The young waitress, a blonde, was back.
Have you made your choice?
She seemed impatient and indifferent to the both of us.
– Just coffee, I said. – Black. Without cream.
– I need something stronger, Jenny said. – Do you have wine?
The waitress nodded, chewed her gum, and stared at her fingernails. – Red.
– A Chardonnay, Jenny said. – The house wine will be fine.
The waitress walked away without saying a word. Jenny studied the wall behind me, her hazel eyes fixed solemnly on the wallpaper in pastel shades. We were the only guests in the area.
– What? she said, finally meeting my gaze, provocative and distraught.
– Nothing.
– Well, it’s hard.
I said that I knew how hard it was.
– No, you do not know. She is not your mother.
Jenny stared at the wall again.
The waitress brought us our drinks. She put the wine in front of me, coffee – with cream – before Jenny and left a note on the edge of the table. The wine was a rosé, not a Chardonnay, so then I would remind the waitress, but Jenny stopped me. – No matter, she said.
By sharing drinks, I made a nod to the waitress. – I hope Miss Kindness does not depend on tips to survive.
– Huh?
– Nothing, I say.
Jenny sipped her wine. – I’m not sure I can do it, she said, a pink color mounting to her throat.
– Well, go back there and tell her. I made a nod toward the hospital across the street.
– I cannot, she said, sipping again.
– Listen, if you cannot, you cannot. Your mother will understand. You’re not the first not to be able to.
– I do not see how anyone can do it.
– I could do it. I could do it because it needed to be done. When something needs to be done, it is best to go and do it.
– I am not like you.
– So do not do it.
– I would be remiss if I did.
– So do not do it for the love of God. Go there and tell her. The train will leave in an hour.
– First, I will finish my wine. She took a sip. – Maybe if I drank enough wine I could do it.
– Do it and then drink. It will give you a good reason to drink.
– I already have a good reason to drink. Can you order me another?
– Memory and judgment are the first things alcohol dims.
– The memory is already well, she said.
– As you wish. I called the waitress.
– Wait, Jenny said. – You are right. I need to have a clear mind for that. She pushed the glass. It was still almost full. – What time is it?
– Seven o’clock. I made a sign toward a large white clock framed on a wall nearby.
She grimaced. – Will you go tell her for me?
– Tell her what?
– You know, she said.
– No I do not know.
She reached out to grab my coffee. – May I?
I pushed the cup and saucer to her. The cream as well. I had not touched it.
Stirring the cream, she said – This is the best thing to do, do you not think?
– What I think does not matter here.
She took a sip of coffee, now a caramel brown. – I cannot do it. It is my mother.
I reached out to grab her glass of wine. – One more reason for you to do, I said. – For that you want to.
– Is it what it was like with your mother?
– No.
– You see.
– It does not prove anything.
She shrugged. – You are right. What time is it?
I finished her wine while watching the clock. – Twenty minutes past seven.
– Do not be silly at a time like this.
She grimaced again and then sighed. – Very well. You are right. I will do it.
She started to get up. I thought I saw a tear. – Are you sure?
– I’m sure. As sure as I’ll ever be.
She stood up, smoothing the folds of her navy blue skirt.
I stood up too. I left enough money on the table to cover the bill and give the waitress a good tip.
Sami Kak, a junior, is a Schreyer Honors student who is studying chemical engineering.
