Stepping Out
Demetria Glennon
The walk from the car to the restaurant was gut-wrenching, but walking back seemed worse than moving forward. She opened the door and came face to face with the hostess.
“Hi. Mabel Bell…the reservation was for two at seven, but it’s one now.”
The heart on her calendar flashed in her mind:
May 3. Cacciatore. 7:00.
Every morning since September she would look at it and smile. Now, she cursed herself for writing it in permanent marker.
The hostess remained unnerved. She moved from behind her stand and, clad in black armor, guided Mabel. Mabel sat, and her opponent handed her a menu. She was grateful to have something to hide behind, something to protect her.
She and Allison had a deal: spend one hour at the restaurant and then Allison would come back to get her. Part of Mabel hated her best friend for making her go through with this, for dragging her from her front door, getting her to the reservation on time, and waiting in the car to make sure she went in like a bratty toddler on the first day of school.
“That’s a reservation too good to waste,” Allison said, and Mabel couldn’t disagree. That was the whole point of it. This was supposed to be a special night. “A push,” Allison called it, but the push had her tripping, stumbling, and falling into something she didn’t think she could handle. She could smell steak from the back of the restaurant, hear the effervescence of the champagne the couple next to her was sharing, and almost taste the crackling top of the Creme Brule carried past her. It all seemed too much, too decadent, too intense compared to the comfort of her home she had been confined to for the past four weeks. The possibility of seeing James around town was enough to keep her locked away. She never understood how people could leave each other’s lives like that, to go from seeing someone every day to never again was jarring. She was tired of her life being a revolving door.
The menu loomed over her. As she tried to read it, the words flew off the page, taunting her. The calamari cackled; the lamb chops laughed. She felt her regret grow, heavy and sad.
“Hello, Miss! Would you like anything to drink?”
His voice broke the cacophony of criticisms surrounding her. The words fell back into their places on the page. He was attractive, and she felt guilty for noticing it. He looked nothing like James. She felt even guiltier.
“Um yes…vodka soda please?”
He raised his eyebrow. Her face got hot. She was so unsure of herself these days that she sounded like she was asking her waiter what she wanted to drink.
He smiled a little bit. “Do you want to order anything else right now?”
“Um…” Her eyes flashed back to the menu. She ordered the first thing they landed on. “The Caesar salad, please, with chicken and a side of fries.”
His hand-scribbled, “Coming right up!”
As he walked away, she was filled with immediate embarrassment. She hated alcohol almost as much as she hated sitting in this restaurant right now.
“Wait!” Her call to the waiter came out loud. It was like laughing in a silent classroom. He spun around and walked over to her, concerned. For her sanity or his tip?
“Can I have a Diet Coke instead of the vodka soda, please?” She couldn’t look at him when she spoke. She vowed not to look him in the face for the rest of the night.
She ate in silence. With each bite of lettuce, sip of coke, and crunch of a French fry, she thought about what James was doing tonight. She wished she didn’t know. It was her fault. She had grilled Allison about it on their drive. It kept flashing in her mind.
“Do you know what he’s doing tonight, Ally?”
“Why does it matter, May?”
Mabel placed her hand on Allison’s shoulder, a desperate plea for her best friend to break her heart.
Allison sighed. “He has a date with Vera.”
There was no telling who it killed more: Allison hated her brother for what he did to Mabel; Mabel hated herself for caring.
She didn’t know what the last straw was for James: not leaving the house enough, never liking his friends, constantly wanting more from him: more care, time, kindness, anything? No matter how long she sat sipping her coke and dipping her fries in the fanciest ketchup she would ever have, she would never figure it out.
Her waiter came to the table and placed her check in front of her. He loomed over her, silent and nerve-wracking. She moved faster to get the money.
As she fiddled with her wallet, his voice broke the silence again. “Was everything good, Miss?”
She finally looked back up at him, smiled, and nodded.
“Yes.”
He smiled back, and their eyes stayed locked. He really was handsome. She handed him the check, and he walked off. This time, Mabel kept her eyes on him. He almost seemed mousy. Lean. Swift. Mischievous? He walked back, returned her card, had her sign the slip, and put a copy of the receipt on the table. She glanced at it. It had a phone number written on the bottom. By the time she looked back up, he had already scurried away. She stared at the receipt, almost scared to touch it, before timidly placing it in her purse and walking outside the restaurant to find Allison’s car. She saw her best friend sitting with her windows down and heart sunglasses on in her baby blue Beetle. She loved Allison for everything she was and everything Mabel herself could never be.
“How was it May? As bad as you thought?”
She didn’t say anything as she got in the car and handed Allison her receipt. She felt as if she had something to prove.
A push.
Maybe it was better than a hug.
Demetria Glennon is a sophomore in the School of Arts and Sciences Honors Program and is studying as an English major with a Creative Writing minor and enrollment in the 5-year English Education program through the Rutgers GSE. She writes, “Writing is one of my passions, and I typically write poetry the most. My other hobbies include crocheting, drawing/painting, and reading. While I always think sharing my writing is nerve-wracking, I hope that through sharing more and more of my writing, I will be able to jump over this hurdle of minor embarrassment!”
Demetria wrote this story in a course taught by Paul Blaney, who selected the piece for inclusion in the WHR.