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The cafe is, of course, nearly empty even for a Friday night. The air inside is warm and smells of bacon grease and marinara sauce.
“Hey, Patrick,” Twyla greets him at the table, her smile warm and buoyant. She sets down a glass of water. “You look nice. Hot date tonight?” she asks with a friendly tilt of her head.
Patrick lets out a laugh. There’s a dusting of leftover crumbs from the table stuck to his jacket and he picks at his sleeve anxiously.
“Well, it’s David’s birthday today, so we... uh…” He trails off, looking down at his hands, trying to find the most efficient way to say: It’s David’s birthday today so I took that as an opportunity to finally ask him out on the date I’ve been dreaming about for the past several weeks. “... We’re going for a birthday dinner,” he says decidedly.
“Oh, okay. So it’s like a birthday party?” Twyla turns and motions toward the kitchen. “Should I bring more settings?”
“No,” he answers a little too quickly. “No, I mean, just two settings is good, Twyla.” He flicks a few stray crumbs off the side of the table.
The corners of Twyla’s mouth quirk upwards into a grin and she sways slightly side to side, her tray resting coyly against her hip. “So it is a date?”
Patrick laughs gruffly and glances back down at the table, trying to keep an even smile as he feels a blush start to creep up his neck. “It’s a birthday dinner,” he repeats.
“Okay, so when is David supposed to arrive for this birthday dinner? ” She leans in, lowering her voice.
“8:00.”
It’s 7:37.
Patrick notices her looking at the clock on the wall. “Yeah, I’m a -- I’m a bit early,” he admits sheepishly.
“Oh, well, do you want something to drink while you wait?” She points to the specials board. “Our special cocktail tonight is a coconut mai tai. But we’re actually out of coconut rum so I’m using coconut milk instead.”
“Oh, no -- you know, maybe I’ll just have some tea," he says politely, shifting in his seat.
“Coming right up.” She flashes him a bright smile before turning to leave.
Patrick rolls his shoulders and leans back in the booth, stretching his legs out comfortably in front of him. He thinks if David were here sitting across from him his feet would probably be touching his now, his dress shoes knocking into the sides of his jeans and David would make some comment about how expensive his designer denim is and how completely inappropriate it would be to get them dirty, and so he would apologize, then, offering to buy him dinner first before ruining any of his pants.
His feet feel warm in his shoes.
The sound of a tea cup rattling against the table snaps him out of his thoughts.
“Let me know if you need anything else,” Twyla says cheerfully.
Patrick nods. “Thank you, Twyla.” He brings the cup gently to his lips and lets the hot liquid sit in his mouth for a few seconds before swallowing, relishing in the warmth sliding down his throat.
He sighs and pulls out his phone. 7:42. He looks up at the front door and imagines David walking through it, wonders what he would be wearing tonight, if it would be something he’s seen before. Of course it wouldn’t, he thinks, David’s never worn the same outfit twice. At least not that he’s seen. The mystery of a new outfit excites him. He looks down at his phone. 7:43.
He looks around the cafe, at the few tables occupied by a handful of lonely, tired patrons. He takes another long sip of his tea and stares at the windows in the front. The curtains are drawn but he can see the faint blue glow from the cafe’s sign outside and he imagines David walking in again. How many of these people would notice if David Rose entered right now? How many would notice the tight fit of his sweater across the strong expanse of his chest? The deep, dark denim moulded around his long, lean legs. The unmistakable, heady scent of his cologne as he strolled past their bored faces.
“Wow.” Twyla’s voice shakes him out of his thoughts and he wonders if he had said any of that out loud. She’s smiling down at him, eyeing his tea. “You just drank that right up.”
Patrick looks down at his empty cup and then up at the clock. 7:47.
She picks up his cup and saucer, wiping up a drop of tea that spilled onto the table, then pauses before turning to leave. She peers into the cup in her hand and looks around behind her.
“Actually, since we still have some time, maybe I can read your leaves,” she says excitedly.
Patrick blinks. “I’m sorry, my what?”
“Your tea leaves.” She places the cup back down on the table so Patrick can see the bits and pieces of wet leaves sitting at the bottom of his cup. “One of my mom’s ex-boyfriends was an amateur tasseographer. She also later dated a magician who could read tarot cards, and they both predicted exactly when they were going to leave her. I think she just really appreciated the foresight.”
Patrick laughs lightheartedly and motions for her to have a seat. “Sure, Twyla. That sounds fun.” He pushes the cup toward her. “Have at it.”
Twyla lets out a small squeal of excitement and takes a seat across Patrick. He watches her cradle the cup in her hands, her gaze focused intently on the leaves clumped together at the bottom. Patrick smiles comfortably. He’s never been one to believe in these kinds of things, of course, but watching Twyla’s eyes dance over the tiny, arbitrary patterns in her hands with such enthusiasm is somehow strangely relaxing. He hasn't even thought about the time.
“I’m seeing…" Twyla starts. A silence falls over them for a while as she tips the cup toward her slightly to get a better angle. Outside a car horn starts blaring and Patrick leans in automatically so he doesn’t miss a word.
“I see…” she starts again.
A kiss, Patrick thinks, suddenly, out of nowhere, and then he nearly laughs out loud right in Twyla's face at how ridiculous he sounds. Of all the things in the world to see at the bottom of a ceramic cup, surely Twyla is going to see him and David kissing tonight.
"... Gratitude," Twyla finishes.
“Gratitude,” he repeats. He considers her earl grey infused prophecy for a second then glances down at the gift bag next to him.
"Yes,” Twyla grins proudly. “A ‘thank you.’ At the end of the night.”
Well if he doesn’t get to kiss David, at least it seems he’ll like his birthday present. Relieved, Patrick runs his fingers over the edge of the gift bag and smiles right along with her.
“I’m also seeing, um, what looks like... a pair of drumsticks? Which I don’t know how to interpret. Unless you happen to play the drums?"
Patrick shakes his head, laughing silently.
She continues. "Or maybe they're a pair of baseball bats -- but that seems potentially violent, so we should just ignore that. Or maybe it's our yummy mozzarella sticks.” Her voice gets higher and higher as the suggestions get more and more absurd. “I know David’s a big fan and we just got a new batch for our platters this morning.”
Patrick is about to laugh but suddenly the cafe door opens and his eyes dart quickly upward as someone walks in. He stiffens noticeably then relaxes when he sees it’s not David. He looks up at the clock. 7:56.
Twyla places the mug down on the table gently.
“Patrick, you know, it’s okay to be a little nervous.”
He looks her in the eyes. “Yeah,” he breathes, a near laugh. “Yeah, I know. I guess I just... I wasn’t that nervous at all... until I got here. So that’s just making me… more nervous.” He shakes his head and looks down at his hands.
“You know," Twyla says, leaning forward across the table. "I went on a first date once and I was so nervous my acid reflux started acting up, so I took, like, six antacids in the bathroom.” She lets out a warm laugh. “And then I actually ended up getting kidney stones later that week, but the guy turned out to be a nurse at the hospital I went to, so we just ended up having our second date right there in the emergency room.” She smiles fondly.
“Wow." Patrick nods slowly. "That’s… romantic.”
“It was.” She sighs. “And I’m sure tonight will be just as romantic for you, too, Patrick.”
Her eyes are playground sweet and he can’t help but believe her. He looks at the glossy white teacup in front of her and smiles.
"Thank you, Twyla."
“You’re welcome." She stands up, taking the cup with her. "I’ll go get those mozzarella sticks started," she says with a wink. "They’re pretty frozen, so it might be a while. We both know how patient David is.”
Patrick laughs, his eyes grateful and warm. He runs his hands eagerly over the table and looks up at the door.