Half-a-Star Nightmare

I looked up at its façade, looked back down to my phone, then looked up again. The photo matched. Expectation equaled reality.

“Today’s Diner,” I whispered, reading the sickly sign. “Why? Is it gone tomorrow?”

I got the place right, yes, but I had no idea why Mom—who loved the company of heavenly cuisine, sparkling ambiance, and five stars all around—would dare to set foot in it. Maybe it gets better beyond the cracked windows, stuttering neon lights, and stained walls, I thought.

Mom’s arctic-white SUV was parked right outside, and I knew deep down that I didn’t have it in me to ghost her any time of the day, so I dragged high-heeled boots through half a door and a curtain.

 “Just one quick meal,” I whispered to myself. “Just one quick meal.”

It pays to go straight to the point: it didn’t get better inside. The tables looked forever filthy no matter how many times you try wiping them, the steel benches had fought too many battles, and the medium-sized chandeliers demanded rent from spiders. I couldn’t close my mouth, and I imagined eating the diner’s food this way too.

Other than the waiters, there were a few strangers inside. I used the words ‘strangers’ because I wasn’t so sure if they were customers. Four were playing cards at one table, one was asleep on one of the benches, and another was reading a not-so-kid-friendly magazine.

Mom, looking elegant as always, waved at me from a table by the corner. Did she see me? Did she really? Is too late now? Okay, it’s too late. “Hey, Mom!” I hurried over and hugged her.

Quick to her feet, she kissed me on the head. “Oh, Megan, sweetie... it’s been forever!”

“Mom, we just saw each other almost a month ago.”

“Well, it feels like forever,” she replied. “So, what is my favorite cum laude feeling right now?”

I tittered, then said, “Shocked, wondering... shocked.”

“Oh, you kidder. My little girl’s finally a woman. It feels like it was yesterday when you taped my high heels to your tiny feet, saying you want to be just like me.”

“And you would always say, ‘Be your own kind of woman, sweetie,’” I said, mimicking her tone.

She gasped. “And you have. I’m so proud of you.”

“So, why punish me like this?” I said behind smiling teeth.

“Sorry, what?”

“Oh, I said... I said, ‘I... sure am famished like this.’”

“Why, me too.” She then raised her hand.

The waiter—I kid you not—limped to our table. The name “Harold” popped up, and according to him, he was happy to serve us. We had him tell us the specials, and with every two or three sentences he spoke, he just had to snort something thicker than goo back up his nose. Well, it’s better than it going the other way.

I ordered the saucy baby back ribs, Mom ordered the chicken salad, and we each asked for a glass of diet cola. Harold, the waiter, screamed our orders to the kitchen at the back, a little bit of his spit raining down. At least we were far from its direction, right? Oh, look at me looking at the bright side.

Mom and I did some mean catching up that was long overdue. I told her about the mountains of stress, the organizations I joined, the road trips we had in between classes, and a little bit of love on the side. She blushed on my behalf and had me spill all the details.

“Have you and Dad seen each other while I was gone?” I later asked. “You know, at least for a moment. I’m overjoyed to see you, Mom, but how is he?”

All of a sudden, her lips formed a wall, and no smiles were hiding behind it. “Listen, Megan,” she said. “I’m sorry I had to leave your graduation earlier than I should have. I hate the fact that I had to.”

“It’s fine, Mom,” I replied. “At least you showed up. I can’t really complain, though. I don’t know the rules when it comes to dads living with second families. But hey, I got a text. Great!”

“I’m really sorry, sweetie.”

I nodded with my pretty lashes halfway down.

Unfortunately, the food busted out the kitchen doors before I could throw a complaint and make the great escape. I hated their quick service. Okay, fine, the food looked good. My baby back ribs had a scoop of mashed potato beside it along with some corn and carrots.

“Thank you,” I said in a monotonous, half-meant tone.

“Thank you, Harold,” mom said, who was still seeing the joy in this place.

I took a sip of the diet cola and quickly told Mom that there was something wrong.

“Someone accidentally spilled cola in this glass of water!” I said with a little bit more drama.

She laughed it off and blamed the ice.

Then how much ice did they leave in this glass overnight? I wondered.

I nibbled on the baby back ribs. My teeth didn’t work. I took a bigger bite. The meat matched the bone. Nothing was coming off except the sauce. It was as if it were waiting for me to say “please.”

Without eating a thing, I turned to the lesser evil—the corn and carrots. The corn was... edible, but the carrots were as hard as tree bark. Mom seemed to be enjoying her salad—another one of those things science can’t explain.

I shifted to the mashed potatoes with godlike speed, and when I took a scoop, a strand of curly hair was hanging from the edge. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I unleashed my complaints. Mom sat stunned while Harold took all that I could spit. His apologies were almost endless, and as he took my plate to make the replacement, his forearm tumbled my glass of watery cola. The splash, much to my horror, discolored my clothes in an instant.

With eyes and a mouth wide open, I was ready to explode, tantrums building a mob inside me. Instead, I did what I should’ve done earlier—storm off.

“Megan? Megan!” Mom called.

But I ignored her.

“Megan, where do you think you're going?” Mom asked, chasing me through the restaurant's door. "It's rude of you to walk out on me like that!"

  “Me? Rude?” I asked, turning around with eyebrows colliding. “You abandon me as I graduate with Latin honors. Then you make up for it by bringing me here? The very asphalt of our street is far more appealing than this rust dump with walls! Is this how much I mean to you? To dad? Let me know now and I’ll be on my way.”

  Then a few of her tears bled out her eyeshadow, making me regret every word I had let loose. My heart twisted into many shapes.

“I’m an addict, Megan,” she said in a cracking voice. “Or was... I don’t know. When you went off to college, I... Loneliness and money can make you do crazy things.”

The frost in my eyes began to thaw, but most of me wanted to hold on to rage.

Mom wiped an inky tear on her face. “When I saw you on stage. Graduating. You waved at me. I waved back. I was so proud. Right then and there, you inspired me to stop and change. Then the symptoms kicked in uninvited. I tried, but there was no way to hide them. I never wanted you to see me like that, so... I left.  

  “Then I found my way here—the diner I used to work in. Before the diamond earrings, pearl necklaces, fancy cars... I was all rags and hustles. This is where I learned how to be responsible, how to deal with pressure, and be strong enough to take a load of bull from people. It’s forever a part of me, so I bought it before it could shut itself down... as a gift to you—a brilliant HRM graduate, who, I believe, can make underdogs reach stars against all odds.

“I wanted to surprise you, make you its manager, and work as a team, me and you. It would have given us a little bit more time together, but it was an awful idea. I see that now. I'm truly sorry, Megan. Let's just go.”

  My tongue stayed flat and heavy on the floor of my mouth. My jaw hung ajar. Then I slowly followed her to the car. While wheels brushed through the road, pedestrians could hear what was going on behind the car doors—nothing. Every tree that passed through my window waved, begging me to say a word.

  “So... when do I start?” I asked, then pursed my lips to stop a smile.

  A sunburst pierced through me as Mom coughed out a few laughs. Tears of joy emptied the tank, streaming through her brand-new face. “And why the change of heart, may I ask?” she said.

  “Because I want to be just like you.”