Just Another Valentine’s Day

Marcie slipped the roses into the vase, tweaking them until they splayed out evenly, the three heads pointing in different directions.

One for each setting, and the other one… somewhere else.

“Oh dear,” Marcie laughed. She leant in close and held the flower head in her fingers, holding it still while she smelt it. “You’re the third wheel, aren’t you?” She inhaled deeply, sweet floral notes over the smells of the kitchen, and her eyes fell to the table. “Yeah. You and me both, buddy.”

“Marcie! Are we ready?”

Balancing the rose steady again Marcie stood up, adjusted the little sign saying ‘four’, and looked round at all the tables. “Ready as we’ll ever be.”

“Candles lit, flowers out, tables laid–”

“All done, ready for service. Relax, Felicity. It’s just another night, we’ve done this hundreds of time.”

Felicity gave her a tight smile. “Yes, but this is Valentine’s Day.”

“So? People will still eat exactly the same as ever. If anything they’ll be paying even less attention to what they’re eating.”

“Assuming their dates are going well. If not, they’ll be even more picky about things.”

“Just relax, Felicity. It’s only a few hours. Besides.” Marcie nodded at the front door, and the figures wandering about on the street. “It’s too late now anyway.”

“Fine, fine,” Felicity said with a wave of her hand as she headed back to the safety of her kitchen. “Let the randy sods in. And put Barry Manilow on.”

Already halfway to the door Marcie snorted, covering her mouth with a hand and spinning back, but Felicity hadn’t noticed. A quick detour to the front of house podium and Marcie clicked on the sound system. “Anything but Manilow,” she muttered under her breath as she waited for the system to boot up. Music wasn’t her strong point, but whatever playlist started at least sounded like it had been written in the last decade. Good enough.

At last they were ready to open, and Marcie welcomed the first bunch of eager lovebirds in and to their seats.

From then on, she didn’t stop moving or talking long enough to hear the music.

The place was small, but fully booked for the night, which meant that Marcie and the other two servers bounced from one table to the next. The only breaks they got were when they had to wait for the couple at the table to notice them and untangle long enough to have the food delivered. More than once Marcie had to fight down the urge to just tip it over their heads.

“Why am I working tonight?” she groaned to Timothy as she dug out a fresh bottle of wine.

“Cos you’re one of the only ones here not in a serious relationship? Come on, it could be worse.”

“Really? Cos that table over there are about to re-enact When Harry Met Sally. Except, you know, the X-rated version.”

“Eek. I mean, it could be Christmas.”

Marcie waved her finger under Timothy’s nose. “No. We’re not talking about that again. Never.”

“Never?”

“Not until July, at least.”

“Fair enough. But, remember, it could be worse. At least there aren’t any kids.”

“And that is a blessing I shall remember until the end of my days,” Marcie said over her shoulder as she headed back out onto the battleground.

At eight o’clock – the half-time rush – Marcie headed over to table number four. Her first smile caught the roses that she’d been setting earlier, and the next one went to the couple sat– Oh.

“Would you like to order yet?” she asked when she got there, keeping her back to the empty chair.

“What? Oh, um. No, not yet. I mean… could I have a drink?”

“Of course. What would you like, a glass of wine?”

“Um. Could… could I just have some water? Is that all right?”

“Of course it is. I’ll bring a jug over.”

Marcie always made sure that she smiled when she was at a table, but this smile lingered after she’d left. The poor man looked so out of place; his tie was wonky, and he kept squinting at the menu, even though she could see a pair of glasses in his top pocket. And the suit had seen better days, probably on someone with a bit more bulk.

But he’d made an effort, and it wasn’t as bad as plenty of the other suitors that evening. Of all the men present, he was one of the few in a suit. Most of them were still in jeans, with a shirt the only acknowledgement of the occasion. Hell, there were more women wearing suits, though a couple of them looked just as uncomfortable in them.

On they way to getting the jug of water Marcie got side-tracked by other tables – was there any salt, I’m sure I ordered the vegetarian, can I have a napkin – but by the time she got back to table four the chair was still empty.

“Here you are.”

“Oh. Thank you.” The man looked up and the smile was so grateful that it broke Marcie's heart. All she had to do was walk away, back to table seven where she could see an argument building out the corner of her eye.

“Any word yet?” she asked instead.

“Hmm?”

“On your date? Any word when sh–they’ll get here.” No assumptions, Marcie reminded herself, though old habits were hard to kick.

“Oh. No. Nothing yet.”

“Do you want me to bring you some bread while you wait?”

“Oh, um…” He opened the menu and started scanning down the price lists, still squinting.

“On the house,” Marcie said, though she didn’t know why.

Ah, that was why. He gave her another look of heartfelt thanks, and it was the purest emotion Marcie had seen all day. “Yes please,” he said in a whisper. “I’m starving. If you won’t get in trouble, that is.”

“Don’t worry, no one will notice.” As she turned she gave him a wink, and she stayed just long enough to see him blush. While the kitchen was getting a basket of bread together she made a note in her pad; table four, bread, paid for out of Marcie’s tips.

There wasn’t time to stay and chat when she dropped the bread off, and he didn’t look up fast enough to see her smile. After rushing off for one break-up negotiation, two proposals, and an overcooked steak, Marcie made time to go back to table four.

The other chair was taken.

Her smile faltered for a split-second, but it was back by the time she’d arrived. “Hi there,” she said. “Are you ready to order yet?”

“Yes,” said the woman who’d arrived. As Marcie took down the order on autopilot, all dictated by the woman, she tried to get the measure of her. Like the man she’d made an effort, and like the man it was noticeable. Though she wasn’t a particularly large woman, she was wearing a top that was too small and, while it did wonders for her chest, it made her back look all lumpy.

“Anything else?” Marcie asked when the woman was finished. She made a point of looking at the man, who’d been silent the whole time, but he was still looking at the menu, face pale.

“No,” said the woman, leaving Marcie to stomp off.

“Ooo, someone’s in a mood,” Timothy said as she came back to the bar. “Did someone try and cop a feel?”

“No.”

“No tips?”

“No. Just… just leave it, okay?”

“Hey, are you sure your all right?”

“I’m fine. I’m done with Valentine’s, that’s all.”

For the rest of the evening everything got on Marcie’s nerves, but she held her temper and her smile in place. Yes sir, of course I’ll replace that ‘undercooked’ chicken that you’ve somehow only noticed is undercooked when you’ve eaten most of it. No ma’am, we haven’t added wheat to our vanilla ice-cream just to give you the runs on Valentine’s night. Yes sir, those were the prices printed on the menu, perhaps you should’ve invested in a calculator rather than those branded boxers you’ve insisted on showing all evening. No ma’am, the woman three tables isn’t flirting with your date, because she’s busy flirting with her wife.

A woman caught her eye with a dismissive wave, and Marcie headed over, her foot not missing the same beat that her heart did when she realised which table it was.

“Yes, ma’am?” Marcie asked Miss Table Four.

“The bill, as soon as.”

“Of course.”

On the way from the table to the till Marcie was glaring, and by the time she was back she was all smiles again. She placed the bill and the two heart shaped chocolates in the middle of the table – no assumptions – and walked away again. When she turned to talk to another table her eyes darted up, just once, oh so quickly, to see the woman help herself to a heart while she shoved the bill at the man. His eyes went wide as he read it, but just like Marcie he had a smile on his face when he looked at his date.

“Hey, Timothy,” Marcie said as she slipped behind the bar, “can I ask a favour?”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“Can you take the payment from table four?”

“Seriously? What about the tips?”

“To hell with the tips. You can take any. Please?”

“If you’re sure.”

“Thanks, I owe you one.”

“I’m taking your tips, I think we’re even.”

“Trust me, I’ll come out of this better.” She’d wait till the next work outing to tell Timothy how close she was to punching Miss Table Four in the lip-stick-smudged mouth. Far better all round that he take the payment.

With the last of her tables in someone else’s care, Marcie threw herself into the glamorous work of cleaning the toilets. She figured it could be useful if the sick feeling in her gut came to anything.

Whether she was too quick or they were too slow she couldn’t tell. Marcie came out of the toilets just in time to see Mr and Miss Table Four walk off down the street, hand in hand.

---

A week later and Marcie was in charge of front of house again. She was still fobbing table four off onto whoever else was on shift, saying it was in an awkward place and she kept missing it. No one had complained yet – what did it matter which table they took – but she knew she couldn’t do it forever.

Her mind was miles away as she stared at the table plan on her counter, and she didn’t noticed the door go until someone cough just in front of her.

“Oh! Hello, and welcome to–” Marcie stopped short.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” she replied.

“I was, um, in here last week.”

Yes, Marcie thought, I remember. “Oh? Oh, yes, for Valentine’s day.” Marcie was surprised how neutral that sounded, and knew she should stop there before she ruined it. “With the late date, right?” Oh, there it was. The bitterness, the twist on the words.

But he just laughed. “Yeah, that’s the one. And you gave me a basket of bread. On the house.”

“Did I?” Marcie was glad she’d never bothered with acting.

“Yeah. Well I…” He trailed off, and as Marcie was waiting for him to finished she checked out what his usual costume was. Casual, still a little baggy but at least comfortable. And with glasses, which worked so well with his smile.

“Did you leave something?” Marcie tried when he still didn’t find the end of the sentence.

“No.” He took a deep breath, arms straight at his side. “Would you like to go on a date with me?”

“What? You had a date. Didn’t you?” Frozen in place Marcie went into full panic mood. She hadn’t done something as stupid as assume it was a date, when they’d actually been related or something? But no, no one would take their sister out for a meal, alone, on Valentine’s Day. That was asking for trouble.

“I did, but that’s not going to work. I just wondered… look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come in while you were working, but I wasn’t sure when you finished your shift, and–”

“Yes.”

“Pardon?”

“Yes, I would like to go on a date with you.” Marcie had never been so glad for the front of house podium; he couldn’t see how much her knees were shaking, or how she was holding herself up.

He looked as though he was about to fall over as well. “Great!” He blinked again. “Great.” A little bounce. “When?”

“I’m not working tomorrow evening. Does that work?”

“Great. Meet you here?”

“Sounds good. But we’re not eating here.” When he looked a little panicked Marcie nodded back at the kitchen. “We’d never get a moment’s peace with these nosy sods.”

He laughed, still shuffling his feet. “Fair enough. See you tomorrow then, at eight?”

“Sounds good. Wait!” He was halfway out the door by then, but she had to know. “What’s your name?”

“Malcolm. Yours?”

“Marcie. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And then he scurried away, nerves completely spent.

---

“Hey, Felicity,” Timothy called from the bar. “Guess who’s back?”

“It better be that bloody delivery driver– hey!” Felicity’s foul mood evaporated when she got out the kitchen and caught sight of Marcie. “Oh, look at you! That’s quite a tan you’ve got there. Honeymooning right, that is.”

“I’m making the most of it while it lasts,” Marcie said with a laugh, her usual blush hidden. “Now, all the details later. Most of the details later, stop it, Timothy. Work as usual this evening.”

“Yes, yes, yes. Can I at least get a hug though?”

“Of course. Oh, and I brought this as well, given you insisted.”

“Oh, that’s a beautiful picture. Just look at you, you were meant for each other. Come on, there’s time to get it up before service.”

“Are you sure?” Marcie asked, listening to the thumps and shouts from the kitchen.

“It’ll only take a moment. Now, where do you want it? Over the till? By the front door?” As she spoke Felicity held the frame up and squinted, as if that would show her how it would look on a wall a dozen feet away.

“Um.” Marcie bit her lip, still basking in the smells and sights of home after two weeks away. Then she saw it, the perfect place. “There.”

“Right in the middle of my wall, you mean?”

“Yup. Above table four.” Marcie admired the photograph as Felicity held it up against the wall. “I’ll explain later. But table four is our table.”