In Love and Work

In Love and Work

The very first time I saw him was from across the kitchen. He almost took my breath away right then and there. He looked like the all American boy. Short, chocolate brown hair, not dark chocolate, but that sweet silky milk chocolate; his eyes were the color of dark oak, but the softness drew you in immediately. He was about 6’5”, the perfect height for a soccer player, and had a body to match.

It was his first day on the job, but he made it look like he’d been doing it forever. He could carry over filled bus tubs with ease, he filled water glasses without ever spilling a drop, and he could clear three tables easily. That night he was my busboy. I’d been a server for about three years then and I’d never seen a person fit into a job with such effortlessness. He was supposed to be training with someone that night, but every time I saw him he was alone. Once I stopped and asked him, “Shawn, isn’t this your first night?”

“Yeah,” he answered shrugging his shoulders.

“How do you know what to do?”

He laughed, almost knocking me to the floor as my knees went weak, “It’s not brain surgery Katlin, you see an empty plate and you pick it up.”

I just smiled at him and continued greeting my tables.

As the night wore on the theatre filled quickly. There was hardly enough space to get around. The voices of each person trying to talk over another became almost deafening. The sheer number of bodies stuffed into the room, making the air thick with heat; there were over 500 people in the theatre that night and I was having trouble serving only twenty eight of them.

After having dropped eight of my dinners, and about ten salads I was starting to panic. I ran back into the kitchen where a very distinct smell hit me as I walked through the doors. It was unmistakably the smell of the dinner theatre, yet it was impossible to say what it was; a strange mix of fresh rolls, garlic, fish, and steak. The heat hit me like a wall, almost making me sweat instantly. The sound of dishes clanking was thunderous. The quick yells of food being ready rang out through all ends of the room. Numerous conversations ran into each other; each person louder than the next trying in vain to be heard. With just the wrong step you could easily fall from pieces of broken dishes and grease that covered the floor. If you didn’t watch out you would be run over by someone just trying to do their job.

A small, skinny kid stood at the head of the salad line as I walked up and quickly told him what I needed. He looked up at me stupidly and didn’t move. My blood was starting to boil as I loaded up the large oval with what I needed and had another buser take it out for me.

I ran through the kitchen dodging and ducking to not crash into someone to make it to the bar. I grabbed the strawberry smoothie one of my tables had ordered. Just as I turned to take it to the table I collided with something very hard. My tray tipped back and drenched me in the cold, sticky, mess. I kept my eyes closed for a moment, not wanting to look at the damage as I felt something cold and slimy drip into my bra. The entire kitchen went silent as everyone saw what had happened. The only thing that could be heard was the scared voice of Shawn, my busser, repeating over and over, “I’m so sorry Katlin. Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”

I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t even think. Finally I opened my eyes and saw the smoothie covering me from the neck down. There were chunks of strawberries dripping off my shirt and a few underneath it. I looked up and saw Shawn, the worry evident on his face. I didn’t yell, although I wanted to, I didn’t cry, I merely said in a tone that made him know what I meant, but quiet enough for only him to hear, “I don’t have time to deal with you right now.” Then I pushed past him heading straight for the ladies’ room.

From that day on we didn’t speak to each other. A few months after getting his job he became a supervisor for the bus staff; nearly a year to the day he got hired he made it to a server. We still only spoke when absolutely necessary. Each time we shared a work area together the negative energy was so high you could almost see it spark. That didn’t mean that a part of me didn’t still like him, didn’t still think he was gorgeous, didn’t get goose bumps each time our hands touched.

On the night of my twenty-second birthday I invited everyone that I worked with to have drinks in the bar to celebrate. Everyone showed up, everyone that is except Shawn. The atmosphere was easy, sharing a laugh over memories we had. As the night went on more and more glasses ended up empty on the table. The soft music in the background seemed to grow quieter as our talking got louder. The room was filled with smoke and the strong scent of alcohol. Soon everyone was starting to leave. Only my best friend Sarah and I were left. We were quiet for a while, contentedly taking drags from our cigarettes and sips from our drinks.

Out of the blue Sarah asks, “So Kat, is there ever going to be a marriage in your future?”

“I don’t know.” I answer, looking into my glass as if it were a crystal ball, “It would help to have a boyfriend first.”

She nods tilting her head slightly and studying me more closely, “Any prospects?”

“There’s only one that I want,” I smile thinking of the first day I saw him, “Shawn.”

“I thought you hated him?”

“I never really did. I was just mad that night and didn’t know how to apologize.”

A familiar male voice responds, “You just did.”

I spin around, almost tipping out of my chair, and there he is. Shawn is standing in front of me, better looking that the first day I saw him. His hair a bit longer now, on his face is a slight beard that makes him looked like he hasn’t shaved in about a week. His eyes are that same dark oak, but they’d gotten even softer over the time he’d been here. Without saying another word he leans down and kisses me. It’s better than anything I’ve ever felt in my life. Suddenly all the negative energy is gone and all the sparks that are flying are from the chemistry. We break apart, both more than a little breathless. He smiles and says, “That’s the best apology I’ve ever gotten.” I smile back and lean in once again.