the truth. Whitney and I have been together for the last two years, and we’re perfectly capable of finding time to be alone. “But the party sounds fun. I’ve got dinner with my family tonight, but I’m sure I can make my way over there later.”

  “Dude! You have to! It won’t be a party if you’re not there.”

  “I said I’ll be there.”

  “Cool!” He slaps my back before running back in the direction from which he came. I roll my eyes, because that kid is always on the run, even on the football field, which is why he’s my number one go-to for passes. He and I make a great team. I wish he were interested in signing for Tulane. He’d be a great asset to my future team.

  “Have a good weekend, Mr. Alexander,” Mr. Brown says as we pass in the hall.

  “You too, Mr. Brown.”

  It’s going to be weird not being here next school year. Most kids are counting down the days until they get to college, but I’ve loved every second of high school. As much as I’m ready to take the next step in life, I’m going to miss this place.

  “There you are.” Whitney reaches around and slides her hand into my back pocket. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

  “Hey.” I kiss the top of her head, looking behind us to make sure no one is looking before I move my attention to her lips. “Ready for the weekend?”

  “Ready for some alone time with you,” she says, pulling me closer as she leans into me. “You’re coming over to Amanda’s tonight, right?”

  “Yes, I already promised Evan . . . and Trey . . . and Marcus, earlier at lunch,” I tell her.

  “Good. It wouldn’t be a party without you.” She looks up at me with her big blue eyes, and I can’t resist placing another kiss on her lips.

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “You got a new table, Tripp,” Sarah calls out as soon as I walk back into the building.

  I nod at her before I take in a deep breath and slowly let it out. A quick glance at my watch tells me I only have an hour left in my shift, so I straighten my shoulders and walk to the front, determined to end my work day on a positive note.

  My new table is a nice older couple, who are very laid-back and easy to please. After their hot teas and appetizers are served, they settle into effortless conversation. It’s clear they’ve been in love for a long time and are perfectly suited. They remind me of my parents in that respect, and I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever find my soul mate one of these days. I used to think it was a given for me, but now, I’m not so sure.

  Barely paying attention to my surroundings, I nearly trip over my own two feet as I turn around to head back to the kitchen, because sitting at table six is the long dark hair I’ve been waiting for all day. Thankfully, she’s turned toward the window and doesn’t see me stumbling around like a drunk. I manage to stay upright the rest of the way into the kitchen, where I brace myself on the wall and take deep breaths.

  Opening my eyes, I see Julie and Sarah both watching me but trying to look busy at the same time. Neither of them says anything, but they exchange a glance across the counter as they finish garnishing plates that are ready to be taken to the customers—my customers.

  “Two specials are up for table five,” Julie says loudly over the roar of the busy kitchen.

  After I compose myself and feel like my hands are steady enough to carry the plates to the table without dropping them, I pick them up and head back out through the kitchen doors. Setting the plates in front of the older couple, I politely ask them if there’s anything else I can get them before turning around and stealing a glance at Ania.

  Part of me is internally begging for her to look up, but the other part is saying no. If she looks at me, I’ll probably make a fool out of myself, but I’d love to know if her eyes are as sad as they were last week.

  What color are they?

  Are they brown?

  Blue? Green? Gray?

  Does she ever smile?

  Is the sadness always on her face?

  Technically, her table is in my section, and even though I know Wyatt told me not to bother her, I’m fighting the urge to offer her some water or ask if she needs anything.

  I wonder how long she stays. Glancing down at my watch, I notice it’s just a little after six, which means she must come here right at six o’clock, or at least she did today. I make a mental note so that I can be more prepared next time. I’m tempted to set a timer in my watch like I do for everything else, but that would be weird.

  As I continue walking between my few tables, checking on the customers, I keep an eye on her, waiting for her to look up and notice me, but she never does. When I have the older couple’s table cleared, I intentionally walk by hers. Slowly. She’s wearing a black long-sleeve T-shirt that she has pulled over her hands as if she’s cold and her tattered brown leather backpack is sitting beside her like a placeholder. A journal or notebook of some sort is laid out in front of her, but from what I can tell, the pages are empty. She hasn’t budged much since she got here. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was a statue, but I hear her clear her throat as her hand comes up and brushes at her face.
r />   Is she crying?

  That’s probably a stupid question. If her face looks anything like it did last week, I’m sure she is. I think that’s what bothered me the most. She looked like she could shed tears at any moment, and for whatever reason, it resonated in my chest.

  I guess the better question is: Why is she crying?

  And why do I care?

  The lump in my throat is unexpected, and I try to ignore it as I continue walking to the kitchen to drop off the tray of dirty dishes.

  Something deep inside pulls me to her, and I can’t explain it. I’ve never felt drawn to another person like this, and it’s startling.

  “Don’t try to figure her out,” a voice whispers beside me, as I watch Ania from afar.

  I turn to see Sarah beside me, following my line of sight to the table where she sits. “She’s never said a word to any of us. Well, besides Wyatt. Apparently, they go way back. She’s been coming here for a few years, but I guess she hasn’t always been like that,” she says, motioning to her still form now staring down at the blank pages in front of her. “Sometimes she just sits, and sometimes she writes in that book. She always comes on Thursdays at six o’clock and stays until at least seven, sometimes longer. There’s something mechanic about the things she does, but I’ve never been able to figure her out.”

  I look over to see Sarah in deep thought, shrugging her shoulders as she stands, perplexed over the girl with the long dark hair.

  THE FACT THAT I didn’t even get to see a glimpse of Ania’s face yesterday is plaguing me.

  I dreamed about her again last night. It was nothing specific, just a girl in a long white dress standing in a pool of water. I never saw her face, but I know it was her. She was standing there, her dress floating around her, making her appear ethereal, while her dark hair hung down to her waist, much like it has the two times I’ve seen her. Grey skies opened up above her, and rain poured from the clouds, dripping off the ends of her hair.