Page 47 of Love Resurrected
“Same.”
“What have you had?”
“Banana pancakes, home fries, bacon. All good.”
“Every time?”
“It’s not like, a weekly habit or anything.”
“How many times have you been here?”
I shrug.
“Well, guess.”
“Couple times a month.”
“For how many months?”
“A few.” I’m deliberately obtuse with my answers. Truth is, I come here about once a week. And I order the same thing every time because it was what Kat ordered the last time we were ever out for breakfast. It makes me feel closer to her. I can’t imagine ordering anything else. I won’t go back to the restaurant she and I went to, but I will order what she did at other places. I found this one a while back and liked it. No one bothers me or attempts idle chitchat. I can enjoy my breakfast, read the paper, and leave. No muss, no fuss.
Rita returns. “What can I get you guys to eat?”
I motion to Tenley to order first. “I can’t decide between the French toast or the veggie scramble,” she tells Rita. “Which one is better?”
Rita shrugs. “Both are good.”
“You go first,” Tenley tells me.
“Banana pancakes, home fries, bacon,” I say. Rita makes a note in her little pad of paper and I hand her my menu. We both turn to look at Tenley.
“Well, now I’m wondering about the western skillet. Can you put the veggies from the scramble in the western skillet, along with everything that’s already in there?”
“If you’d like,” Rita says.
“Okay, that’s what I’ll have.” Tenley hands off her menu, Rita makes another note in her pad, and turns to leave.
“No, wait,” Tenley says. “I changed my mind. Eggs Benedict, with ham and a side of fruit.”
Rita waits, looking at Tenley. When nothing more is said, she asks, “You sure?”
“Yes.” Tenley nods. Rita scurries away, I’m sure not wanting Tenley to change her mind again.
“You always this complicated with food and coffee?”
She covers her face with her hands and groans. “Yes. I hate it. But I just have a hard time deciding what I want. I do better when someone suggests something that’s good. I’ll just go with it, even if I’ve never had it before. But when I have to decide on my own, it’s terrible.”
“How do you survive?” I ask, only partially kidding, because what a major pain in the ass.
She makes a face in return.
We make small talk until the food arrives. I have to admit, her Eggs Benedict look good. She takes a bite and moans in appreciation.
“Ohmigod,” she says, her voice husky. “Youhaveto try this.” She cuts off a piece and holds her fork over the table toward me. I hesitate, not sure whether I should take the fork from her, or just lean in and take the bite. “Quit being weird and just open your mouth,” she says.
So, I do.
And she’s right. The Eggs Benedict is amazing. My banana pancakes pale in comparison when I take my first bite.
