No, not maybe. I was.
Sure, I wanted to make my kids happy and give them the best possible childhood, but they were gone and I was no longer willing to act the part of a dutiful wife at the expense of my happiness, because let's be honest, I hadn't been happy in a long time.
Today was just the last straw.
Standing, I felt more powerful than I had in years. I walked toward the door to finish my grand opening, but then it flew open. It was Vic.
“Something is happening in the dining room.” His eyes were a little too wide, and his words a little too fast for me to think it was as simple as a customer spilling their drink or something.
Whatever it was, I’d handle it. And then I’d handle my damn husband.
FOUR
Deva
This… was not what I’d been expecting. I stepped into the dining room, then stopped short, shocked. “Holy crap,” I whispered.
Vic bumped into my back before sliding around to my side. His voice was quiet in my ear as he asked, “See what I mean?”
“Yeah,” I breathed as a woman danced her way across the walkway in front of me. Her arms moving more like noodles than something with a bone inside. “What on earth is going on?”
Earnie, a much older man with white hair and a cane, climbed onto one of the tables, then swung his cane around his head. If the light fixtures had been any lower they would have shattered right then and there, but I had kept them high to make the place feel taller. He almost fell off, but Marquis ran over in time and steadied him. “Come on, let’s get your feet on the floor," he said, his voice calm and steady even though there was a flash of panic in his eyes.
I swung my head in the other direction at the sound of whooping to find a young mother standing next to her table and throwing her small child up in the air. She caught him, thank goodness. The child didn't have a problem with the situation and was smiling and laughing the whole time, but the mother wasn't exactly paying attention which made my stomach feel hollow. If something happened to that child in my restaurant I'd never forgive myself.
“Go, Vic,” I yelled, pointing at them as she threw the little boy again. As the little boy hit the peak of his velocity his mother's gaze started wandering.
Vic took off running and helped the mom catch the boy. “Maybe we don’t throw your toddler, okay?” he asked.
The mom laughed and twirled in a circle. Her hands were out like she was holding a dress instead of the skinny jeans she was wearing, while her head tipped back and she stared wide-eyed at the ceiling.
“Here, give him to me.” A man held his arms out, and the little boy squirmed in his direction yelling Daddy. Vic gave the kid up and came back to me while the man tried to plead with the crazy, kid-throwing woman.
"The snozzberries taste like snozzberries!" My stomach dropped at the words. Surely someone wasn't licking the walls, right?
I turned toward the sound. They weren't licking the wall, but they were licking the window, which couldn't taste good considering we'd cleaned them only a few hours ago. I saw shadowy figures moving past on the other side of the glass, pausing, I assumed to watch the licker go to town on the glass, before moving on at a quicker pace than before.
This was the last thing I thought would happen.
A group of men in business suits sat at a table, just giggling. And giggling. And giggling. Clutching their stomachs with one hand, throwing their heads back or down, shoulders shaking, while the other hand slapped their thigh or pounded against the table. Some of them were laughing so hard that I could tell they weren't making a sound, probably weren't even breathing, while other members of their little group were wheezing like they smoked a pack a day.
More people began to stand up from their tables and dance while others tried to convince the crazy ones not to act quite so insane. The longer I looked around the more overwhelmed I became.
For the most part, nobody was being dangerous. In fact, they all seemed to be having the time of their lives. Smiles were splitting faces and laughter was filling the air even through the hushed, urgent words of their dining companions. It was only when I saw someone drawing in the syrup remaining on their plate like they were trying to recreate Van Gogh's Starry Night or something that I noticed the smears of purple on their plates.
Carol and Beth ran up, wide eyed. “What in the world happened?” Beth asked.
I looked from plate to plate, at least of the ones that I could see without making a scene, and they all had the remains of pancakes on them. What had started as a sneaking suspicion had become firmer in my mind. “Come on. Vic, keep an eye on people out here.” He was younger and stronger than me. “Ask Marquis to help.” They’d keep anyone from hurting themselves.
I hoped.
We moved as fast as we could without full-out running, which was dangerous in a kitchen even if the majority of the food we cooked wasn't fried. Cooking in general was a messy business. I weaved through my staff, who all looked bewildered to see me, Beth, and Carol streak by, and went to the cooler.
I pulled on the large silver door handle and swung the heavy thing open revealing the chilly insides. Fog started forming in the air around us as the hot air from the kitchen gusted in behind me.
“All of my special ingredients are on the top shelf,” I said, grabbing the step ladder. I hauled myself up to find lots of special ingredients. Accomplishment apple butter, life is good lemon curd, chill out cherries, peaceful plums, love yourself lavender, cozy chai mix, pep in your step peaches, energizing earl gray. Everything I’d spelled over the last few weeks was accounted for.
Except the blackberries.
