Caleb came in today. He sat at the chrome-trimmed formica counter top, at the end, tantalizingly close to the pie rack and nursed a coffee and a plate of sauerkraut and corned beef for lunch for so long the other staff began to watch him and talk.
Finally another server asked me, after watching us talk quietly as I refilled his coffee for what seemed like the fifth time, if he was my husband. They're used to my random boys sitting in the diner for hours. But since Caleb radiates intensity they could already see it's different than most of the others.
He's my boyfriend. My first thought is to correct a stranger from a painful assumption, and not to protect my privacy.
Oh. I thought you were married.
I am! (Oh, shit. Here we go.)
But it gets busy and I am spared any questions and eventually Caleb can't entertain himself anymore reading yesterday's newspaper and he asks me if I can leave early, get a ride home with him, and someone can come get my car later.
I have to work until three. I tell him.
Or quit and then you won't have to work at all. I've put enough in your account to see you through the spring.
See me what through the spring?
Don't you check your accounts?
Yes but it's been a week or two.
Then you should look. He finishes his coffee, tucks a hundred-dollar-bill underneath the edge of his saucer and winks at me before putting his jacket on. He doesn't carry cash often anymore so that surprises me more than the amount.
Thanks! We tip-share now, for the new year.
What does that mean?
We pool the tips and divide them between the wait staff and the cooks.
How many are working today?
Six people, including me.
He takes his wallet out again and counts off five more hundred dollar bills.
There. Now everyone's happy.
You don't have to-
I can't spoil you directly, so I'll have to do it the hard way. Check your account. Put this somewhere out of sight. He pushes the saucer toward me.
Everyone was a little surprised at their second holiday bonus and one person remarked that they would also have a boyfriend on the side if he was that rich. It would be worth the hassle. Everyone looked at me and I shrugged.
Money doesn't buy happiness.
I'll take it then, said the cook. If you don't need it since you're already happy.
He grinned, content in knowing absolutely nothing about me and went back to scraping the flat top. I left my hundred there to be redispersed among everyone else. I hate it when Caleb does this. Now I probably will have to quit, when the judgement comes out of the woodwork.
Finally another server asked me, after watching us talk quietly as I refilled his coffee for what seemed like the fifth time, if he was my husband. They're used to my random boys sitting in the diner for hours. But since Caleb radiates intensity they could already see it's different than most of the others.
He's my boyfriend. My first thought is to correct a stranger from a painful assumption, and not to protect my privacy.
Oh. I thought you were married.
I am! (Oh, shit. Here we go.)
But it gets busy and I am spared any questions and eventually Caleb can't entertain himself anymore reading yesterday's newspaper and he asks me if I can leave early, get a ride home with him, and someone can come get my car later.
I have to work until three. I tell him.
Or quit and then you won't have to work at all. I've put enough in your account to see you through the spring.
See me what through the spring?
Don't you check your accounts?
Yes but it's been a week or two.
Then you should look. He finishes his coffee, tucks a hundred-dollar-bill underneath the edge of his saucer and winks at me before putting his jacket on. He doesn't carry cash often anymore so that surprises me more than the amount.
Thanks! We tip-share now, for the new year.
What does that mean?
We pool the tips and divide them between the wait staff and the cooks.
How many are working today?
Six people, including me.
He takes his wallet out again and counts off five more hundred dollar bills.
There. Now everyone's happy.
You don't have to-
I can't spoil you directly, so I'll have to do it the hard way. Check your account. Put this somewhere out of sight. He pushes the saucer toward me.
Everyone was a little surprised at their second holiday bonus and one person remarked that they would also have a boyfriend on the side if he was that rich. It would be worth the hassle. Everyone looked at me and I shrugged.
Money doesn't buy happiness.
I'll take it then, said the cook. If you don't need it since you're already happy.
He grinned, content in knowing absolutely nothing about me and went back to scraping the flat top. I left my hundred there to be redispersed among everyone else. I hate it when Caleb does this. Now I probably will have to quit, when the judgement comes out of the woodwork.