I saw my mom try hard not to take offense at being called ‘ma’am’. ‘Well, you have a great server to be training with. I mean, I think I can take the credit for how well he turned out as an individual, but—’
‘We have to move Gabe’s car,’ I interrupted. ‘Before they open the dining room doors. Great seeing you, Ma.’
‘Love you, honey,’ she called after me.
Once we were outside, I let Gabe lead me to his car, an expensive-looking silver Audi. Why the hell was he working here if he could afford this? I knew nothing about cars, but I knew enough to know Audis weren’t cheap.
I got in and started directing him around the back of the building, pointing him to the spot behind my car – my dad’s old Honda that my mom kept for me. And then I showed him back into the kitchen through the rear entrance.
We’d missed lineup, and Morgan, the casual dining room host, was already walking four residents to our section when we got onto the floor. We arrived at the rear service station to find Ava staring into the distance as she clipped on her bow tie.
Our uniforms were simple: white tuxedo shirt, black pants and apron, black slip-resistant shoes and a maroon pre-tied bow tie.
I nudged her gently, and her eyes refocused on us. Smiling politely, she introduced herself to Gabe. For a brief, horrifying moment I was afraid she’d bring up Gabe and me knowing each other from summer camp, but she was still so distracted that she instead excused herself and went to pour water for a group of ladies who’d just sat down at one of her tables.
I pointed to the laminated section chart taped to the service station.
‘If you ever get confused about which tables are yours or which tables you’re running food to, this is the cheat sheet.’
‘How do you remember them all?’ Gabe asked.
‘If I’m not in T or Hell, I usuallycan’tremember them.’ Gabe’s brows furrowed. ‘Sorry …’ I pointed to Luke’s section on the laminated sheet, the six tables outlined in a T shape. There was one six-top and five four-tops. ‘This one is T section. So named because it’s shaped like a T. It’s the second-worst section in the dining rooms.’
‘And Hell section is the worst?’
I pointed to our section. ‘Correct.’ I showed him around the corner and pointed out the tables in real life. ‘T and Hell are the only two sections with six tables. In the FDR – the formal dining room – the max is four tables; you’ll start soloing there. CDR – casual dining room – servers get five tables each. T and Hell are for the people who have been here awhile and can take the extra tables. Hell has four six-tops and two four-tops.’
‘Six-tops?’
‘Six seats at a table is a six-top. There are two-tops, four-tops and six-tops.’
‘Sounds like a party.’
I almost passed out. Was that a gay joke? It absolutely was. Was Gabe gay? Did straight guys make jokes about tops and bottoms?
Before I could even react, he asked, ‘What if only three people sit at a four-top?’
I shrugged, still trying to recover from what he’d just said. ‘It’s still a four-top. Oh, also I should have told you the most important thing. Rule number one. Never piss off the hosts. Otherwise they’re going to seat multiple tables all at once to get back at you.’
For the rest of the evening, I went through everything Gabe needed to know. It was a busy night, which was good because that meant I didn’t have time to stare at him. Or continue to freak out about how he totally didn’t remember me.
Or how I absolutely never forgot him.
Where’s the line between social media deep dive and full-on cyberstalking? Asking for a friend.
It was the Monday after Gabe’s first day, and I was on hour seventeen of his social media review. It’s not quite as creepy as it sounds because he did add me first, which meanshesoughtmeout. I mean, yes, I absolutely found his profile the second I got home from work that night. But I didn’t follow him. I waited for him to follow me first like a normal human.
As I was looking at a picture of Gabe – on the beach with a bunch of Archbishop Murphy bros from over a year ago.
‘You good with that, Tommy?’
I looked up from my phone at Becky Jackson’s arched eyebrow.
‘Yeah, no problem.’
‘Then what did I say?’
The same damn thing you said an hour ago when this meeting should have ended. ‘That we should have at least three people taking pictures at each major event. But I’m not one of the photographers, so …’ I turned to a few of the other people on the yearbook committee who were on the photography crew, including Lara Guthrie next to me, who was trying very hard not to laugh.
