Only Everyday

He looked woefully out of place - an average Joe with a tie askew, whose mundane routine had been temporarily disrupted to accommodate a commercial spectacle he was expected to begrudgingly fulfil. There was a box of store-bought chocolates with a frayed ribbon beside a bottle of warming beer. A battered briefcase was shoved beneath the table - its clasps seemingly offering no security as crinkled papers made their presence known along the openings. 

She spared him a second glance as she wiped the table clean diligently. She so dreaded those telltale grease stains that threatened the pristine white cloth she was about to lay atop it. The cloth was, after all, intended to be reused on such occasions. He, on the other hand, barely registered her practiced ministrations as she smoothed out the wrinkles in the fabric, deftly laid down the cutlery, and folded the napkins for both him and her. 

She minded not his preoccupied state. She was well versed at being seen only as part of the furniture. It wasn’t their anniversary. She remained only as a mere stranger that flitted past his disinterested gaze temporarily as he tapped distractedly at his phone. Even as she set up the table he offered no input, nor did he find fault - choosing to be content in whatever effort she was willing to expend to achieve the desired result. He hadn’t changed out of his work attire and he carried with him both the grime and attitude that followed a grueling day at work. Yet, there was no fidgeting, fussing or fumbling with his attire or presentation as he waited. 

This too she did not mind as much. She mused that perhaps both of them had long since laid waste to the rose-tinted glasses through which young couples in love still viewed these social constructs. It was a cynicism she could not muster the energy to regret. Practical and indifferent she herself was attired in the same outfit she wore day in and day out. She sported hair in a messy bun gathered at the top of her head. A glance at her hand had her curling her nails into her palm as if to obscure the chipped polish and work roughed skin. 

And yet as she took in the dull picture in front of her, a nagging urgency had her hurrying to the back to fetch the roses she had found on her desk as she had got to work. The flowers, after a day neglected in the vase they had been unceremoniously shoved into, were on the cusp of wilting. She tried vainly to spruce up their appearance but recoiled in caution as the fragile petals threatened to detach from the stem. Nevertheless, she settled on dusting them with water before gingerly carrying out the partially drooping arrangement to where he waited - still on his phone. 

Despite her caution, a petal found its way down to the tablecloth and the beauty of the stark vermillion against the pristine white had her tapping a chipped nail against the glass to shake a few more petals loose. “Water or wine?” she had asked. He had looked up then - as if he had forgotten she could speak. Even in that instant, she knew he saw not her, but the lining of his wallet as he weighed the costs against his indulgences. Curiously though he stretched out a lone finger to trace a curling petal that had made its way closer to his free hand. It was a moment later that he had nodded “Wine… but not just yet”. Their eyes had met in that instant, for the first time that night in mutual empathy. There was no judgement there.

It was at this moment that the bell chose to ring. Both their gazes turned in unison to the door that swung open tentatively at its hinges. A young woman peered curiously into the establishment - looking uncertain of her welcome. The man had stood for only the second time that night and even as the pair's eyes met over the furniture the young lady was pattering towards them in an unspoken invitation. Before he gestured to the seat across him she was already sitting. Even as he had sat himself back down she had shoved an equally tattered purse against his battered briefcase and launched quite unceremoniously into a lengthy dialogue of her woes at work while he nodded will well practiced patience and stoicity. 

The server made her way back to the kitchen to check on the chef and retrieve a menu. Armed with this in hand and ensuring that the kitchen was in readiness she rejoined the couple out in the dining area. It appeared that the young lady had run out of steam and she was now eyeing the box of chocolates with a raised eyebrow that oozed incredulity. Her husband, one hand on the box of chocolates, now appeared oddly sheepish - the poor man vainly trying to unobtrusively scratch off the price tag he had neglected to tear off. 

“Would you like the wine served now Ma'am?” the waiter asked of the young lady in a moment of shared comradery with the poor man who used the distraction to rip off the offending label with clumsy haste. The young woman had looked up at her in surprise before glancing back at the table, taking in the chocolates and the flowers that were looking worse with every passing minute, before faded lips and tired eyes answered not her but him with concealed mirth “I’d much rather have a beer.” They laughed then - two peas in a pod and two halves of a whole. 

Hours after they left she gathered the blackened flowers before tossing them unceremoniously into the trash and emptying the vase into the sink. It had been a long but fruitful day with more tips and even more tipsy customers. Valentine’s day wasn’t something she thought to celebrate anymore. As she locked the cashier up for the day, bidding good day to the chef, she took in the candid shot of her and her husband with cake smeared across their wedding attire mounted at the back of her workstation. Her husband hated Valentine’s Day, and she loved him for that as he chose rather, to show her he loved her only every day.