Short Stack

The clink of silverware against plates filled the diner, mixing with the warm aroma of pancakes and coffee. Hazel gripped her mug in both hands, felt its warmth, and let herself sink into the noise of the Saturday morning crowd. The wooden chair was hard, but she’d grown used to it. The people walking outside shivered and braced themselves against the stabbing wind. Sunny winter days were nature’s cruelest prank; the illusion of warmth made the cold wind all the harsher as it forced its way past your defenses. The gap between your gloves and sleeve could allow the cold to snake up your arm. A single thrust of the wind could steal your breath and send shivers to your core.

“Jason,” she said, his name out loud for the first time in weeks. He’d told her he’d be early—he knew she didn’t like sitting alone in restaurants. Even in the diner’s warm embrace, Hazel shivered.

“Excuse me hon?” Hazel looked up at two massive breasts encased in a blue dress whose buttons threatened to quit at any moment. A tiny nametag perched atop the left breast declared the dress’s wearer to be named Dot. Dot smelled like old coffee and dryer sheets, and smiled like her mom used to.

“Oh nothing.” She faked a smile.

“You want a refill sweetie?” Hazel looked down at her mug, it was half empty, she held it out and the woman refilled it. “You ready to order, or you want to wait for your friend?”

“Oh, he’s not my friend, he’s…” Hazel caught herself before she said anything else. Dot eyed the empty chair across from Hazel and shook her head. The girl had been nursing the coffee for a full hour.

“I’ll bring you out a short stack, you look like you could use some breakfast hon.” Dot winked at her as she walked away. It was amazing how gracefully the large woman squeezed her frame between the tables. Her black sneakers squeaked as she walked, just another noise in the crowd.

Hazel smiled weakly at the woman's back started tearing a sugar packet to add to her coffee. On their first date he said he liked his coffee black, no sugar, no cream. That date had been in a diner like this one, it seemed like ages ago. He’d worn a flannel shirt, jeans, and a crooked smile. He was self-conscious about his smile, he’d lost a few teeth in his youth and never had the money to get them fixed. The romance hadn’t been a whirlwind, they’d taken their time, gotten to know each other, at least she thought they had. She met his sister at the lake, his friends at the bar. They had favorite movies and inside jokes. And then it had all stopped.

Across the bar a mother and her son sat at a table together. The little boy smiled as he reveled in the newfound sweetness of pancakes and syrup. He swung his little legs from the rickety high chair and wiggled as he smashed handful after handful of sticky pancake pieces into his mouth. His mother poked at her eggs and smiled at a brief moment of pancake fueled peace.

Hazel’s phone stared silently back at her from the table top. He was over an hour late. He said he would meet her this morning. Hazel hadn’t given him much choice, it never crossed her mind that he simply wouldn’t show up.

She called him, his voicemail picked up. She left him a message, put the phone down and thought about her mother.

Her father had left them on her tenth birthday. She remembered the sagging box he’d plopped onto the green counters that peeled in the corners. He ruffled her hair and smiled.

“Happy birthday kid. By the way, I’m going to be away next week, you be a good girl.”

A week had turned into a month, then three. One night, Hazel hid in her bedroom as her mother bawled on the kitchen floor. The words had blurred together, just her father’s name and her own rising and falling between sobs.

Later, she’d padded into the kitchen in her pink bear slippers and nightgown and sat on the yellowed linoleum next to her mother.

Her mother had raised her to be stronger than this. She let a gulp of coffee soften the lump in her throat.

A bell dinged as a customer came in, she glanced up then back down at her mug. It was a father and daughter. Her cheeks rosy from the cold, she beamed up at her dad, a skinny man, as he gestured towards the bar. He helped her onto a stool before settling into one next to her and casually putting his arm around his daughter's narrow shoulders. Dot danced behind the counter and had a coffee and a hot chocolate steaming in front of them before they could even look at the menu. She said something and the girl giggled, the sound of the laughter carried over the diner sounds. Hazel smiled as the laughter tickled her ears.

Her phone vibrated.

Hazel grabbed at the phone, it wasn’t him; of course it wasn’t him. It was her mom. She hadn’t called her mom in months, she had been afraid of letting her down. She’d never been afraid of her mom before, but she couldn’t bring herself to call her.

“Call me pl3ase” her mother had texted. Hazel smiled at the typo. She put the phone back on the table, then picked it up again.

“Short stack hon” Dot announced as she returned. She set a plate of giant pancakes in front of Hazel, a pat of butter melting on top. “Let me go grab you some syrup.” Dot sashayed her way across the diner to grab an unused syrup bottle from the bar.

Dot looked down at Hazel's stomach as she set syrup down on the table: “So when’s the little one due?”

Hazel looked down and whispered “June” into her sleeve as she wiped away the tears.

The pancakes were still warm.