Night Shift

The pattern was blue and faded, Lance noticed as he traced the design around the plate with his knife. It was an intricate pattern, red spirals and flowers that swirled around the perimeter of the plate, the border, once gilded in gold, was faded with wear and there were areas of the pattern at two o’clock and nine o’clock that were faded clear away. Like everything else in the diner, it looked well-used, but at the same time, it looked well-loved.

The place was nearly empty, unsurprisingly, given that it was 2:30 am on a Thursday morning. A lone group of truckers gathered in the far corner, eating a greasy breakfast of hashbrowns, bacon, and eggs, were the only other patrons in the diner.

The entire place, from the furniture to the décor, looked as though it had been pulled out of ‘60’s sitcom, and it was so cliché that Lance couldn’t help but smile as the lone waitress, suitably dressed in a pink and white gingham uniform, approached his table carrying a steaming pot of coffee.

“Refill, honey?” she asked, poised to pour the coffee into his cup.

“Yes, please,” Lance replied quietly, with a quick glance at the her nametag. “Victoria. Thank you.”

“No problem,” she replied with a smile, bright and genuine. “Anythin’ else I can get for ya, sugar?”

“No. Thanks.” Lance answered, staring into his coffee cup as he stirred at the liquid absentmindedly, the expression of gratitude coming as almost an afterthought.

“You doin’ alright?”

“Fine. Thank you, ma’am.”

“Well, if you need anythin’ just give a shout. That’s what I’m here for.”

Lance nodded, and as soon as she turned to head back to the kitchen, Lance heard himself speak.

“Actually, if you wouldn’t mind,” Lance began, gesturing to his plate, “I’d love a bit more syrup for my waffles.”

Victoria winked at him over her shoulder, “Sure thing, darlin’. Be right back.”

Lance smiled at the woman as she handed him the syrup, a steaming mug of her own in the other hand. Quietly, Lance poured the syrup over his waffles, watching intently as the golden syrup filled each of the tiny grid squares. He was so fixated on his task that he didn’t even notice that Victoria hadn’t returned to the counter, but had slid into the other side of the booth until he looked up and drew a startled breath.

“You wanna talk about what’s on your mind?”

“Noth- I mean. It’s just...” Lance trailed off. “Nothing.”

“Honey, there’s only two reasons that anyone who’s not road-weary and covered from head to toe in road dust and motor oil ever comes in here alone. Especially at this time of night. Either, they’re having an affair and they’re meetin’ up here -- which, judging by the way you haven’t once looked at the door since you walked in here, I’m guessin’ isn’t why I’ve had the pleasure of meetin’ you this fine mornin’.” Victoria looked at Lance, expectantly. With a half-smile, Lance looked up and shook his head lightly.

“Didn’t think so. So, you ain’t passing through on a road trip, and you’re not meetin’ anyone. So, you’re running from something.”

Before he could stop himself, Lance looked up in surprise.

“So, that’s it, then. And, you don’t have anything with you but yourself. So, I don’t think you’re headed anywhere in particular.” She paused for a moment before speaking again. “Fight?” she asked.

“Wha-” Lance asked, stopping to steady the hand holding onto the mug. He wanted to be angry at her, she was a stranger for fuck’s sake. What right did she have to be sticking her nose into his business? He looked over at her, sipping her coffee, dressed in pink gingham, with her red hair in a long, loose ponytail, her face free of make-up and her nose sprinkled with freckles. Her hands were pink from frequent scrubbing, and she had a slight southern drawl. There was something about her that reminded him of home. She was tiny, about 5 feet tall and a hundred pounds, if that, but he couldn’t place how old she was. She hadn’t looked at him twice when he’d walked through the door, so he was guessing that she didn’t recognize him. It wasn’t that he expected to be recognized wherever he went. No, actually. He did. It didn’t happen often that he could go somewhere in total anonymity. He was very grateful for this, at the moment. She had a youngish-looking face, but she had a thin scar above her eyebrow and thick lines around her eyes and mouth that disguised her age. She might have looked young for her age, but, Lance thought as he surveyed his surroundings, it was equally likely that she’d aged before her time.

“You had a fight,” she said again, stating more than asking, really. Her blue eyes and voice were kind. Sympathetic. “You and whoever gave you that pretty piece of jewellery that you slid off your finger and hid under that napkin as soon as you sat down in here. The ring you wear on the finger you haven’t been able to stop touching or looking at since you took it off,” she continued, looking meaningfully at Lance’s napkin and raising her eyebrows questioningly.

Blushing slightly and casting his eyes downward, Lance moved the paper napkin that was lying crumpled by his plate and looked at the ring sitting on the table. Picking it up with his right thumb and index finger, Lance rubbed his fingers over the metal, now cool from sitting on the faded blue Formica. He sighed lightly when he felt the familiar metal under his fingers and put the ring back on his finger, unconsciously twisting it back into place.

He wanted to tell her that he was fine. He wasn’t running from anything, and she could happily go about her own business, but when he opened his mouth to speak, the whole story began to fall, unbidden, from his lips.

It wasn’t a unique tale. It certainly wasn’t one, he assumed, that she’d never heard before. But she listened intently, nodding and making attentive noises as he told her the story from the beginning through the end, minus, of course, for any incriminating names, places, or pronouns.

They’d been set up by a mutual friend who thought they were both “anal retentive, business-oriented, and technologically-savvy enough to drive everyone, but each other, completely crazy.” Because this friend, his name was Chris, told him that it was about time someone started putting some effort into his love life, and if he had to, he was certainly more than up to the job.

Lance smiled as he told the story of their first date, the two of them going to a dinner and a movie. He laughed as he talked about the movie, the name of which he couldn’t remember. He’d been so nervous he’d barely been able to remember to breathe, let alone pay any attention to the film. And about how the two of them had both been so unsure what to do with their hands while they were in the theatre that they’d each managed to drop the container of popcorn onto the floor at one point, and the two of them kept getting up to go to the bathroom or visit the concession stand before either of them would be sitting long enough to be forced to make the first move. Victoria saw him shake his head and grin widely when as he talked about the rest of the date. How Chris had been right, of course and they’d had a wonderful time. How they’d walked hand-in-hand to dinner, and how they’d talked at such length that they were politely ordered to leave at 3:30 am when all of the staff had gone home for the night and the owner was ready to lock the doors.

A look of pure joy passed across his face as he recounted some of the highlights of their relationship, each of the following dates improving upon the first. And Victoria laughed when Lance pointed out coyly that they did eventually manage to figure out plenty of things to do with their hands.

The look of joy turned wistful as Lance started to talk about the separation. The travelling and the working that kept them separated for great lengths of time. And about how, lately, their precious and fleeting time together began with angry silences and accusations of “not trying hard enough” and “not caring enough” and “caring too much about everyone else and not enough about us” being thrown back and forth.

Tonight had been one of those nights. It was a rare night together, the first in a long while, and the fighting had started the minute the two of them were alone.

Lance sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I hate this. Well yell and we fight and we say things that we don’t mean on the first night we’re back together after we haven’t seen each other in a while. But we always fix it. We always manage to apologize and make it go away. But, I have to leave early tomorrow -- I just flew in for the night and my plane leaves at 8:00 am -- and I didn’t want us to get into a huge fight and not have it sorted out before I pack up and fly across the country again. I didn’t want to do that to hi-- to us.”

Victoria nodded sympathetically. Pushing a loose strand of hair out her face, she reached across the table and patted his hand softly. “You know that you’re goin’ to have to talk about it, sometime. Avoiding it isn’t goin’ to solve your problems, honey. There ain’t nothin’ I can tell you that you don’t already know.”

“Some help you are,” Lance mumbled, but it was good natured. He knew she was right.

“Just, talk. Get this straightened out, sweetie,” she said, rising from the table to clean up after the small group of drivers who had just exited the diner, leaving Lance as the lone patron.

Stabbing at a piece of waffle with his fork, Lance stared at his cellphone sitting on the table and mumbled, “Yeah. Maybe later. Right now I just need to think. And, I want to finish my waffle.”

Chewing thoughtfully, Lance jumped in his chair when he heard his cellphone begin to ring. Glancing at the display, Lance sighed and picked up the phone.

“We’re not speaking, remember?”

“Lance, I--”

“Look, I don’t want to do this over the phone. And, I’m kinda busy right now.”

“I have-”

“No. We’ll talk about this later. I’m hanging up now. I have... stuff... to do.”

“Right,” Lance heard the reply and was grateful that he’d won so easily. “You wouldn’t want your waffle to get cold, after all.”

Lance could actually hear the smile.

“The fuck? Where the hell are you?” Lance turned in the booth to look over the back of the seat. Outside, standing on the sidewalk, he saw a familiar figure leaning against a streetlight. Lance sighed, loudly, as the figured raised a hand, waving into the diner.

“You know, you really ruin the point of me stalking away in anger if you insist on following me.”

“I know.” The reply was both proud and apologetic. “Can I come in?”

“Umm...” Lance looked back over to the counter and saw Victoria standing at the counter holding a fresh plate of waffles in her hands, strawberry. She was looking at him with an encouraging smile on her face, but there was a stern look in her eyes telling Lance that saying no wasn’t really an option.

Lance turned back to the window. He didn’t speak, but he nodded slightly.

As the door opened and the little bell rang, Victoria made her way to the table with a plate in one hand and a fresh pot of coffee in the other.

“Well, hello darlin’. You must be the young man I’ve already heard so much about this mornin’. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Victoria. Now, I’ve brought ya a plate of strawberry waffles, no whipped cream, just syrup, ‘cause I heard ya like ‘em like that.” Victoria laughed when both men looked up at her in surprise. “Now, listen up. The two of y’all are going to fix whatever’s broken, and I’m not lettin’ the two of you out of here until you do, got it? Coffee’s on me until you talk ev’rythin’ through.”

“You don’t have--” Lance began, but was interrupted.

“Shush, you. I’m not havin’ any of that,” she continued, setting two fresh mugs onto the table and filling them each to the brim. ”Enjoy your food,” she said, placing a cup in front of each of them, turning to wink at Lance. “You saw that he was out there, watching me. Didn’t you?” Lance whispered to her. “Since the moment you sat down, sugar,” she replied before walking back to the counter.

The hours passed and the two of them talked. Victoria couldn’t hear much of what was being said, but she knew they were talking things through. There was no yelling, and although there was the occasional tear, it was subsequently brushed away by the hand of the other young man in the booth. Healing tears, not tears of anger or sadness.

There was love there, she thought as she busied herself washing a stack of dishes and humming along to the music from the jukebox she’d thrown some quarters in. She pretended not to see when the smaller, darker man reached across the table, and she conveniently busied herself with a task that required her to face away from the diner when he’d saw the smaller man pull the other man, the blond with the broad shoulders, out of the booth. The diner was empty, save for the three of them, and she watched the reflection of the pair in the large window she was standing in front of. She watched as they danced, and talked, and just enjoyed being together, wrapped around each other as though they’d found the centre of their world. She waited until she saw them head back to the table, sitting on the same side of the booth with their hands entwined, before she turned back around to see them talking softly to each other.

It was another hour or so before Lance looked at his watch again. Hearing the mutterings of “airport” and “flight time” pass between the men at the table, Victoria walked over to the table and handed each of them a small Styrofoam container. “Desert. For the road,” she explained as she placed a small, handwritten receipt on the table. Before she walked away, Lance reached out for her. Feeling a slight pressure on her hand, Victoria looked stopped and look down. “Thank you,” he said sincerely, “for everything.”

“Not at all, honey. Not at all,” she replied.

Washing down the sides of the grill, Victoria heard the bell above the door chime lightly and she looked up. The two young men, still hand in hand, waved at her as they walked out the door.

Walking over to the table, Victoria picked up the receipt and glanced at it. In the space marked 'Total', she’d simply written “fix it.”

In the space marked 'Gratuity', she saw the word “thanks” written in a loopy, masculine scrawl. Under the receipt she saw a twenty dollar bill for the food and two clean, crisp $100 bills. Gasping a little in shock, she folded the three bills and placed them in her apron pocket. She walked over to the bulletin board above the register, she grabbed a pushpin and tacked the bill on the board, next to the others just like it that she had collected from similar patrons over the years.

Grabbing her rag, Victoria headed back to the table. Looking through the window, she saw the silhouettes of the two men standing under the streetlamp. She saw the taller man, the younger one with eyes the colour of mint, take the chin of the other man, the darker man with eyes the colour of coffee, in his hand and kiss his mouth softly.

Victoria watched as the pair climbed into one of the two very expensive-looking cars in the lot as she wiped the last of the maple syrup off the table, assuming they’d send someone back for the other car in the morning. She chuckled at the irony of the whole situation when the song on the jukebox switched to the familiar strains of a song she knew welll. She couldn’t help herself from singing along.

“ When the visions around you, bring tears to your eyes. And all that surround you, are secrets and lies…”

Famous or not, separated by an ocean or in the same city, they were going to be fine. For years, she'd been watching people come in and out of that diner while she was working the night shift. She knew these things.

For Lincoln. Because.