The croissant is just for show. Anyone paying an ounce of attention could see that she hasn't eaten anything containing that much butter in decades, let alone layered with chocolate. Sitting alone, occasionally sipping an herbal tea, and staring into space with her hands resting motionless on the keyboard of her laptop. She must feel the need to order something other than tea to justify taking up a four top table during the lunch hour. Well maintained, somewhere in her mid fifties she has the permanently surprised expression women get from having too much work done. She looks up expectantly as the horrendous bells chime and cold air rushes through the front door. If you were looking closely you might catch a hint of disappointment in her otherwise perfect posture although the face doesn’t move.

The couple bounding through the door is young, their relationship fresh without any of the scarring that can begin to show on most relationships after time. In the center of the small dining room, consuming the attention that they naturally attract, they struggle to choose one of the few open tables, one too close to the front door, one too close to the bathroom. Finally, he motions toward the last booth in the back, “Perfect”, she trills, clapping her hands and bouncing a bit.

Having slid into the same side of the booth they gaze at each other with anticipation as if what they shall have for lunch is the greatest decision of the day. They lean into each other, sharing one menu, and discuss their sandwich options with loud and creepy joy.

Jacob, approaching their table, uses his well rehearsed, fake smiled, enthusiasm, “And how are we today?”

“Ravenous”, they reply in unison, and giggle wildly.

Oh my God, I hate you both. You are human wedding cake toppers.

Jacob knew that he would end his serving career when one of these gems escaped his brain through his mouth. That could not be today.

“Well, you are in the right place!”, he struggled through his phony, yet believable laugh. “I will bring you some water. Would you like something else to drink or do you have any questions about the menu?”

“We are both fine with just water. Can you please, please, tell us what is your most favorite thing on the menu? “ She asks with childish enthusiasm.

The last thing Jacob wanted to deal with was the overly happy in love straight people.

I need the money. I need the money. I need the money, he repeated the mantra over and over in his head. Things in Jacobs life had recently gotten dire.

Trying to mirror her enthusiasm for a sandwich he replied, “You could die happy this afternoon if you have the Monte Christo”.

“Oooh! Thats what I wanted,” she squealed, “We will share one of those! We won’t even need an extra plate.”

“Of course you won’t,” Jacob smiled through gritted teeth. Turning away he noticed Croissant Lady had left. He hadn’t noticed how fast time was passing although it had been a little slower than usual. Croissant Lady had been coming in twice a month, always on Thursday for more than six months, maybe close to a year, he wasn't sure. She would arrive promptly at eleven thirty, sit at the same table, order a cinnamon spice tea and a chocolate croissant, stare blankly at her laptop, never typing a thing, and only look up when the front door would open. At precisely 12:45 she would fold up her laptop, leave twice the amount of cash that it cost for the tea and the untouched croissant, and leave without a word.

As Jacob picked up the cash, and the croissant, he thought again that he absolutely needed to know her story. Who could she be waiting for that never showed up, and how much longer would she do this, and why here, and why Thursday? He had failed, not for lack of effort, to lure her into any conversation. He had tried with the weather, current news events, lunch specials anything that he could think of, but she would never bite. She would smile stiffly, nod, and politely order her tea and croissant. He stood trying to remember exactly the first time that she had come.

“Excuse me. Excuse me.”

“Dammit. Dammit. Dammit,” Jacob thought, realizing that he hadn’t placed Happy Couple’s order.

“Just a minute,” he called over his shoulder as he headed for the kitchen.

Through the swinging doors and heading toward the hotline Jacob started, “I need a Monte Christo on the fly. I don’t need your shit. Just do this for me and I will ring it up in two minutes.”

“Two beers after shift.”

“Fine asshole. Whatever. Just do it.”

“Make that four.”

Jacob breezed back out without ever losing stride. It wasn’t worth arguing with Sweaty Doug. Such a douche.

Back on the floor Jacob stopped to print a check and drop it at a four top of Suits. He loved the Suits. They come in, they are short on time, they order, they eat, they leave and if you don’t fuck up up anything too badly they are good for twenty percent.

“Sorry that took a minute,” Jacob apologized to Happy Couple, “what can I do for you?”

“Ooooh, I am so, so, so sorry but I think that I forgot to tell you that I am allergic to cheese. Can you only put cheese on half of our sandwich? Please, Please, Please?”

Could you spontaneously light on fire right now? Please, Please, Please?


“Oh, sure, not a problem. I am sure your order is already done but it’s just cheese, we can pull it off.”

“Oooh Nooo! I can’t even eat anything that touches cheese. Do you think you could make a new one?”

Seriously, I don’t make the food. Do I look like I make the fucking food?

That one so badly wanted to come out.

“I don’t think that will be a problem. You will just have to wait a few extra minutes.”

“Yay! I told you that nothing was going to ruin this perfect day”, she sing songed to her Mr. Happy Couple.

Jacob was clear about two things as he headed toward the kitchen, first, claiming contact allergy to cheese actually blows out the bullshit meter, and second, there wasn’t an icicles chance in hell that he would ask Sweaty Douche Doug to remake that sandwich.

“Order up!”

“Thanks Doug. I will be back for that in a minute,” Jacob said casually, needing to waste a little time, but hoping to avoid the barking contest that almost seemed crucial to Sweaty’s survival.

“You needed it on the fly. It is ready now. Take it before it dies in the window.”

“Doug, can you please not? I just need a minute.”

“Not what, Jakey? The food is ready. It will either dry out in the window, or get cold out of the window. I had to go out of my way to make it in a hurry, putting orders that were actually rung in behind, and now you need a fucking minute? Take the God Damn sandwich.”

Jacob pulled the sandwich out of the window, crept into the server station and quickly removed one half of the melted cheese which took with it one slice of ham, most of the mayo and a good amount of the jam.

“I told you nothing was going to ruin this perfect day,” he mimicked under his breath heading for Happy Couple’s table.

Back behind the counter refilling Happy Couple’s water glasses Jacob heard the front door jingling open behind him. He reminded himself, once again, to take advantage of one of his early morning solo shifts to make those obnoxious bells disappear.

Without looking back he said, “Take a seat. I will be right with you.”, and took long strides toward the HC”s table, hoping that at best they would be content, and at worst, not significantly more needy.

“Oh Thank you. Thank You,” chirped Mrs. Happy Couple, bouncing some more, “Everything is perfection and without cheese! Yay!”

Walking back toward the front with a little less purpose in his step Jacob wondered tiredly if remarkable enthusiasm such as that could actually be maintained. That is when, recognizing the figure standing just inside the door, he was stopped in his tracks.

It was Trevor. Not Trevor but the Shell that used to house Trevor.

“Not now, Trev. Not here.”

“Jacob, I know you have some. You’ve been the only server on today and plenty of people have been in. I just need a little cash. Just to get me through. I know you have some. Just this once. I will pay you back.”

“You’ve been watching me? How long have you been out there?”

“Jacob, just give me a little and I will go away and leave you alone.”

Jacob didn’t want to be left alone. Jacob had never wanted to be alone. He wanted Trevor all of the time. Living alone for the last month, struggling to make rent on the apartment that they had shared, not wanting to give it up on the slim hope that his Trevor would come back. This wasn’t his Trevor. Looking the Shell up and down he searched desperately for any sign that Trevor was in there. He wasn’t.

Jacob reached into the pocket of his apron, pulled out a twenty and held it out.

“Don’t you love me anymore?” the Shell asked but Jacob turned and walked towards Happy Couple not needing to answer.

He was cashing out Happy Couple and hadn’t realized that someone had come in as Trevor was heading out and when he looked up to see Old Man it was like God had answered a prayer that he didn’t know that he had said. Somehow, lately, Old Man always showed up like an answer to a prayer.

“Old Man!!”, Jacob bellowed startling Happy Couple on their way out.

“Old Man my ass. When are you going to start calling me Jerry?”

“Never, Old Man, Never. You know how I roll. Everyone gets a nickname. Besides, you know your nickname. No one else even knows their nickname. You are special. Dare I say elite.”

“You are ridiculous. Speaking of nicknames, what the hell did the Shell want?”

The Old Man knew all about the Shell.

“What do you think?”

“And did you?”, he asked, although he knew the answer.

As the last few lunch customers filtered out Old Man took his favorite place at the counter.

He and his wife used to come sit at the counter for lunch at least three times a week. They and Jacob had gotten to know and love each other over the years. It was a beautiful symbiosis. They were a childless couple that had always longed for a son and he desperate for guidance having been abandoned by his parents after coming out as a teen.

These days, his wife’s dementia had taken her too far away, he came in alone, sporadically, when she was quietly resting and a caretaker was available for an hour or two in the afternoon.

Jacob climbed onto the stool next to Old Man.

“What can I get for you today?”

“Time for a coffee and a chat?”, Old Man’s eyes were pleading.

“I’ve been starving for just that,” Jacob exhaled feeling that it was the first honest thing that he had said out loud all day.

"So much is made of the past. Enough about the past. Why do we need to hammer on about it all of the time? Could I just be who I am today, by choice, without the drag and drain of other peoples perception that I’ve been damaged by something that cannot be erased? You know what the real problem is? They are the problem. They want to live there. Dwell in it. Wear it like a fucking badge so that they don’t have to really look at their own fucked-upness."

"Peggy died. She was only 57 years old and she died of thirty years of self inflicted wounds. I don’t want to talk about it and I don't need to talk about it. What is to talk about? Fine. What would you like to hear? She was fucking amazing. She could do any God damn thing that she wanted. Every thing that she put her mind and her hands to became perfection. She was stunning to look at for starters, a bonus gift from God I guess, the obvious reminder just in case she wasn't saying or doing anything at the time, that you would always be less than. Dad used to say she could go out in a potato sack and still be the most beautiful girl in the room. She wouldn't have though. Go out in a potato sack. She put a lot of time and effort into her looks. I don't know why, I guess because she was Peggy Perfect."

"I sound angry? Because Im angry. Of course I am angry. Everyone should be angry. You know we all get a certain amount of born blessings in this life. Some people can sing, some people have great hair, perfect eyelashes… Peggy Perfect got an unfair number of those blessings. Perfect eyelashes are a great example. She didn't have those but you know what she did have? The uncanny ability to apply the perfect amount of makeup in the precise way in the exact places to make her almost perfect face appear to be actually perfect. I once saw her perfectly apply lip liner while sitting on a bar stool with out a mirror while holding a shot glass in the other hand. I couldn't apply lip liner perfectly if I were sitting in front of a fully lit stage mirror with my head held still by an industrial vice grip."

"Did I love her? Yes. I loved her but she made me helpless. She made me watch her self destruct. She made me watch her take everything that was gifted to her and toss it out like rotten fruit. She could have chosen life and happiness and greatness. She could have chosen success at any one or number of the things that she was great at doing. She could have…she didn’t. It’s a bullshit thing, you know, alcoholics giving the people that love them helplessness."

"You know, I want to be more angry or sad or any feeling about the fact that she died than about the fact that she quit living. She quit living so long ago that it feels like I’ve been mourning for her forever. I have been mourning her for more years than I got to enjoy her and she was here the whole time. It is shocking to think of the number of years that we waited for her light to come back on. It never did."

"Do you not think that I tried? We all tried, well, not all of us but enough. Forget about anyone else, I tried. Every single bloody time that she made a move in the right direction, every single time that she managed to stay sober for more than a week, every rehab, every new job, every anything that made me believe that she might come back, I was there telling her that she could do it. I don’t know when I stopped believing it was possible. I know that I did. Do you think that she knew?"

"Well, enough about that. Look at what time it is! You must be starving! Do you need to go out? Potty before supper? You are my best girl! My only listener. Come on, lets go!"

She is utterly ridiculous and it is ridiculous what she does to them. Margaret had loved this man and raised these boys. This man and these two almost men fawn all over Angel with no perception of how foolish she is with her too large hair and her too bedazzled outfits. Bedazzled for Christ sake! Literally bedazzled. The woman that she had been abandoned for, who would be the step mother to her two brilliant sons, owned and regularly used a Bedazzler to “glitz up” the circa 1990’s denim that she favored. “Glitz up”, the term that Angel used so proudly with zero hint of shame.

Margaret looked around the vacation condo that they had shared as a family. It too was broken now.  After 15 years it had begun to show the markings that time tends to streak across places and people. Margaret had had a nice time here with the boys for the past four days but it was time to leave and allow her replacement to take over for the long weekend. As she collected the last of her things she took in the scene and it struck her that this may well be her last time here.

The thing that Margaret loved most about the condo was the way that the natural surroundings flowed through the large windows allowing you to be a part of them. There was nothing natural about Angel. Angel looked like an oversized, over “glitzed up” piece of furniture that clashed with the rocky mountain decor. She was like of one of those gaudy white plastic christmas trees stuck in the middle of a forest of evergreen.

“Mom!” Margaret was pushed out of her thoughts by the sound of Max’s voice. “Mom, you better get on the road if you are going to make your flight.” She realized that she had become the interloper. Somehow, to them, she had become the ill fitting piece of furniture in the room. She resented being the outsider in her own family. She wanted to be one of those women that welcomes the second wife into the fold and allows her to become a part of what she did not help to build, but she couldn't and she wouldn’t.

“Sorry. I’m going. I was lost in thought for a moment,” she lied, “that picture of Seamus as a puppy… I miss him.” Seamus was the retriever the boys had woken up on their first Christmas morning here 15 years ago. A cherished memory for the four of them. So, without actually having to lift her leg and mark her territory she reminded Angel that she would always be the outsider, and she said goodbye to her boys.