Waiting for Stella

Arnie was up before his alarm, before sunrise. Today was the day.

He rehearsed his speech in the mirror as he shaved. He answered all of her potential objections as he carefully tied his bow tie. He pressed down his fear as he buffed and polished his wing-tip shoes. He gave himself a final pep talk as he put on his suit jacket and straightened his pocket square. 

Today was Arnie’s 64 birthday, and his present to himself was proposing to Stella.

One more time.

Arnie proposed to Stella the first time he laid eyes on her, 32 years ago. 

He had wandered into Sid’s Diner looking for a meal, not a wife. He had just moved into town, and had not yet unpacked his kitchen. So he walked out of his apartment building and down the block to the greasy spoon he saw from the moving van.

Sid’s crackled with activity as the breakfast crowd fueled up for their day. Bacon popped on the griddle, forks and spoons rattled loose as people unrolled their napkin-wrapped silverware, and coffee pots clinked against mugs getting their last refill of the morning.

Arnie was relieved to find an open booth in the corner, and quickly slid into the seat. The laminated menu on the table was still greasy from the last customer, and the table still damp from where the busboy had wiped it down. Arnie held the menu by the edges with his arms above the table, and didn’t see the waitress walk up.

“The waffles are good, and the bacon is crisp, but the locals get the Texas omelette.”

Arnie looked up from the menu, and the trajectory of his life changed in an instant.

Arnie had never seen a woman so effortlessly beautiful. Long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. Hazel eyes that smiled before her mouth did. The name tag on her uniform said “Stella.” Arnie was horrified to discover that he had lost the use of his vocabulary. He just stared at Stella, praying for his voice to surface again.

“Tell you what,” Stella said, breaking the awkward silence, “I’ll bring you a cup of coffee and a menu that you aren’t afraid to hold onto.” 

As she walked away, Arnie looked back down. He was still holding the greasy menu like a Petri dish containing the plague. Embarrassed, he quickly placed it down on the edge of the table.

Stella returned with the coffee, a new menu, and a towel to dry the table.

“I ordered you the omelette,” Stella said.

“What?”

“I ordered you the omelette.”

“You brought me another menu.”

“I brought the next person a menu. You seemed like omelette person.

I ordered you an omelette.”

“Um. Okay.”

Stella walked away from the table, and right into Arnie’s heart.

Arnie drank 5 cups of coffee that day. Each time Stella came back to refill the cup, Arnie tried to hold her attention, hold her gaze. When she brought the check, Arnie asked her to marry him. Stella smiled, and said, “No.”

For the next 32 years, Arnie never ate breakfast at home again. 

Every morning, at 7:30 sharp, he would slide into his booth in Stella’s section. Stella would bring him an omelette and a cup of coffee. 

And, at least once a week, Arnie would propose. 

Stella’s responses were always a variation of a theme. She would smile and say, 

“If you love the waitress, tip the waitress.” 

“I bet you propose to all your waitresses.”

“You wouldn’t want me.”

“It’s all I can do to put up with Sid, here.”

Over the years, Arnie would learn more and more of Stella’s story. The abusive home she was raised in, her fear of relationships, the comfort she felt in coming to the diner and seeing the same people every day. Each story, each revelation, acted as thread, stitching his heart to Stella. Arnie spent the first 12 years proposing to Stella. Stella spent those same 12 years declining his offers, always with a smile.

The next 20 years went by without another offer of marriage. It wasn’t that Arnie had changed his mind. He just couldn’t handle the no any more.

But he had to try. One last time. 

He stopped at the florist on his way to Sid’s and picked up a bouquet of daisies. He loved how Stella loved the simple daisy. Most women wanted roses. Stella said roses were too pretentious. Daisies were sunshine with roots.

Helen the florist knew what Arnie had planned for the day, and she placed a daisy boutonnière in the buttonhole of his suit jacket. 

Arnie felt like Clark Gable.

Sid’s was hopping with the morning crowd when Arnie arrived. No one really noticed that he had walked in; everyone was consumed by bacon, the morning newspaper, and conversation. It wasn’t until he cleared his throat and called out to Stella that everyone stopped and turned toward the door, where Arnie stood in his best suit and hat, with flowers in hand.

Stella looked up from her pad, where she had been scribbling an order, and smiled at Arnie.

“Well, look at you! What’s the occasion, Dapper Dan?”

Arnie took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, trying to calm his nerves. It was now or never.

“Stella, today is my birthday.”

“Happy birthday, sir!”

“I am 64 years old today. For exactly half my life, I have been coming to Sid’s for breakfast. For 32 years, you have been bringing me a Texas omelette and a coffee.

Stella, I hate omelettes. And I’m not a big fan of coffee, either. Truth be told, I’d rather have oatmeal and orange juice. But I would eat whatever you placed in front of me just to HAVE you in front me. Because I love you. I have loved you since I first walked into this place.

If you will recall, I proposed to you the first time I came in. You laughed and told me no, probably because you thought I wasn’t serious. But I promise you, if you would have said yes, I would have run out right then and bought you a ring. As a matter of fact, I did go out and buy one that day.”

Arnie shifted the daisies into his other hand and reached into his pocket. He pulled out an old ring box and opened it with his thumb.

The ring was staggering. A diamond that was at least two carats set in a delicate gold band.

The woman in the closest booth actually gasped.

“Stella, I have carried this ring in my pocket for 32 years. Every time I came in and asked you to marry me, I had this box in my hand under the table. Every time you said no, I slipped it back into my pocket. But I’ve come back today to show you I was serious every time I asked. If you tell me no again today, well, then I guess I’ll keep coming back for the next 32 years to eat the omelette and drink the coffee, in hopes that I’ll finally get the yes I’ve waited for. And if, 32 years from now, you finally say yes, I’ll be the happiest 96 year old man in town. And if I die when I’m 97, then I will not have a single regret for the 64 years I waited for you. Because, for that one year, you were mine.”

Sid’s had never been as quiet as it was in that moment. Every eye slowly turned from Arnie to Stella.

Stella stared at Arnie for an eternity, her expression revealing nothing. 

Finally, Stella scribbled something on her order pad, and turned to Sid, who had come out of the kitchen.

“Sid, I need an oatmeal and OJ for my fiancé.”