Lunch Date

The door was open, the light still on and across the desk was spread a pile of papers, carelessly arranged, imitating order. The yellow light made the room seem darker against the blue sky painted on the windows. The air return hummed, almost inaudible but other than that there was silence. There were two pairs of shoes, neatly aligned, side by side, on the floor, by the desk and an overcoat hung on the back of the door. A pungent smell hung in the air, of garlic and coriander while the remnants of a half eaten salad wilted in a container perched across the top of the trash can.

The line trailed around the corner but was moving quickly. Twenty backs bent against the sun and twenty hands mopped the sweat from twenty brows. Inside it was no cooler, except for the first counter on which everyone leaned as they approached the disheveled woman shouting orders at the back of a man hunched over the flat-top grill. The smell of onions hung over the line and noses wrinkled and inhaled, alternately. The conversations were loud and unconcerned; they all talked about work and promised to call and some of them made plans they knew they wouldn't keep. At the few tables, lined in a row down the wall, talking heads bounced in agreement and paused only to take a bite of their pesto salad, their teriyaki chicken and their pizzas, made to order. The noise dulled, for a moment and a few heads looked up and in the pause the only sound was the sizzling meat and the scrape of a spatula across steel. Then the voices started again and the rustle of shopping bags covered the quiet, blending into a uniform blanket covering them all.

She stared at the sky until her eyes could no longer discern the faint streaks of cloud across it. She shifted her weight, turning onto her left hip and lay her head on the side of the boat. He was looking over her at the shore and didn't notice the frown on her face. He didn't notice that her hands were hidden beneath her and he didn't notice that she looked away when he turned his head towards her.

His eyes watered but not from the breeze. The uneasiness spread from his stomach upwards until it gripped his chest, the muscles there flexing and relaxing with the rhythm of the waves. He wondered if he should fight but knew, at some level, that she would not change her mind. Instead he concentrated on the shore, on the buildings rising above the trees and the sun and he tried not to think about the strain in her voice and the crush of disappointment he felt when she said, simply, 'No'.