Hopeful...

“Scarlett!” Natasha clapped from across the bar catching my, once wandering, attention.

“What?” I sighed, coming back to reality. I straightened myself off the counter and looked at Natasha.

“Table seven has been waiting, dumb-fuck,” Natasha walked by me, exited from behind the bar, and sat on a stool furthest from all the customers; the one in the corner, next to the diner’s restroom to be exact. She reached over the bar and snatched the box readied with clean silverware and napkins. After she put the box next to her, she laid a light blue mat over the countertop.

“Uh, Tosh’! That’s not my table,” I walked over to her, behind the bar, as she began to fold the silverware into the napkins artistically. I thought of whose table it might be because I certainly knew it wasn’t mine. Then the light bulb went off on cue. I placed my hands on my hip and sassed, “as a matter-of-a-fact, that’s your table. Dumb-fuck.”

She rolled her dark green eyes that were coated with a significant amount of eye liner and sighed, pounding her fists gently on the bar. “Scarlett! Just one table is what I ask,” Natasha whispered, revealing her deep Russian accent.

“Look at me Tosh’,” I snapped my fingers in front of her face. She dropped the silverware she was about to fold and looked at me. “I keep all the money I make off that table.” She opened her medium-thick plump lips, which were tainted with an icy pink lipstick, to protest, but I snapped again stopping her. “Got it?”

She took a deep breath in and smacked her white minted gum as she exhaled. Her copper red hair was pulled back into a side French braid; the intricately braided tail falling over her left shoulder. I gave her a questioning look and her thin eyebrows burrowed into her forehead. “Whatever,” she silently spat in her strong dialect.

I beamed at my victory and flew across the bar. Natasha never lets anyone win without a fight. She said it was the way she was raised. I didn’t understand her at first because I didn’t know what she was talking about, but after a while of getting to know her, I realized which she was talking about; the stereotyped Russian discipline/cruelty. It made me feel for her at first, but with Natasha… The pity seems to fly out the window.

As I reached the opposite side of the bar, I tied a white pocketed waist apron around my waitress outfit; a lemon yellow collared dress with short sleeves that ended a little past where the shoulder did. The dress didn’t go one inch south of the knees. The collar and the stitch lining were white polka-dotted with the same yellow background; Grace, the co-owner of the diner designed them herself. She made the outfit mandatory because it gave the diner a more professional look.

I stuffed a pen, order book, and straws into the apron’s separate pockets. I tidied myself up and gathered the appropriate amount of menus. I lifted the counter slab that made the entrance and exit to the bar and walked toward the awaiting customers.

The retro style booth sat a young couple with two overly excited children. They laughed as the little girl glided her legs on the turquoise leather seat, purposely making the goofy noises to fuel their laughter. I stood at the end of the table and laughed with both the young girl and her brother.

“Welcome to Beckham’s Diner,” I smiled passing the menus to the young couple. I pulled out both the pen and order book and smiled as I continued my formal introduction. “My name is Scarlett and I’ll be your waitress for the day. May I start you guys off with something to drink?” I flipped the book open and clicked the pen into ready position.

The young couple smiled looking into each other’s eyes as they both folded their menus away. “We’re actually here to try out the diner’s renowned milkshake,” smiled the man as he reached out to his wife’s hand over the table. The toddlers began to dance in their seats as they heard the word milkshake.

“Four legitimate life-changing, most incredibly delicious milkshakes?” I giggled emphasizing the actual quality of the milkshake. They laughed and nodded their heads rapidly as they obviously salivated our signature milkshake.

I jotted their desired milkshakes onto the paper. “Is that all for today? Or are our famous burgers in mind too?” I smiled pleadingly while looking the couple in the eye. As they looked at each other for confirmation I added, “The burgers taste all the better when your drinking the milkshake. Seriously, like, total-life-changer!” I used my arms to exaggerate. Again, they nodded rapidly after my description. I laughed and wrote down their specific orders down.

I tucked the pen behind my ear, tore their order out of the book, and strolled to the metallic silver door that led to the kitchen. The door stood right next to the bar entrance as the bar curved to close itself off. I pushed the door with little force and it flew open, revealing the diner’s only two chefs, Willa and Trevor, cooking with all their might.

“Willa! Trev’! Got y’all another order,” I yelled out into the noisy kitchen. I called out the order and clipped it onto the order zip line. I pulled the paper back and sent it flying on the zip line toward the busy chefs’ faces.

Willa skillfully flipped a cooked burger patty out of the pan; the patty falling perfectly onto a toasted bun that was on a decorated plate. She pulled Trevor in front of the grill and told him to grill the burgers while she went off to mix the milkshakes. He groaned, wiped the drops of sweat on his forehead with the sleeve of his white chef coat, and exhaled strongly as he beautifully began to flip patties onto the grill.

Trevor had his messy brown hair in a hair net. He was a very good-looking man, might I say. He was very fit and muscular, but still had that thin scrawny figure. He has brown eyes and a creepy thin, short mustache; practically just outgrown stubbles. The mustache is creepy, but after a while you realize it just makes him that much hotter.

I walked over to Willa and her milkshake station. I leaned on the steel tabletop with my backside, crossed my arms over my chest, and exhaled loudly.

“That busy, huh?” Willa giggled as she mixed the milkshake with some spinny thing she made Kyle, the owner and Grace’s husband, get for her.

I groaned rolling my eyes. “Yes!” I giggled then sighed, “I’m just so tired.” I looked over at Willa who nodded her head heavily in agreement.

“Tell me about it,” she sighed as she stopped the mixing and pulled the milkshake away from the, well, spinny thing. She looked around for a bit and then realized what she was looking for wasn’t gonna’ be there. “Scarlett, be a doll and fetch me the can of whipped cream from the refrigerator,” she convinced me. I walked to the big, steel-like refrigerator, opened it with a struggle as it was heavy, and pulled out a single can of the many whipped cream cans the shelve stored.

I turned around to find Willa rushing me along with her arm. I giggled as I ran toward her. I placed the can of yummy in her grasp and she immediately shook it violently. She hurriedly spinned the cream on top of the shake and placed a cherry, assorted nuts, chocolate syrup, caramel, and strawberry syrup. Then stepped back.

Willa had curly-curly, golden brown hair that sponged around her head as if an afro; she always made sure she had her hair net on. Her eyes were a green, honey-like color that sparkled against her bronze skin tone. She also had the cutest cleft chin, ever! Personally, I think that’s why she’s head chef. Joke! She’s head chef because she was the milkshake’s creator. Also because she’s an amazing cook and,mainly, because she’s turned out to be more responsible than Trevor.

She began on the second milkshake after she told me to place the milkshake in the small freezer she had beside the spinny thing. I’m sorry… I have no idea what it’s called. I’ve asked Willa before, but forgot and I don’t want to seem like an idiot and ask her again. As I placed the shake into the freezing appliance, the back door swung open and in came Lucas carrying my beautiful eight year old daughter on his hip.

I couldn’t help but smile at the sight of my daughter. I loved my Sadie so much. I had her the day before my 16th birthday.

To make my long story short: Her father ditched us as soon as he found out, which I didn’t mind much. I mean he was only seventeen, me fifteen. What hurt me was when my alcoholic mother kicked me out and after my younger brother tried defending me, she kicked him out as well. We moved in with an elderly family-friend, Margaret, and helped her out as much as she helped us. She died after I graduated high school. She left us her house and all the money she made during her long lifetime, as we were the closest thing to family she ever got; her kids were very greedy people and her husband died before we moved in. I never touched the money because I’m saving it for Matthew, my brother, and Sadie. After I turned nineteen, Sadie three, Matthew only thirteen, we split to where we are now. We’ve been here for five years … and counting.

“Thanks, Luke,” I kissed his cheek and smiled as I pulled back, looking at Sadie. “Why is he carrying you, Sadie? You’re not a baby anymore. Get down,” I ordered her as I crossed my arms over my chest. Sadie frowned and wiggled in Lucas’ grasp. He chuckled and put her down gracefully.

I bent over and kissed Sadie’s forehead. I pulled back smiling and rubbed her freckle filled cheeks with my thumbs. She got them from her father. Everything else, so far, is all me. “Go do your homework, baby. Luke and I will be there in a sec’.”

“But, mommy…” she pouted her salmon lips and opened her crystal blue eyes wider. She looked a lot like I did when I was her age.

“Don’t give me that face, Sadie. It aint’ working. Now, go,” I pointed to the kitchen door. She rolled her crystal blues and stomped her way out. I stood there in shock. Sadie has never rolled her eyes at me. Awwww… She’s growing up! Uh-oh. She’s gonna’ be a hassle when she hits her teens. I can tell already.

I turned to Lucas as Sadie disappeared into the diner. “Thanks, Luke. You’re the best!” I hugged him tightly.

Lucas is Sadie’s and I’s roommate. Matthew moved out when he turned nineteen and moved in with Randy, a friend of ours. Lucas has messy, long blonde hair and green eyes that always change color depending on what he wears; from green, to blue, to grey. He also has a short beard and mustache. His frame is small, but very toned. No defined muscles, but he is very fit.

“Not a problem, Scar’. Anything for you.” He smiled.

“Awww!” Willa yelled out as she started her fourth shake. Lucas and I don’t have a relationship other than being roommates and very good friends, but it’s obvious Lucas has a crush on me; we always tease him about it. I laughed, hooked my arm in Lucas’, and walked out to help Sadie with her homework.