Hannah :: Margot’s :: November 2006
I wasn’t the best at hiding emotion. In fact, I pretty much wrote everything all over my face with tears, smeared eyeliner, and red cheeks-- and that wasn’t even counting the times it got really bad.
I choked back a few more cries, swallowing them whole. Each time one tried to fight its way out, I’d crinkle a tissue and get ready for battle. But I kept on swallowing, breathing, choking on everything that had just occurred in the course of twenty minutes.
My boyfriend called me and left a message. He knew I would be at work until at least ten. He knew that.
What else did he call to say, but that he wants to break up? After six years, just done. No warning, just over. No longer were we Hannah and Cal, but just Hannah and just Cal.
I hadn’t been “just Hannah” in what seemed like a lifetime.
A lifetime of movie tickets, “I love you’s,” notes written back and forth on programs when we were helplessly bored. A lifetime of being twenty-one, twenty-four, twenty-eight.
I realized that I didn’t have many memories from those years where Cal wasn’t involved. I also had a hard time remembering anything before or after our prolific relationship. After.
Disbelief.. there had to be a better word.
Isabelle kept a thesaurus next to the cash register, which she used to work on her crossword puzzles. Faithfully, she’d spend her entire thirty minute break getting to the root of the problem and solving the clues as they panned out in front of her. A finished product. And she almost never missed one.
I had no idea why, but as I sat on my thirty-minute break, in the corner of the bathroom-- thinking of this only made me cry harder and rush to grab the tattered thesaurus.
I weaved my way through a sea of customers, a few that caught glances at me, a couple stares. Not as bad as I had expected, considering my disheveled appearance.
Nora was working the cash register, fretting over a bill that wasn’t quite right. Me being older and more knowledgeable about certain restaurant-related topics, she begged for me to help.
I grabbed the book and listened to her as I weaved back through the same path. “Hannah, what can’t wait that you can’t just help me for a second!”
I didn’t look back, but I was sure she’d put on her game face and would figure it out. Her mousy brown hair would bounce around and she would talk in her nasal, yet somehow monotone voice. “Okay, folks.. let’s figure things out here.” She would get it right.
Usually, possibly, probably.. not.
The D section wasn’t coming quickly enough. And I’d have to deal with whatever mess Nora had made and fix things and make everything better again. And how could I do that when I was sobbing and I couldn’t even correct things in my own life-- which was obvious because I just got dumped via voicemail and--
Disbelief. Disbelief.
It read as follows: astonishment, amazement, surprise, incredulousness, skepticism, doubt, dubiousness..
Sign me up for all of them, I thought immediately. And maybe even some more at the bottom of the page. They seemed to go on for lines. Probably because a lot of people have experienced it.
I turned through the next few pages, seeing “ditch” had just as many, if not more, synonyms.
I guess it’s all relative.
The crying seemed to have subsided for a fleeting second. I had to give my eyes a rest, after all.
It couldn’t have happened on a worse day either. This one, extremely mean-spirited exchange I had with this old guy..
“Yeah, but I said no pickles. Listen, honey, if you’re gonna to wait on me, I want it done right. I ain’t payin’ good money to come here and have a waitress that don’t listen--”
Was enough to send me over the edge. Most girls would have even quit after that. But not me. Not good old, reliable Hannah. She always took one for the team.
Oh, man-- what the hell was happening to me?
Even though I could have listened to the real thing, I just played the phone message over in my head until it was cemented there.
Stuck. Unmoving. Forever.
“Listen, babe. We gotta think about what we’re gonna do with our lives and to tell you the truth, I really don’t see this going anywhere..”
He sounded a lot like the old guy I almost swore at violently for lack of respect.
Okay, it pretty much was him in about fifty years. I held on to the thought, letting it cement as well.
Hannah! Break’s up! There’s tables! What are you doing!
Everything in this damn place was punctuated with an exclamation point.
I glanced in the mirror without even stopping to look at myself, really. Too scared of scaring the customers. But I just kept telling myself there was nothing I could do about it. At least not right then.
Just smile, smile, smile until my heart cracked open, out of my chest, and flooded the restaurant and really scared everyone off for good.
Breathe. And remember the aged and redone picture of Cal.
And smile. “Hi, I’m Hannah. Welcome to Margot’s.”
Rinse and repeat. And Oh, shit. Fix whatever Nora did.
A guy sat down in my section. Another guy in another table. Two families. My brain was not ready to process this, whatsoever. I secretly wished my mom would call and claim I had to drive home right this instant, but then I unwished because I couldn’t take any more heartache or stress for one day.
I slapped menus down on tables like I was slapping someone’s face. Someone older who ordered no pickle on his sandwiches. Or maybe someone younger who I couldn’t even find a positive thing to say about.
Not right now. Maybe both.
Overloaded with drinks, side dishes, little kids screaming, ketchup spilled all over my shirt by a man too eager to eat-- I’d finally found something I could be at peace with amongst all the chaos.
My table six guy. The only part of the whole “every table comes in at once” deal that I found even partially alright was that everyone was satisfied eating for a while, all at one time.
So I got a chance to actually look at the people I’d been waiting on hand and foot for the past half-hour.
He was the only one that drew me in. Since he’d gotten there, he had never hung up his cell phone. It was a long and involved conversation, as if he wished the person were there eating with him. I had to find out. Sue me.
“Everything okay here?” I asked him, hoping to get a snippet of conversation from the other end. I needed it to be his girlfriend, all “I love you’s” and things that would snap me back into place. Remember that there was going to be life after Cal.
He took the phone away from his ear, set down his fork and looked at me. Red and blotchy faced me.
“Hey, Jim. I gotta go. Bye sweetie,” I heard faintly. The call was dropped.
He snapped the whole thing shut then, and started to say, “Y--”
But then the phone rang again.
I was going to turn around, not wanting to stand there and get all involved in his personal business. (Even though I kinda wanted to escape and find out who was on the phone.)
He glanced at it for a moment and shrugged. “Just a text message. My new ‘girlfriend’.. well, this girl, stood me up.”
I was actually a little thrilled at this statement. Even though I knew I wasn’t the only one, here was living proof that relationships suck.
He laughed to himself. “I don’t really mean that.”
I couldn’t help but see table four was waving their glasses for more water.
But I kept talking, reminding myself of Nora when she waited on her friends, all annoying as she.
“She just, had to ‘work late.’” He raised an eyebrow at me. “Are you okay?”
Oh, man. Maybe I had started crying again. All flustered, I came up with, “Oh, yeah sure, whatever. I am fine. Fine. Fine. Fine.” And I really said all of that.
He raised the other eyebrow and said, “Alright. Just wondering.”
I was crying. He offered me a napkin from the dispenser on the table. I took it and pressed it to my face, easily.
This was natural. Getting upset over something that hurt.
Earlier, I thought I would be able to relate to this guy. But seeing him truly, with the concern for someone he didn’t even know, and the lack of concern for something I would have been pretty pissed about--
I don’t know, it boggled me.
Me, who wore all her emotions on her face. This guy, who came off as mysterious as the phone call he’d been having throughout his whole meal.
Table four never got their water glasses, so I went back and apologized profusely. The other tables were fine, just fine, fine, fine.
When I went back to clean off lanky guy’s table, I discovered, along with the tip, a note.
My mom (sorry I was on the phone) told me to tell you that she hopes you’re okay. Which I know you are, but this is weird and I felt bad for being so rude. Sincerely, guy who ordered expensive seafood and didn’t eat it.
If Cal had been like this, maybe I would have fought for him.
But instead, I just let him go.
All the days with him flooded together and nothing had really stood out.
But this note, this stupid note, had said it all.
And Nora left me a huge mess to clean up with the register, and I was so oddly relieved that I didn’t mind fixing it at all.
Not this time.
Author's Chapter Notes:
a longer one, but my favorite one to write of all so far :)
Chapter End Notes:
i hope you enjoyed! thanks for reading.
