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Chapter Eight: Rondevous


I arrived at the Fresh Oasis the next day at 11:30, just in case "lunch" in Princess Neryls' world was earlier than the rest of mankinds. I sat at the corner table, reading over the menu, glancing up at the door out of the corner of my eye everytime it opened. I didn't have a clue what I was looking for, so every time it opened my stomach clenched for just a moment, waiting for something to stand out that would definitively tell me it was Princess Neryls. I chewed my lower lip.

A waitress came over, her apron was covered with mango bits that had flown out of the blender. "What can I get you?" she asked, tired sounding.

"I uhhmm.. I dunno..." I said, "What's the um... do you have uh..."

She stared down at me. The door opened behind her and, distracted, I leaned around to see a teenage guy walk in carrying a skateboard and talking on his cell phone. "Sir?"

I looked up, "What would you recommend?"

"I don't know," she replied, "What do you like?"

I looked up at her again. She was kinda hot. I licked my teeth. "Do they make a smoothie with your flavor, baby?" I asked, winking.

She stared at me, unamused.

"Acai berry with wheatgrass," I muttered, feeling her glare down at me, "Medium."

"We only have large and small," she answered.

I hate when places only have large and small. It pisses me off. Like a lot. "Why don't you have a medium?" I demanded.

"Because the boss only orders two sizes of cups," she said dryly, "You can call one of them medium if you want but depending which way you go then we either don't carry a small or we don't carry a large."

"Your boss should order medium," I said, "Because there's a lot of people in LA with commitment issues that would be in the same position as me."

"I've worked here five years and you're the first person to have a position about this," she replied, glancing at her watch. The door jingled and I glanced around her again. "Large or small?" she asked.

The person that had just come in was a mother with two kids. I hoped to hell that wasn't Princess Neryls.

I looked up at the waitress. "What if I order the large and I don't like it? Then I'm wasting all that smoothie."

"So order the small."

"But what if I order the small and I love it?" I asked.

"You can always order a second one."

"But then I'm spending like twice as much," I said, pointing at the menu, "The large is only twenty cents more than the small..."

The waitress stared at me.

"It seems like a waste of money to order two smalls when I could order one large."

"Tell you what," she said, "When you decide, you can tell Thomas at the counter what you want. My shift is over and I have some place to be." She turned and walked away.

I stared after her, horrified. "Bitch," I muttered. I turned back to the menu and started trying ot do the math about which one to order while glancing up every time the door opened, half expecting to see Princess Neryls' avatar and bear walk into the room.

Ten minutes went by before I spotted Princess Neryls for sure.

I know it was her because she had the D&D module in her hands - the one that Princess Neryls was in.

I stared at her for a long moment.

It was the mother fucking waitress. She'd come out from the back of the counter after evidently changing somewhere out back, dressed in jeans and an olive green tank top. She had the module in front of her on the table, and a canvas messanger bag all covered with pins and buttons, which she dropped to the floor beside her Doc Martin clad feet. She stared down at the module, her lips pursed, staring at the door with wide brown eyes.

I pressed my palms against the table.

Of course. Like this week could get any worse.

I stood up, fully intending to go out the door, when I realized I didn't want her to think I'd stood her up. She deserved to at least know why I was leaving: because obviously she was gonna decide we weren't compatible, if I couldn't even decide between a large and a small drink. So I swung back and came to a stop at her table.

She looked up as my shadow crossed over the cover of the module.

"Thomas is right up there," she said, waving at the counter, "He can help you. I'm off my shift. I'm just waiting for someone."

"Well I got some kinda bad news for you, Princess," I replied.

She looked up at me. She stared at me with these big chocolate-brown eyes. Her hair hung in messy curls around her slim face. She had a spackling of freckles across her nose and she was that color of tan that said she liked doing stuff outside. I imagined her roller blading down Sunset Boulevard.

"You've gotta be shitting me," she said. "You are NatetheGreat?"

I nodded.

She sighed and looked down at the module. She scooped it up and stood up. "Sorry for wasting your time," she said. She stood up and shoved her chair into the table.

"Hey, listen, I'm sorry for the whole thing with the drink sizes," I said, "I'm not an idiot, I was just distracted... I was looking for you to come in the door, not to be a waitress here... and I just -- Please don't go."

She wouldn't look at me. "It's not that. That's fine. I hate when places don't have mediums, too. I feel like a fatty ordering large and small is never enough. Medium is safe. I get it. I just -- I can't do this, okay? This isn't gonna work."

"Why not?" I asked, "You already get me more than most people do, I mean you get my small-or-large phobia and most people think I'm fucked in the head when they find out I'm afraid of menus without a medium option."

She sighed, "Because. It just isn't gonna work, and I'm sorry, Nate."

She ducked around me and rushed out the door. I hurried after her out onto the sidewalk. She was rushing away, hugging the module to her chest. "Wait! Hey! Waiiitt -- uh, YOU!" I shouted, realizing I didn't even have a real name to call her by, I shouted, "Princess Neryls!"

A couple people looked at me like I was mental as they passed by.

She disappeared around the corner.

I sighed.

Then something on the sidewalk caught my eye.

It was like Cinderella's glass slipper except it wasn't a glass slipper at all. It was a Fresh Oasis name tag, magnetized to a slip of paper with shifts written on it in girly handwriting.

On the name tag, in orange marker, in the same handwriting as the schedule, was Becky.