It’s a loud noise, but you all pretend not to hear it.
TWENTY-THREE
You ordered the two-egg combo at Perkins with an entire pot of black coffee. Four days had passed since the last good day at the quarry, though you didn’t know to call it that yet. At this point, you assumed there would be more good days. That somehow things would get back on track with Sean and all would eventually be well. The problem was: You couldn’t quite see the path back. And in the meantime, you didn’t know what to do with yourself. Sean and Diana were the only people you liked to spend time with, and now it was painful to be around both of them.
So you sat alone in your favorite booth. You weren’t sure what to expect going to Perkins by yourself, but it was as if someone had put the whole place on a dimmer. The lightness you’d once felt just sitting in this booth, the one that faced the car dealership across the street, was gone, and you noticed things that you previously hadn’t. The ancient cigarette burns in the upholstery from when you could still smoke in restaurants. The cobwebs in the hanging light above the table. And the regulars, who once seemed like a lively cast of extras from an indie film, now revealed their true nature as lonesome insomniacs scowling over a cup of coffee.
Geoff came to take your order, and he paused when you were done, like maybe he wanted to ask about Diana. But he didn’t. Instead, he just looked at the empty spot across from you andmuttered your order to himself before disappearing to put in the ticket. In the lobby, a middle-aged man in sweatpants played the claw machine, and no matter how many times his three-fingered robot tried to abduct a unicorn, it came up empty-handed. Still, the guy fed it a seemingly endless supply of crisp dollar bills.
You tried not to read into this, but suddenly everything felt like a painfully obvious symbol for the human condition. When you’re depressed, the whole world is a tragedy. Especially if you’re in a Perkins alone.
“Sta radis, bre?”
Before you could even turn your head to look, she sat down in the seat across from you and opened a menu, hiding her face like a spy. You thought you smelled alcohol, but there was a base layer of perfume that made it hard to tell.
“Whoa,” you said. “Where did you come from?”
Diana ignored you, lazily turning the pages of a menu she had long ago memorized. She was wearing the same jean jacket she’d had on the night you met on the garage roof. Only in the time since, she’d covered it in buttons she found at thrift stores with Sean. Your favorite was a small green one that just readDANG!Ordinarily, it would make you laugh just looking at it, but this time, you were too distracted.
“Now,” she said, “should I get the Pot Roast Stroganoff or the Hibachi Fried Chicken Skillet? So many choices…”
She slurred her speech just a little when she spoke, and there wasn’t a hint of a smile on her lips. Instead, she just stared at you glassy-eyed and dropped the menu. In the time you’d been coming here, Diana had never ordered anything other than pancakes. Not a single time.
“How did you know I was here?” you said.
She clicked her tongue.
“Then again,” she said. “The Double Seafood Catch does sound enticing. Because when I think fresh seafood, I think Perkins. Don’t you?”
Diana folded her hands over the menu, and Geoff appeared as if summoned by a bell. You could have sworn you saw the beginnings of a smile on his face as he set your eggs down and paused next to Diana with his pad at the ready. She cracked her knuckles and said:
“Geoffrey, I shall have the pancakes this evening.”
“You got it, boss,” he said.
Then he was gone and so was the menu. And Diana looked at you like she was really trying to figure you out. You glanced down at your food, knowing you no longer had an appetite for it. You picked up your fork anyway.
“What does it mean?” you asked.
“What?” she said.
You poked at an egg, breaking the yoke and watching it erupt.
“The Serbian. When you sat down.”
She wrinkled her nose.
“Did you learn absolutely nothing from me?”
Another pot of coffee was set next to yours, and Diana poured a cup, dumping in her usual packets of sweetener and watching them dissolve. You managed a bite of hash browns, and it felt like you had to tell your body to chew each time.
“Sorry,” you said. “I guess I just don’t remember that one.”
She shuffled out of her jean jacket and adjusted a strap on her tank top.
“Sta radis, bre?” she said again, a bit more slowly. “It means ‘what the hell are you doing?’”
“Oh.”
