My every movement is rehearsed. Sit straight. Don’t react. Don’t break.
I imagine standing up and walking out. Leaving, and never coming back.
But if I do that, where will I belong then?
Sipping my coffee, I swallow their contempt and picture a different table.
A table with noise, warmth, and acceptance.
A table where kindness isn’t punished and my name is not an insult.
One day, I’ll sit at that table.
CHAPTER 6 – ANTONIO
My shift at the trattoria is almost over when one of our regulars walks in. I think he only comes here for the espresso. At least he’s never ordered food. He’s polite, quiet, and wears funny T-shirts. I don’t like many customers, but I like him. His predictability brings me comfort.
“Coffee again?” I ask, already reaching for a tiny white cup.
“Actually, no.” He clears his throat and shifts his weight from one foot to the other.
“You work here, right?” he asks. “Obviously you work here. You wouldn’t wear a waiter’s uniform otherwise.”
“Unless I was a paid actor,” I offer. “I’m not, though.”
He stares at me for a second, then nods.
“Right. So. This is kind of random, but would you maybe want to get a coffee sometime?”
“Thank you, but I just had one,” I say kindly.
His face falls so fast my stomach drops too. Did I say something weird? This is what happens when predictability becomes chaos.
“I mean together,” he adds, his face flaming.
“Together with who?”
“With me.”
A slow, mortifying warmth creeps up my neck. I stare at my order pad, but it offers no guidance whatsoever. What would Marcus Aurelius do? Not this, that’s for sure. He would say something wise about accepting one’s fate with dignity.
“I’m flattered,” I start carefully.
I’m also someone who fantasizes about owning a library and never leaving it.I wish I was in a library. People don’t ask you out in a library.
“If you’re busy, that’s totally fine,” he rushes on. “Or if you have a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. Or a… friend. I’m sorry. I’m going to stop talking now.”
“No boyfriend.”
His mouth tilts upward. I wish he didn’t bother with that. It will only turn downward again when I crush his hopes and dreams. What if I quietly moved to Europe? We have family there.
“So.” He adjusts his glasses. “What do you say?”
If I only knew. Why is this so difficult?
I bet Caspian wouldn’t fumble. He probably learned the art of graceful conversation at some elite baby seminar. I bet he wore one of those Hilfiger baby polos.
Okay. He needs to exit the premises of my brain immediately.
