Given the early start, Kyara started some extra food, just for herself. While she tried to serve food in the restaurant which seemed like New England food, Kyara always prepared soul food for herself. It was a small part of home she allowed herself to keep. It was a small piece of happiness she was still allowed to have.
So while she readied the ingredients for salads and turkey sandwiches for the lunch crowd on one side of the kitchen, on the other she filled the air with the smell of ham hocks and prepared the makings for fried green tomatoes.
Lunchtime came, but no customers. With the restaurant empty, she couldn't put it off any longer. She took his number from her pocket, walked to the restaurant phone, and dialed.
The ringing of the phone waiting for him to pick up seemed to go on forever. Finally, it clicked over to voicemail.
"If you cal
led me, you know who it is. Leave a message, and I'll get back to you" his voice said into her ear, sounding vaguely fake.
See? I hate stupid messages like that. What if I just had a wrong number? Clearly we weren't meant to be.
"Hey, Jason, it's Kyara. I don't think I can make it tomorrow after all. Sorry to cancel on you, I just ... don't think it's a good idea. I'll ... I'll see you next Tuesday, probably."
The front door opened.
"OK, I have a customer. I have to go. Bye." Kyara hung up the phone abruptly, glad to have had an excuse to cut the message short. She quickly pinned his number to the small bulletin board by the phone, then rushed out to greet her guest.
It was Mrs. Waite. She ordered a bowl of soup and nattered to Kyara about how she wanted fresh bread, but it was too hard to make it herself any more. Kyara listened to her absentmindedly. It didn't take long for Jan to notice the lack of attention.
"What's the matter with you today?" she asked Kyara, peering up from her soup.
Kyara shook her head. "Nothing I want to talk about," she said.
"Those are exactly the times when you should talk," declared Jan. "So tell me, I'll use my hard-won wisdom to fix it, and then you'll pack up the rest of this soup for me so I can eat it tomorrow."
Kyara sighed.
"It's nothing. I just had to give up something I wanted, was all."
Jan eyes her sharply.
"Sacrifice is hard. I should know, I was raised in The Depression. We ate the same thing every day for months, sometimes. I had to give up finishing high school so I could take a job and help."
"I didn't know that," said Kyara, intrigued in spite of herself.
"Now you do. And you know that, while sacrifices hurt, they also make you stronger," said Jan, flapping her bony little arms around to demonstrate her power. Kyara smiled in spite of herself.
"I suppose I really shouldn't complain," allowed Kyara, a hint of a smile finding its way onto her face.
"Oh, I didn't say that," said Jan. "Complaining the best part. Reminds people that you're here and have needs."
"I think I'm whiny enough," said Kyara carefully. Probably too whiny, she admitted to herself. Especially lately.
"A good whine can clear your head so you can get stuff done," declared Jan. "Take my word, have a good wallow tonight and then make sure you're productive tomorrow. Fixes most things."
I was kind of planning on it anyway, thought Kyara. But it's nice to think it's not just being self-indulgent for its own sake. Kyara nodded to her friend, actually feeling a little bit better.
"Only, wallow after you pack up my soup," said Jan, her eyes turning back to her bowl. "I need to get home."
Kyara stood back up, took the bowl, and went to pack up her friend's food, topping it off from the extra in the kitchen.
Once Jan left, though, all Kyara had were her thoughts again.
Sacrifice to earn something is fine she thought, but what if it's penance for something you've already done?
Kyara mulled it over, filling the time by preparing fried chicken just the way her Mama used to make. She never used the fryer for anything but the French fries, but this was a special occasion.