Page 226 of Falling Backwards
I chance saying, “Yes, sir, but does it absolutely have to be the bar area?I know there are tables to spare in the dining room.”
He hangs up on me.
I measure out a breath as I put the phone away.
I’ll sit as far as I can from Marcus, then.After all, that’s what I always do when I wrap silverware: sit as far from guests as possible so I’m neither a distraction nor an imposition.
But I’m the only hostess working, so I’ll have to keep this front area in view and not miss coming to greet anyone who arrives.That means I can’t sit at just any distant table.
Lord, please let him start ignoring me.I don’t wanna deal with whatever he’s doing.
I happen to know I’ll have a reservation to tend to in about ten minutes, so I decide to wait on that before I go to the kitchen.Part of me hopes Marcus will be leaving by the time I sit down—maybe he and his girlfriend are just here for quick drinks, not food.
My hope grows when the guests with the reservation turn out to be a bit late; it helps me kill time.And I still have to hobble to the kitchen, then to where the clean cloth napkins are, then to the table of my choice, then back to my stand so I can sanitize my hands and collect the iPad to keep with me while I work on my task, then back to the table….
No, though.
No, when I finally sit down, the sticky gaze coming from Marcus feels as settled-in as ever.
I straighten my spine and go for a glimpse at his table to see how far along into their visit he and his girlfriend might be; I’d like to have some idea of how long I’ll have to sit with this weird-ass feeling.Andugh—I don’t make eye contact with Marcus again, but that’s only because he’s currently watching his server place a just-brought-out appetizer between him and the girl.They’re not getting the check and preparing to leave.
I wish Luke were here.I wish I could look in the direction of the bar and see him instead of my stupid ex.
…Even though I am now recalling he, too, was in a bit of a bad mood earlier, before I came to work.
Well, he was in anoffmood, not a bad one, I guess.He was his normal self upon waking next to me today and all the way up to when we went to lunch, and then something was different when I came back to our table from washing my hands.I couldn’t gauge what had irked him.When I asked, he said he was fine.I could tell it wasn’t true, but I didn’t want to prod too much, so I just moved on, trying not to think about Thanksgiving Day when he also was bothered by something—clearly and truly—and told me it was nothing.
But it probablywasnothing, both on that day and today at lunch.People are allowed to be randomly peeved and to not want to dwell on whatever caused it.And I wouldn’t want to be pestered if it were me, so it’s only fair I be courteous to Luke.
My stomach remains unsettled by those moments, though, and knowing Marcus isn’t going away yet only worsens it.
Just focus on work,I tell myself.Put unease out of your mind and do what you’re supposed to do.
I listen to me.
Soon, I’m rather soothed by my task.
It’s a relief that the fun of preparing silverware bundles isn’t being ruined today.It’s still nice to be sure each cloth napkin is precisely folded in the crisp and elegant Lucent way, and I know I’ll still enjoy confirming the cutlery is clean once I’m on to that step of the process, and it’ll still be satisfying to tuck the silverware into the angled crease of the cloth—forks, knife, spoon—for a perfect look.
Honestly, I wish I had nothing but this to think about for the rest of my shift.As it is, I have other work to deal with.I pause now and then to look to the front of the house for anyone who might need me.I check the iPad to ensure I’m not sitting over here when guests arrive for their reservations.I go answer the phone when it rings.
And when a familiar voice pointedly calls, “Excuse me, miss,” in my direction, I know I’m not allowed to ignore it.
‘Miss,’he called me, as if he doesn’t know me.
It’s like the other time he came in and spoke to me like I was a stranger, not someone he dated for months.
I look up from the last napkin I’m folding and see Marcus looking at me in an expectant yet once again smirking way.He’s definitely talking to me—his wave for me to come to their table makes it that much clearer.Inhaling deeply, I gingerly get up from my chair and go.
He takes a break from watching me to turn and reach to his girl, makes a show of slipping his hand around her waist and rubbing it the best he can while they’re sitting.I remember the other ways he has seemed to flaunt his affection for her in front of me, and then I think farther back to him grabbing her ass when I sat them in the dining room last time.
Why does he keep doing things like that?Does he think it’ll make me jealous?
Mocking,that part of me from earlier thinks again.He’s mocking me in some way.
I don’t have time to ponder it before I’m close enough to the table to speak.
Before I can, he says again, “Excuse me, miss.”
