Shattered
Laughter broke out beside me. It was the couple in the booth on the other side of the plant. Watching the scene unfold tore me out of my thoughts. The woman leaned in close to her date, brushed his hand, let him nip at her ear. He twisted the engagement band on her finger; it held a lightly colored stone so big I could see it from my own table. Behind them was another couple sharing a piece of chocolate cake for dessert. And another on the other side of the room, huddled over a menu.
My stomach turned, nearly folding in on itself. I wasn’t sure how I was going to eat. Would it be weird if I ordered soup? They probably didn’t even offer that on the menu in a place like this, unless it was an appetizer. Would it be weird if I looked at it before she got here?
“Are you sure there’s nothing I can get you started with?” The waitress gripped the pen so tightly I thought it might fling spontaneously from her hand at any moment. I know she wanted me to order already; this was the third time she had come by. Taking in my sheepish look, she asked “Have you tried looking at the menu?”
“Uh, not yet,” I cleared my throat and picked up the menu in front of me. She didn’t walk away. When I met her eyes, I could see the plastic smile plastered on her face was teetering on a thin line of annoyance. I looked back down, searching for something, anything to tell me what to do. The words jumbled together on the page, forming the alphabet soup I wanted to soothe my stomach. “Can I have a few more minutes?” I asked, quiet, almost a whisper, sliding the menu back on the table in front of me and nearly shrinking under her gaze. She let out a small breath through her nose before turning back around.
I pulled out my phone. I didn’t want her to think I was bored or impatient, so I had put it away. And nice places like this didn’t have clocks, unless they were of the Grandfather variety across the room, too far for me to read. 7:38, my phone said. No wonder the waitress was annoyed. I had been taking up a table for four, ordering nothing but more ice water, for almost forty minutes. I checked my texts. Nothing. I checked my internet. Working. I checked my texts again, sending a text to my mom, who responded immediately by telling me to get off the damn phone and stop being rude to your date.
My “date” who was more than a half hour late. Was it rude to text her? We were just supposed to be catching up. Two old friends getting dinner. Talking about the old days of college.
I didn’t want to text her if she was driving. But I was also starting to worry about upsetting this poor woman who might actually ask me to leave if I didn’t order something the next time she came around. I decided to send her a quick “everything okay?” text.
The next three minutes were agonizingly slow. I caught the waitress talking to a co-worker, looking in my direction with a face that expressed just how irritated she was. I snatched my menu up, if not to give the appearance of thinking of something to order, then at least to hide from her. When I looked back up, she had gone. My shoulders fell just slightly, then hunched back up at another sharp burst of laughter from the same table to my left. When I glanced over, I made eye contact with the fiancée, who looked away and back in less than a second, smile falling at the sight of a stranger not-dining alone staring at her. I pushed myself down deeper in my chair.
A cheerful ding sounded from under my napkin, where I had stashed my phone to keep from looking at it every ten seconds. The next sequence of events unfolded in a sort of haze, one that I felt like I watched from outside my body, happening to somebody else rather than me.
My hand launched out too quickly, knocking over my wine glass, filled with my third serving of ice water. I almost didn’t care as I pulled up my phone to see the notification was from her. As I unlocked my phone, the glass shattered against the marble tiling, sending shards scattering across the floor, against the expensive white table cloth, almost reaching my feet crossed behind one another beneath my chair. The restaurant seemed to fall silent in unison, as if on cue at the sound. I could feel the stares of couples across the room, some uncomfortable, some angered. All pitiful. Looking at the stranger. Alone in an upscale restaurant. Ordering nothing but water. Stood up by their long-time unrequited love with no excuse but a belated text.
something came up! next time, i promise ❤
All I could do was stare at the shattered glass spilling across the floor.
One Year Later
A week had passed since we became neighbors. When she texted me three months ago, informing me she had just been hired as an art teacher at the middle school near me, I nearly dropped my phone. I was painfully reminded of the last time she texted, but decided to ignore it. I told her how happy I was for her.
“I forgot how fun it was to hang out with you,” she said. We were laying on my sectional, in my sparsely decorated apartment, staring up at the popcorn ceiling. Our heads touched if we laughed too hard, or if we tried to look at the other person. The lamp behind the corner of the sectional cast a soft glow across her sharp features. She spoke quietly now. “You’re one of the few people I’m still friends with from college.”
“What happened to everybody else?”
“We just… drifted apart. Didn’t keep in contact after graduation.”
“Did you actually like any of them?” I don’t know what made me ask. Maybe because I knew the people she hung out with weren’t always…
“No.” I could barely hear her. “You’re the only one I ever really liked to spend time with. Everyone else was just a connection.” I didn’t respond. It was silent for a minute, before she continued, “You’re always there for me when I need you. When I dropped out of law school, when Wendy left me at that party, when I…”
When she almost killed herself.
“I’m always going to be there for you.” I have to stop myself from saying more. It’s quiet for long enough that I almost say it anyway. How much I would do for her. How much I love her.
And then she says: “I met someone last week. From the science department. I’m really scared, though. I’ve never asked someone out on a date…”
I didn’t hear the rest of what she said. All I could hear was the sound of shattering glass on repeat. Over and Over. Smashing against expensive marble tiles. Sliding across the smooth surface. Snagging on table cloths soft enough to use as blankets. Shattering, shattering, shattering…
Five years later
I tried not to shudder as the waiter led me over to the corner of the restaurant, next to a leafy plant and another table with a couple leaning over the candle light. The menus were placed, water was filled in the glass to my left. Suddenly, I’m struck with the same fear I felt six years ago in this very seat. I tried to relax, reminding myself that this time, she texted me when she was on her way. I won’t drink three glasses of water before I’m asked to leave for being a disturbance rather than a paying customer.
“I’m so sorry we’re late!” She said, rushing toward me in a sleek black dress. In her tall, silver heels, she had to bend down to wrap her arms around me.
“We?” My heart was pounding. And then I saw her. In a white suit with a silver button down. Gliding across the room like she owned it.
“Isla, this is Yuri. Yuri, this is my fiancée.” She turns to the waiter who has reappeared miraculously. “Can we get another seat and a menu please?”
I stare at my glass as they discuss the menu. Discuss her new position as theater director at the high school in their town. Discuss the thought of salmon at their wedding, but only if it tastes like this one…
Suddenly, the glass is shattering, shattering, shattering…
