She’d had her sights set on Rutgers, and when my daughter wants something, she’ll move heaven and earth to get it. Despite my mixed bag of emotions on it, I supported her decision. Ironically she loves it so much there, she decided to stick around and look for work this summer. Ended up with a fabulous job at a medical clinic. She loves it and though I don’t love her living halfway across the country, I’m glad she’s happy there.
I’m happy here, where I’m not too far from my mother, who needs me more now than my daughter does. Mom has struggled a bit since Dad died three years ago at only sixty-six, quite unexpectedly. They’ve always lived in Lansing where Dad worked for GM, at the assembly plant, for almost forty years before he retired at sixty-five. Less than two years later he passed in his sleep from a massive heart attack. They’d just finished planning what was supposed to have been their bucket list trip.
Life sucks sometimes.
Almost by rote I grab my phone and dial my mother.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Sweetie, how are you?”
“Good. Just thinking about you.”
“How come?”
“No particular reason. I talked to Paige earlier today and we made plans for me to head down there for a week next month, and I was just thinking, maybe you want to come?”
I’ve asked Mom to join me before when I go to visit my daughter but she always declined, which is why I’m surprised when she suddenly seems to consider it.
“I might. It depends.”
“That would be amazing. Paige would be tickled. Let me know when you make up your mind, Mom. I can book you a flight.”
The rest of the conversation we chat about her latest checkup, my aunt, Ditty, who apparently has a new beau—again—and the dirt on a cousin going through a nasty divorce. Half an hour later, I’m more up-to-date with family than I care to be.
I’ve always been the listener, never the talker, which is why my family knows little of my years in New Jersey. Something I’m grateful for since it wouldn’t have served any purpose. Fortunately Paige remembers little of that time, so the only one with bad memories is me, and I’ve got ways to deal with those.
I feel better having talked to the two most important people in my life and settle into my evening with a book and a glass of wine. I’ve become good at counting my blessings and ignoring the small pangs of longing for things out of my reach.
“Shirley called in sick.”
I’m donning my apron when Kim sticks her head into the small office where we leave our personal stuff when on shift.
I’ve been working at Over Easy for well over ten years now. When I started out I was just doing Kim’s books part time, along with several other bookkeeping clients, but with Paige getting older and being home less, I craved some human interaction. One of Kim’s waitresses left on maternity leave and she was in a bind, so I offered to help. That turned into a full-time job, while still doing the diner’s books on the side. I’ve since dropped my other clients so I work at Over Easy exclusively.
My parents as well as Paige had a hard time understanding why I would take on a menial job that didn’t pay all that well. Despite what they think they know, the truth is I don’t need much. I own my small home outright and the cost of living here is relatively low.
There was a time I had it all—the big house, fancy car, designer threads, platinum credit cards—but nothing about that made me happy. My life now does, and that includes working at the diner.
“What’s wrong with her?”
“She says the flu.” I see the skepticism on Kim’s face.
“But…”
“But I’m not buying it. I could hear Mike yelling in the background.”
Shirley’s marriage is not a happy one. At least not anymore.
Two years ago, her husband Mike was laid off from the same GM plant where my father worked most of his life, and he hadn’t been able to find anything new. At fifty-two, that’s a hard pill to swallow—I get it—but Mike’s idea of coping is hitting the bottle hard and taking his frustration out on Shirley, mostly.
Kim and I have talked about our concern for her, especially these past few months. She’s called in sick a few times and looks like she’s aged a decade. Drawn and pale, her normal exuberant smile now only a shadow. One of their boys is in college and the other works in the oilfields up in Canada, so it’s just Shirley and Mike at home.
“I’ll try and give her a call later,” I volunteer.
Shirley and I aren’t besties necessarily—I think we both have too much to hide for that—but I consider us friends and we’ve worked this shift together for years.
“Okay. I called Debra and she’ll come in a few hours, and Jason has the kitchen so I can run the counter and cash register.”
“Sounds good. We’ve got this.”
This isn’t the first time we’ve had just three of us here, but rarely on a Saturday morning.
From the moment I unlock the door at seven o’clock, the place is busy. I’ve had to warm up my own coffee twice already, and never manage more than a quick sip, hoping it’ll tide me over until I can shove something in my face.
It was even a struggle to be patient with poor Mrs. Chapman who, as usual, took her sweet time with the menu, despite it showing the same things as last week. The widow comes in like clockwork on Saturday mornings. Her
