Page 1 of Just for Fun
ONE
Zara
I hatepeople who are chronically late to everything. My brother is one of those people, and this is the third time this month that he’s left me waiting after he was the one who chose the time of our get together.
As a rule, I have lunch with my brother once a week. We normally go to the same restaurant, always at the same time. But after him being late the last two times, we agreed that it would be better if we met an hour later than the usual. And he’s still not here.
I tap my fingers on the table while looking at the clock on the wall for what has to be the tenth time in just as many seconds. Anxiety threatens to take over my entire body the longer that I wait as my knee now bounces under the table.
“Are you ready to order, miss?” the bubbly young waitress asks.
I pick up the menu, perusing it blindly while knowing perfectly well that I will order the same as always. Just as I open my mouth to tell her what I want, the table moves a bit when my brother drops in the seat across from me.
“Hey, I made it!”
I can tell from the happy tone that he really thinks he this is acceptable.
“I’ll take a root beer,” he tells the waitress. “And I’ll have a burger, everything on it, fries on the side.” He then points at me. “She’ll have a grilled chicken sandwich, on rye bread, with lettuce only on it. No butter on the bun. A pickle on the side.”
The waitress smiles and nods as she writes down our orders. “Great, I’ll be back with your drink, and it shouldn’t take long for the food.” She grabs the menus and disappears.
My knee still bounces under the table and irritation takes over the longer I stare at my brother.
“It’s really great of you to show up on time, Owen.”
The smile drops off my brother’s face. “It was only seven minutes. I was on a call this morning. I rushed here as soon as I got back to the station.”
My jaw hurts from the tension when I clench my teeth in an effort to not lash out at him. I should be more understanding considering what he does for a living. He is a fireman, working for the local station. His schedule is unpredictable, and I am lucky that he is able to get here when he does. But I can’t help myself. I can’t deal with people being late, or, God forbid, canceling their plans on me.
“I’m sorry,” I finally say, but he knows I don’t mean it.
“Z,” he sighs. I can actually feel his disappointment in me. I hate it. “I know how you feel about all your routines, and that you hate me being late. But this was completely out of my control.” He opens his arms wide. “I would’ve rushed herestraight from the call, but I don’t think you would’ve appreciated the smell from the fire…”
It's like he’s trying to shame me for being upset about him being late while he was out there literally saving lives.
“You know why,” I start.
“It’s been twenty-one years, Zara.” Pity is now obvious in his tone. “You need to get professional help, babe. And I truly mean it.”
I cross my arms over my chest in a defensive move. “I don’t know why it’s so bad that I like punctuality.”
“It’s not just about that,” he laughs. “It’s about everything. We have lunch once a week, but it has to be on a Wednesday. Changing the regular time felt like a life making decision.”
I look away because what he says is true, and maintaining eye contact is uncomfortable.
“You can’t make any plans outside the routine you set for yourself,” Owen continues. “If something unexpected happens at your work, it throws your entire life apart. And God forbid someone asked you out. You act like they’re about to kidnap you and sell you off to a sex ring. All my friends are scared to death of approaching you, just in case you’d want to immediately file for a restraining order shortly after they said hello to you.”
My eyes widen in shock at everything that he says.
“That is so not true,” I argue. “I have plenty of spontaneity in my life, Owen!”
He only rolls his eyes at me. “You buying a miniature cactus from the checkout lane at the mini mart doesn’t count, Zara. And it’s taking everything in me not to laugh at you even considering it.”
“Just because I love routine, and peace and order in my life, it doesn’t mean I am a bad person.”
“No one is saying you’re a bad person,” he sighs again. “But you giving me grief over being late has got to stop.” He leansforward in his seat, stretching his arm across the table. “I am not late on purpose, Z.”
I place my hand into his and drop my head in shame.
