Through the Glass

Claire stared at her reflection and all she saw was red. The red of her lips where she had bitten them relentlessly. The red rimming her eyes, soaked in tears all night. The red rising up her neck, bringing unwanted heat and a lump choking her with the fresh pain of loneliness.

“If only I didn’t need the money,” she whispered, holding in her tears as she leaned her head against the locker’s unyielding metal.

The bitter cold had slapped against her face as she walked to work just an hour before. Nearly there, she paused to check her reflection in the café window. But instead of her, she saw them. Her heart stopped and raced; her jaw went slack; she was unmoored. Her eyes were transfixed on their intertwining bodies, oblivious as they brought everything into full view. Claire spiraled through a lifetime of memories in just thirty seconds. Shock, rage, and fight or flight clashed as she landed squarely in the reality of betrayal. Red hot, thorny pain seared and shredded her heart. Twelve years. Twelve years lost in a glance. Twelve years disappearing through the looking glass. Twelve years over in her reflection.

“Okay, bring it in everybody, it’s time!” Girard bellowed, as he did nightly to beckon the wait staff to the kitchen with notepads and pencils in hand. His familiar words did more than just hasten Claire. Tonight, they forced her to suspend a moment too fresh to be a memory.

“Tonight, it’s all about romance. Your service will ooze with love. The room will brim with ecstasy,” Girard shouted. The staff erupted, their clapping hands and cheering voices forced Claire to brace with a fortitude she could barely muster.

“I want every couple dining with us to feel like there is no one else in the room with them,” Girard continued, “when they look at one another, everything else is a blur; the only focus is on each other—and on our sensual cuisine.” Claire endured more cheering and clapping until he finally dove head on into the specials of the night.

Pencils glided over paper, capturing every morsel and nuanced ingredient. Chanterelles. Glaze. Tarragon. Simmered, poached and nestled. The words danced in the air as Claire struggled to stay focused. She knew she would need to steel herself from the pain and disbelief for hours, immersing herself in a dining room brimming with expectation, flowing unabashedly, seducing through glances and innuendo.

A sea of champagne bottles lined the bar. As Claire put each bottle in a waiting bucket of ice, she thought about the cold again and how, like the champagne, she once had been full of bubbly excitement and effervescence. Soon, she would be pouring the golden, pristine liquid into waiting crystal, a symbol of love boundless and free, teasing and tickling lips before the first taste.

Sipping freshly corked champagne was like a first kiss, it rolled over the tongue and traveled straight to the head, finding its way to the pleasure center with little to no effort at all. But, as with most things meant to feel endless, the bubbles would soon slow and the excitement abate, leaving behind a glass half full of the memory of what once was. Most wouldn’t notice the choice: to finish it, or abandon what was left.

“Claire, you ok?” Janice asked as she gently squeezed Claire’s elbow.

“Oh, sorry, yeah, I’m fine. Just lost in thought I guess,” Claire excused with a shrug and half smile.

The dining room was humming, and a golden hue encircled the entire place. Claire glided through the next few hours, smiling, attending, being ever-present in an invisible way, and for a little while she was able to ignore the cold that had numbed her to the core. But every so often, she felt its brutal wind sting her face and squeeze her breath, when her eyes fell on love in a kiss, a smile, or an embrace. In those moments, she quickly pulled her focus onto the flickering candles creating dancing shadows that wove among the flowers and skipped over the cherubic faces.

And then, the lights in her mind came on. Hidden in plain sight, she saw it, the truth sitting idly by on this concocted night of chocolate, flowers, and fine dining. She saw their fingers intertwined on the café table. She saw the woman’s head tilt while a coy smile spread wide across her face. She saw his hand untangle theirs as he pushed back from the table. She saw the woman holding her gaze on him as he strode toward the restroom. She saw it in the instant change in the woman’s face when the broad smile turned thin line, when the lifted gaze became a dropped head, and the fingertips balled firmly in her lap. Claire saw their shared truth as the woman’s body moved slightly, lifting with a long, deep breath as her eyes closed. It was on display when she swiftly exhaled, opened her eyes, lifted her head, released her hands, and with a tiny shake, repositioned herself with a smile—practiced and alone.

The picture of that moment stopped Claire cold. She knew now that in that moment of repositioning she saw her own reflection. In that moment, she knew that the café window had not been the sudden start of her pain, but rather the beginning of the end of it. Claire realized in that moment that her loneliness was now a memory she had accepted for too long.

When her shift was over, the tables cleared and her tips counted, Claire reached into her locker and pulled out her phone where a text was waiting for her. It was filled with emotionless heart emojis and empty words. She clicked off the screen and as she went to close the locker door, Claire looked up to see herself in the mirror more clearly than she had in years. She lifted her head, repositioned herself, smiled, and stepped into the cold, carrying with her the clear, quiet knowledge of what she would no longer accept.