It Feels Like

Keri leaned on the counter, resting her weight on her forearms. Her long brown hair was pulled back in a low ponytail. She had on the uniform she’d been given when she started at the diner--black pants and a dark pink button-up shirt. Sensible white tennis shoes were on her feet because standing for eight hours in the middle of the night wasn’t always the most comfortable thing.

She watched the man sitting in the booth furthest from the door. He’d been coming in for two months, maybe once or twice a week. His brown hair was falling across his forehead and down far enough to obscure the edges of his eyes. Tonight he was in a pair of cargo pants and a black hoodie. He looked miserable. He always looked miserable, and no one dared to speak to him because of it.

She looked up as the bell rang. A young couple came in and sat at the counter. Keri took their order and shoved the ticket into the order wheel sitting in the kitchen window. Moving to New York five months ago had been an adventure. The city constantly surprised her. Back home in Ohio people never went out to eat at midnight. Here they did it all the time. It was strange.

While she waited for the night cook to finish up the order, she leaned back against the wall and turned her eyes to the man again. She didn’t even know his name. But she did know he always ordered hot chocolate. Nothing else, just hot chocolate. She thought that was strange, too. He looked to be in his early thirties, and she didn’t know anyone over the age of ten that regularly drank hot chocolate.

He kept his eyes down mostly, but occasionally he would watch out the front window of the diner. Not like he was waiting for someone, but like he didn’t have anything better to do. She wondered what his story was, why a decent-looking guy in Manhattan was hanging out at such an un-cool diner in the middle of the night on a Tuesday.

The bell rang and she served the two teenagers their food before mixing up another cup of hot chocolate. He looked especially miserable tonight, and she was feeling bad for him. Carefully, she walked the cup over to his table and slid it in front of him.

He looked up at her with surprised brown eyes. “On the house,” she said, smiling softly at him.

“Oh, thanks.” He wrapped his fingers around the mug and nodded his head at her. She took the empty on the table and went back to her place behind the counter. Poor guy. He looked like life wasn’t treating him that well.

*************************************

When she showed up for her shift on Monday, he was already sitting in the usual booth. She tied an apron around her waist and freshened up the coffee cups of the three other people in the diner. She saw that mystery guy’s hot chocolate was untouched at his table when she passed by on her way back to the counter. Keri smiled to herself and prepared another mug for him.

“Here you go,” she said, swapping out the untouched cup for the one in her hand.

When he looked up at her, he forced a small smile. “Why are you the only one who serves good hot chocolate?”

Keri grinned. “Because I use milk and cream. Our manager says we’re supposed to use water.”

“Aren’t you afraid you’re going to get in trouble?”

She shook her head. “I only use milk and cream for you.”

His eyes narrowed, and his smile disappeared. “Why?”

Keri watched him for a moment, trying to decide how to answer. “Because you always look miserable, and I thought great hot chocolate would make you feel better.”

His lips twitched back up into a slight smile again. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

**********************************

Helen was in her sixties with platinum blonde hair that was always piled inside an unflattering hairnet. Occasionally, she worked the shift before Keri. When Keri walked in the door on Friday evening, Helen was waiting for her.

“Gotta run, sweetie. I’m missing a birthday party for my sister,” Helen said, pulling off the apron and shoving it in a laundry bin under the counter.

“Have fun,” Keri told her, tying her own apron over the required black pants.

“Hey,” Helen said before she walked away. “Mr. Moody over there came in here last Tuesday and asked for you. I told him you were off and he asked when you’d be back. He saw me looking at the schedule and he’s been checking it out himself even since.”

The schedule was posted on the wall behind the counter, visible to anyone who could see. And Mr. Moody was the guy with the sullen face who looked like he belonged in a fashion magazine. Maybe he was a down-on-his-luck model. It was New York City after all.

“You get Rob to walk you out if he tries to follow you,” Helen warned.

Keri shook her head. “It’s the hot chocolate. I make it with milk and cream for him. He probably wants to know when to come back so it doesn’t taste like water with cocoa powder in it.”

Helen snorted. “Vinnie will have your head if you keep that up. You know how tight he is with money.”

“He looks so sad,” Keri replied, looking over at the man.

“We all got our demons, honey. Pretty boys ain’t no different.” That said, Helen hurried out the door.

Without even asking, Keri mixed up a mug of hot chocolate and carried it over to him. His hands were cradling his forehead, fingers laced through his dark hair. And his eyes were resolutely on the speckled tabletop. The sound of the mug on the formica made him look up.

“Hi,” Keri said.

“Hi,” he replied. “How did you know?”

“You always get the hot chocolate. Helen told me I should be careful you don’t follow me home. She says you’re stalking me.”

“I’m not, I...”

“Yeah, you just wanted the good stuff,” she said, finishing his explanation. “Here you go.” Keri pushed the mug closer to him.

“Thanks.” He wrapped his long fingers around the warm mug.

*************************************

He wasn’t there every night, but Keri had been told by Helen and Aurelia, the other two waitresses who worked nights, that he only showed up on her shifts. Keri had seen him glancing at the schedule one night. He thought he was being sly on his way out the door, but he was pretty obvious. He always left before two in the morning. Some people who came in the diner stayed until the sun rose. Keri wished she could leave most nights. She’d much rather be in bed, even if her bed was in a tiny place in Brooklyn that she could barely turn around in.

One night he walked in with athletic pants and a black hoodie on. He looked especially bad. She watched him wince as he slid into the booth and leaned his head back. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his mouth was drawn into a tight line.

She made his cup of hot chocolate and checked on the older man by the window. He was elbow-deep in a plate of pancakes and not coming up for air anytime soon. So, Keri carried the mug over to Mr. Moody and, instead of siting it down and walking away, she slid into the other side of the booth.

He looked up at her, surprised. She silently pushed the mug over to him and watched as he forced a small smile.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He took a sip before saying, “About what?”

“About why you look like your life is over.”

He opened his mouth, but didn’t say anything. His upper lip pulled up to show his white teeth while he stared at her with dark, unhappy eyes. “I’m having a bad year.”

“It’s just March.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Keri frowned at him. “It can’t be that bad. You could be working the night shift at a diner and be forced to wear this shirt.” She pointed at the dark pink dress shirt she was wearing.

It earned her a small smile from him. “You’re right. I’m a spoiled asshole. Things could be worse.”

“Things can always be worse,” she agreed. “Now drink your hot chocolate and go home to get a good night’s rest. I bet you have a photo shoot tomorrow morning.”

His brows furrowed. “What?”

Keri grinned. “Come on. Don’t tell me you’re not a model. With that hair and looking all moody at a diner in Manhattan? Gotta be a model.”

That got her a bigger smile. “Nah, I’m just a regular guy. No photo shoots for me.”

“You should be a model,” she said before standing up and walking back to the counter to grab the coffee pot and refill Mr. Pancakes’ cup.

***************************************

She hadn’t seen him for a week when he walked in the door. He looked like hell and the weather outside was terrible. It was trying to snow, but all that was falling was a freezing drizzle that made the entire city feel cold, wet, and unhappy. She put extra cream in his hot chocolate and dropped it off at his table without saying a word.

“Hey,” he said as she turned her back.

Keri turned around again to look at him.

“Are you busy?”

She looked over tables in the diner. He was the only one in here at one thirty on a Wednesday night. “Not really. What’s up?”

He shifted in his seat; it was obvious he was uncomfortable. “Do you want to sit here and talk for a minute?”

What was this? Was he lonely? Mr. Moody was actually pretty hot. He could find company pretty easy in this big city. Why was he asking her to sit with him? Maybe he really was a creepy stalker.

“Sure,” she replied, sitting down across from him. “What should we talk about?”

“You.”

Keri raised her brows. “Me?”

“I appreciate you taking care of me when I come in here. Last night I realized I don’t know anything about you. That’s pretty shitty of me.”

She laughed softly. “That’s pretty normal of you. I’m a waitress. I get paid to bring you food and drink, not to spill my life story while I’m doing it.”

“You make this special for me.” He took a sip of the hot chocolate.

She nodded. “Because I wish you wouldn’t look so down all the time.”

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Keri.” She pointed at her name tag.

“Oh.” His cheeks flushed a bit. “I didn’t even notice.

She waved his comment away. “It happens. What’s your name?”

“Brad.”

Keri stuck out her hand, and he tentatively shook it. “Nice to meet you, Brad.”

“You too, Keri. Do you like working here?”

“No.”

He seemed taken aback by her blunt answer.

“It pays the bills,” she conceded. “So, that’s good. My day job is for a fashion design firm not far from here.”

“Why are you working here then?”

Keri looked at him like he was out of touch. Maybe it was because his watch looked like it cost more than her monthly salary. “I live by myself in Brooklyn. Rent isn’t cheap, and neither of the jobs pays the bills on their own.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She laughed. “Don’t be sorry. I love living in New York. I’ve only been here a few months, so I’m not burned out just yet.”

He drank half the mug of hot chocolate in one huge gulp. “Why did you move here?”

“I want to be a fashion designer. And you can’t get anywhere in that field if you live in BFN, Ohio.”

“BFN?”

Keri grinned. “Butt fuck nowhere.”

He chuckled under his breath. When he smiled he looked like a new man, like he was fun and exciting and intelligent. “Very elegant,” he said, nodding to her.

“I’m a classy broad,” Keri agreed. The chimes on the door jingled and two men in suits walked in. “Duty calls,” she added. “Gotta go.”

Notes