J—
"Want to go to the diner to celebrate?" I ask Mashiho as he tosses his wrestling bag on the back seat.
"Okay," he says, climbing in the passenger seat and pulling the seatbelt harness across his body.
"Steak?"
"You realize I lost, right?"
"Yes. But I'm so proud of how far you've come in such a short time."
"I didn't get pinned. Big deal,"
"It is. And I want to get some protein in you to keep those muscles nice and strong."
I give his bicep a squeeze. "Stop!" He pulls his arm away from me and puts his ear buds in shutting down the conversation.
For a change, I'm okay with the silence between us. I don't have much to say, and the truth is, I want to run that little interaction with Ms. Manoban over in my mind. I shouldn't have gotten so happy with a look and a wink. Shouldn't have blown it out of proportion. She smiled. Big whoop.
The diner is packed. I notice only one empty table as the hostess leads us to a booth in the back. And it just happens to be next to us.
After placing our orders, Mashiho heads to the bathroom to wash his hands. I open the email on my phone. Two more authors have contacted me regarding my proofreading rates. I hate charging money for something I love to do and have been doing for free for years, but the money Han left us is running low.
Eventually college won't be a someday away, it'll be tomorrow, and then today. I can't count on the current financial aid guidelines they have for children of single moms to not change for five years. That's too long of a time to think modifications won't be made, and too short of a time for me to pretend it's not racing up on us.
Mashiho comes bounding back to the booth as the hostess seats someone at the table next to us.
"So, anything exciting happen at school today?"
My son looks at me like I'm a curiosity from outer space.
"I'm in middle school, Mom," he says like answering me is the most painful thing he's ever had to do. "Nothing exciting ever happens."
I sigh, defeated. I have nowhere to go. No direction to lead the conversation. I'm starting to wonder why I even bother trying anymore. Maybe I should just lay off a bit and let him come around. I'm afraid if I take that approach, he might never come around.
"Great job out there today."
Both our heads turn to find Ms. Manoban standing at our booth. I'm thankful to see her, glad someone's here to break the awkward silence between my son and me. Even if it is only for a minute or two.
"Thanks. I know I didn't score, but at least I had a chance."
"The wins will come. I'm betting you're mom's proud of you, too."
"I am," I say with a smile so big my cheeks hurt.
Ms. Manoban turns toward me and winks. I melt a little inside. Warm blood flows around melting ice in my veins. Now I know without a doubt, without question, the earlier one was directed at me.
"What brings you here?" I ask.
She shrugs. "I was hungry, and didn't really feel look cooking tonight. One of downsides to being a party of one."
The waitress sets down the plates with our food and scuttles off.
"Mash, I want you to know I like the effort I'm seeing out there. Keep working hard. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll get back to my table." She looks over to the table next to us. The one that was empty when we came in.
I glance at my son, then back at Ms. Manoban. There seems to be a real connection between her and Mashiho. And at least my son talks to his coach. It sounds like they have actual conversations with give and take.
Without thinking my mouth opens and words slip out. "If you'd like, we'd love for you to join us, Ms. Manoban."
"At school I'm Ms. Manoban. Here, please, call me Lisa. And, only if you're sure it's not a problem." Her green eyes bore into mine.
A flash of heat rushes through me. I feel sweat beads form on the back of my neck. This must be the part of menopause women complain about. I always thought the heat flashes were overplayed. Now I understand how uncomfortable it is.
I clear my throat because thinking about going through my changes while looking at Lisa Manoban is downright depressing.
"No. No bother," I manage to say.
"You good with this, Mash?"
My son nods, and his coach excuses herself for a moment to grab her drink and jacket.
"How long do you think it'll take for the waitress to realize I moved over?" She asks Mashiho, sliding into the booth next to him.
My son shrugs his shoulders and narrows his eyes. "I don't know. Maybe half an hour?"
"Half an hour? Wow, you don't have much faith in her do you?"
Mashiho shrugs his shoulders. "She's just a waitress."
I want to hang my head in shame. I can't believe what my son just said. That he would look down on anyone willing to do honest work, whatever it is. Where the hell did this attitude come from? And what does he think of me? After all I'm just a stay at home mother.
"Are you sure about that? I mean what if she really is a brain surgeon and she waits tables because she needs an escape from all the blood and gore she sees in the operating room? Or what if she has the cure to a new deadly virus, and the CDC is trying to stop it from ever getting out to the public, so she's hiding in plain sight?"
I'd never think of going down this road to get my point across. If Ms. Manoban wasn't here, I'd probably lecture my son on how wrong it is to make a snap judgment about someone.
"Or," Mashiho plays along. "What if she's on a mission to infect all the people with a brain eating virus through the food and this is how she sneaks it in? This way she can be the hero and heal everyone later."
I'm captivated listening to my son and his coach go back and forth. It's the first time in years I've seen Mashiho get silly. I enjoy the playful banter between them. Mashiho needs this. Not just the imaginative conversation, but the male bonding and influence.Not just the imaginative conversation, but the male bonding and influence.
It's too bad Ms. Manoban didn't ask me that question. I would've told her it would take less than thirty seconds. As soon as she sees her seat empty she'll know to look here. She had to notice her here, whether she wanted to or not. There's no way any woman can be oblivious to a woman like Lisa Manoban.
"I guess what I'm most curious about is why Mashiho wanted to start wrestling now, in eighth grade, when he didn't have any interest in it for the last two years," I say, as I take a bite of my burger, working to keep the conversation going until my son gets back from the bathroom.
"That would be my fault." Lisa's eyes drop down to the table for a moment. "I had Mashiho in my gym class when he first entered the school. I thought joining the team would be a good outlet for him with everything he had to deal with. He wasn't ready then, but I never gave up. I knew eventually I'd get him to give it a try."
"You were one of his sixth grade teachers?"
Ms. Manoban's smile returns. Only it doesn't look happy. And there's a tinge of something sad in her eyes.
"Yes. We met briefly when you came to school to share your concerns over what happened to your husband."
"Oh, God." I look away, embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I don't remember you." I feel like garbage admitting it. "I don't really remember much from that time."
"It's fine." Lisa reaches across the table and places her hand over mine. It's warm and rough and comforting as her thumb strokes the back of my hand. Another wave of heat rushes through my body. Maybe what I felt earlier wasn't a hot flash? Maybe it was a surge of hormones from the growing attraction I have for this woman. An attraction I absolutely shouldn't feel.
"It was a tough time. I'm sure you felt like you were living in a fog for a while."
I'm awed. How does she know?
"I did. Sometimes I still do."
She gives me a sad smile as she pulls her hand away. I fight the urge to stop her and wrap my fingers around hers. I want to hold on to something. Someone. I think she's offering for me to hold on to her. But, no, that's crazy. I'm misreading the situation.
Confused and uncertain, I look down at my napkin and fiddle with the corners.
"If you find yourself wanting to talk to someone, someone who won't judge you. Someone you can just vent to about how unfair the whole situation is . . . I'm a pretty good listener."
"Yeah, well." I keep my eyes down, too nervous and self-conscious to look at her. My heart's too full of emotion to meet her eyes. I shake my head. "I appreciate the offer, Lisa, but I doubt you really want to hear—"
She leans forward, across the table. I lean in as well, like an invisible rope pulls me toward her. The distance between us is half of what it was thirty seconds ago. Something electric sparks as our eyes lock on one another.
"We all go through shit," she says, staring at me as if we are the only two people in the diner, until Mashiho snickers. He returned from the bathroom just in time to hear his coach say a bad word. Lisa breaks the connection that had me sitting on the edge of my seat. She looks away. Retreats so that she's leaning against the back of the booth. The air between us is thinner, easier to breathe. "Some of us go through it sooner rather than later, that's all," she says, making room for Mashiho to sit.
"You seem very wise for someone so young."
She laughs, and I like the sound. A lot. "Back to that, huh? Glad to see you're not one to hold my age against me."
Embarrassed, I drop my eyes to the empty dish in front of me. "Sorry."
"Don't be. I'm teasing. You might have noticed, I try not to take life too seriously."
I nod. I remember being young and carefree. What I wouldn't give to go back to that time.
"I might be a little younger than you—"
"A little?" I almost spit my soda out at her.
"But I know how important it is to have fun. And to have a support system. Sometimes it feels like people who haven't had a life altering experience put an artificial timer on your feelings. Like after a certain amount of time, you shouldn't be thinking about it anymore or you should be over it."
I'm floored by how spot on she is. She had to go through something of her own. I can't imagine what though. Or maybe she was there to help her mother through something, like Mashiho tries to help me. Shit. That must be it. It must have been her mother.
"How do you know?"
"I'm wise beyond my years," she teases.
"You're right, though. For some reason, my pain, my grief is like a burden to the people around me. Don't get me wrong, they were great in the beginning. I don't think I would have made it through without their support. But now that some time has passed, it's different. My best friend thinks I should get back out there and start dating. That I should just move on, like things didn't work out because Han and I were fighting all the time and we decided to break up."
"You're not ready." She states it as a fact. I'm not sure why, but it bothers me.
"I don't think it should be forced. I mean if the right man were to come along, someone I wanted to go out with, that would be different. But just to find one for the purpose of not being alone. I don't see the point."
She nods then turns to my son. "You know, Mash. I'm here for you too, if you need me."
I feel dismissed. I shouldn't, but I do. It smarts. I like the idea of having someone to talk to, to turn to. Maybe I said too much. Maybe I poured out more of my heart than she'd like to hear. If she can't handle that, there's no way in hell she wants to know how I really feel. How alone and heartbroken I am every second of the day.
"If you'll excuse me," Ms. Manoban gets to her feet. Yep. I scared her off. Disappointment spreads across my chest. I want to take back what I said. I don't want her to leave the table. Moreover, I don't want to leave the diner and go back to an empty house. This was the nicest meal I've had since Han died and I don't want it to be over. "I'll be right back."
Neither of us say anything as Mashiho's coach walks away. I make an effort to keep my eyes trained on my son and not follow the woman who so thoroughly captured my attention.
"Ms. Manoban seems really nice. Is she this way with everyone?"
Mashiho shrugs. "She's okay."
"How was that steak?" We're back to forcing the conversation. This makes me realize just how much I enjoyed dinner. How nice it was to have another person at the table to talk to. To engage my son, and laugh with. I don't know the last time it felt okay to laugh and smile. Or to just be me and not the phony I've become to placate the people that claim they care about me.
"Excuse me," I flag down the waitress as she passes by. "Can I have the check please?"
"Already taken care of," Ms. Manoban says slipping back into the booth.
"What? You shouldn't have."
"It's my way of thanking you for allowing me to crash dinner."
Lisa smiles, and I feel myself turning into a warm sticky mess. How do I keep her here? How do I keep the conversation going?
"That's not necessary, really." I reach into my pocketbook. "Let me give you something towards it."
"Next time. Tonight's my treat."
Next time. Is she serious? I can't imagine the look on my face. I immediately look at my son to see his reaction. There isn't much of one. I guess that's good. He doesn't think much of the promise in Ms. Manoban's comment. Me, I'm clutching it close to my chest with both hands. I only hope next time comes fast.