Confession, Condolences, And Coffee

20251108

Prompt from DailyPrompt.com

I didn’t mean to start the day with a confession, but the waiter asked how I was, and I panicked.
“Oh, I just felt like eating out for a change! No biggy!”
If I’d only stopped there, changed the subject or answered what he’d actually asked, or even just placed my order, I probably could’ve gotten away with it. Passed it off as, I don’t know, pre-coffee social awkwardness. But the blank stare he was giving me, polite smile frozen and brows slightly furrowed, pushed me to try and recover.
“I just, you know, sometimes you don’t want to deal with all the hassle of, of measuring and washing up, am I right?? Hahaha.”
He politely laughs along. Expression still faintly perplexed.
My nerves are full-force. My mouth has momentum. “And, you know, it’s safer to let a professional do things, right? No need to worry about them setting anything on fire!”
I wince. His lips form a silent ‘o’ for just a moment as comprehension dawns. My gaze sinks to the table.
Its starched, precisely pleated covering feels like perfection staring me in the face. Judging me. Not mocking, but only because I am utterly beneath its consideration.
I wince when he speaks, but all he says is “And what would you like?”
“I… I was trying to make french toast.” I whisper to the too-cheerful-to-be-lifelike plastic centrepiece.
“How many pieces? Two, four…?”
Fuck it. “Six.”
He nods and gives this precise noncommittal hum of acknowledgment which I almost dare not to project any contempt onto. “Anything to drink?”
“Coffee, please. Lots of cream, two sugars.”
Another nod. Another “mm” deep in the throat. Still no (overt) judgement. “Anything else?”
I discard any clinging vestiges of moderation or dignity. “Is the milkshake machine on in the morning?”
“We can certainly make you a milkshake.”
That’s not a ‘yes’. I shouldn’t be a bother. I’m an adult. I shouldn’t be here making a fuss and wallowing in pity because the week has been one thing after another and this morning I ruined my only good pan failing to make breakfast.
But when I open my mouth to be brave and say not to worry about it, what falls out is “If I could have a banana and strawberry shake…”
Nod. Hum. Jot down. His expression has snapped back to professional pleasant dissociation, which is far more comfortable than overt pity would be. “Anything else?”
“I… no, no, that’s everything. That’d be wonderful, thank you.”
He vanishes to the back. I fix my gaze to the windowpane. Desperately trying to pretend there’s no other customers, or at least convince myself that they wouldn’t have heard me. I’m not interesting, after all. That’s the old truism, nobody pays as much attention to you as you either hope or fear they will.
It’s fine.
I’m fine.
The waiter comes back with a pot of coffee. I force a smile and mumble thanks.
He leans close and whispers, with a wry conspiratorial twinkle, “Chef says that if the fire department didn’t need to be called, you haven’t beaten his worst batch of french toast.”
I laugh. Startled and relieved and grateful. Then I feel guilty and cover my mouth with one hand but he’s grinning so maybe it’s alright. “Oh. No. But… I think the pan’s a goner.”
“Ah. Have you tried boiling lemons?”
“Lemons?”
“Yes, chop up a couple of lemons and add enough water to cover. Boil for half an hour. If there’s anything still stuck scrub with baking soda and a damp cloth. Rarely fails me.”
“I’ll give it a go.” I promise. We’re both grinning now. I feel like the weight of the week has slunk away.
He nods approval and vanishes again, leaving me to sit up and pour my coffee. Very carefully, because it would be typical to ruin this new good mood by making a right mess all over the tablecloth.
But no, I manage to perform the ritual with no losses. The cup is very plain but it fits perfectly between my palms and the warmth flows up my arms to my heart. I feel myself relaxing. Stomach unknotting and shoulders loosening and jaw sagging into an almost smile.
Alright. This was still a horrible week. But… I’m going to eat a lovely fancy breakfast (complete with ice cream milkshake). And I need to go shopping for next week anyway so I’ll pick up some lemons.
We’ll see how it goes.

Prompt was the first line.