I’m annoyed, because I already told Ollie I’d need a minute, but now I feel like a jerk asking this nice woman to make an extra trip back to the table just because I’m indecisive.
“Actually, what’s your favorite thing on the menu?” I ask.
“Oh, the chicken fried steak—hands down,” the woman says. “I helped tweak the recipe, you know.”
I match my smile to hers, even though the name isn’t exciting me the way it is her. “I’ve never heard of chicken fried steak, but it sounds great! I’ll have that.”
“You’re gonna love it,” she says as she collects the menus. “It’ll be right out.”
Ollie looks at me closely. “You’ve never even heard of chicken fried steak, but you’re going to try it?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“It’s not everyone’s cup of tea.”
“That’s okay. I like trying new foods, and she clearly loves it.”
“But you didn’t even ask what it is. Did you order it because ‘chicken fried steak’ sounded good or because the server was so excited about it?”
That blue-eyed stare could make a lesser people pleaser feel exposed. But not this one. “Does it matter?”
“Nope. Not to me, it doesn’t,” he says. I glower at him as he pulls out his phone. “I need to make a call. Excuse me.”
His knee bumps mine under the table—proof of just how big he is. The second he leaves the booth, I exhale. Not everyone’s cup of tea? That man isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. He’s the chicken fried steak of humans.
Ugh.
I hate being irritated with people. Usually, I shut the feeling down through distraction or avoidance. Pro tip: next time you’re aggravated with someone, try walking away and scrolling Instagram! Numbs those pesky feelings every time.
Unfortunately, I can’t walk away. I’m stuck with Ollie Fletcher.
Double ugh.
Why can’t he just let me smile through the next two days and make other people happy by ordering their favorite food?
My phone chirps with a text.
Mom
Hi sweetie. I won’t make it for the party after all. The weather is too bad and your step-sisters really want to have Christmas at home. It’s not like anyone on your dad’s side wants me there, anyway. I hate this timing. I wish you could be here with us, instead. Will you be okay?
I stare at Mom’s text in shock, but not surprise.
She’s not coming. Did I actually expect otherwise? My parents divorced when I was in middle school, and she’s not close to anyone on my dad’s side. I’m not really, either, beyond my annual birthday and Christmas calls from Uncle Bill and Great Aunt Marla. But I owe it to my dad to be there. Also, I planned the whole thing.
Poppy
Of course, Mom! I totally get it. Give Tim and the girls a hug for me, and I’ll call you after it’s done. Love you!
The server brings out our drinks, and I thank her with a smile I don’t feel. When she’s gone, I take the paper off the straw, bunching it up tight. I dip my straw into the water she brought with our drinks, holding my finger over the top to keep the water in. Then I hover the straw above the bunched wrapper and remove my finger.
A drip of water lands on the bunched up paper, making it uncoil and grow like a worm.
It’s childish, but hey, it keeps me from crying!
I dip the straw back into the water again and fill it up all the way, but this time, I drop the water in my mouth instead of on the wrapper.
I really wanted to see my mom in Rochester. Not just for moral support, and not just because it’s the holidays, either.
