Vanishing Act

Kate

I knew he wouldn’t show up, but I waited anyway.

The waiter paused by my table—again. Can I get you another soda? He eyed my empty glass. I stopped tapping my fingernails against it and folded my hands in my lap. Rubbing my lips together, I deliberated.

How much more time did he deserve?

Regardless, my bladder didn’t need another refill. I shook my head.

Or…more bread?

I ate the entire mini-loaf of sourdough, including the square of butter. In reality, my appetite was lacking, but I’d needed something to do. Keeping myself busy stopped me from picking up my phone and checking the time again. Or searching for text messages or a missed call.

I lifted my chin to meet the young waiter’s eyes. Even in the muted lighting of the sports bar, I caught the deep blue of his irises relentlessly matching my gaze. At least this time, he didn’t raise an eyebrow at the empty seat across from me. Still, his frequent stops embarrassed me. I knew it was his way of hinting that I give up on my pathetic no show and open up his table for a more lucrative customer. He appeared to be early college-aged, so I felt even worse wasting his wages on a meal that was obviously not about to happen. Maybe he was working his way through school, and I was sabotaging his efforts tonight by selfishly not accepting the situation for what it was.

He wasn’t coming.

I cleared my throat. No, no thanks. Um… I cast one last, desperate glance over my shoulder towards the entryway. Eager, hungry customers sat on the benches stationed in front of the hostess, and even more people lined the walls and continued to flow out the restaurant doors. Letting out a breath of air, I scraped at my fingernails.

Do you need anything? the waiter asked again, his voice lowered. This time, he didn’t seem to be inquiring about food. He felt sorry for me. And why shouldn’t he? I knew exactly what I looked like—sitting solo at a table, waiting for a man who would never show up—even if the truth was more complicated and deceiving than it appeared.

Flicking my eyes to the waiter’s face, I was a little taken aback by his attentiveness and what had to be pity. Still, the thought crossed my mind that if being a waiter fell through, he could easily take up a career in modeling. The guy was too good looking to be boxed inside this dim lighting, with his eyebrows accentuating the balance of his features. Of course, he probably knew it, too. I could feel the confidence in his body language—the way he held his long torso tall, emphasizing his height, and he didn’t shy away from how close he stood to me. He crouched down to eye level, resting one arm on the table.

So what can I do for you? he asked, awakening me from examining his face.

I forced a closed smile. Could I just have a few more minutes?

The waiter smiled politely at me as he stood. He tucked his notepad into the pocket of his apron, and his demeanor returned to a professional manner. Absolutely. Take your time. He walked away with a good-natured cadence in his step. The guy was good at feigning patience, at least.

I glanced at my phone, which rested on the edge of the table. Nothing. I wasn’t sure why I believed anything would change. Why would tonight be different from any other broken promise?

After a couple of minutes, I caught the waiter glancing at me from down the aisle. Okay, okay. I’m leaving… I raised my hand and gestured for the check. The blond returned, but his hands were empty.

Sorry, I said. I thought you saw me signal for the check. I’m ready to go if you can bring the bill.

No worries, it’s on me, he said, and then he winked at me.

I frowned. That was nice of him, but I didn’t need the sympathy. It was my own fault for putting myself in this position again. No, really, I can pay for myself. That’s the least I can do for wasting your time tonight.

You know we’re talking about less than five bucks, right? All you ordered was a soda. The waiter looked around for a moment and then leaned in, placing his hands on the edge of the table. His voice lowered. "Just to clarify, it’s not my wasted time that I’m worried about. I’m sorry your friend never showed."

He’s not a friend; he’s—well, never mind. It wasn’t worth getting into, especially with a stranger who I would never see again. I handed the waiter a twenty. Please keep the change.

He studied me for a moment. You know what? Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back. He didn’t take my money and left me watching his retreating back in puzzlement. He disappeared behind the employee doors. My mouth slipped open in confusion. Continuing to sit there by myself, I wasn’t sure I could feel any more stupid. I looked over my shoulder one last time, about to leave for good. Just then, someone joined me at my table, sitting across from me. I whipped around to face him, and my mouth slipped open.

It was my waiter.

However, he had exchanged his white, buttoned-down uniform for a fitted, red T-shirt with charcoal-colored graphics on the front. He stuck out his right hand with a smile.

Hi, I’m Aaron.

Um, yeah, I remember… He’d been my waiter for the past hour after all. With uncertainty, I shook his hand before pulling away. I looked around me, waiting for a gag act from the other waiters. They must be up to something.

Aaron rested his forearms on the table, clasping his hands together. "So here’s the deal. I’m from Danville, about an hour-and-a-half south of here, and I’m a sophomore at UC Davis.

Hands down, my favorite food is a cheeseburger. As for hobbies, it’d be a tough choice between basketball and wakeboarding, though if I had to pick, basketball would likely win. Your turn."

I tilted my head to the side, both curious and wary about this guy sitting in front of me. What are you doing?

I’m your date for the night, he said, as if this interaction between us was perfectly normal. And you’ve been waiting long enough that I figured we would have gone through all the basic pleasantries by now. Let’s get this up to speed. Biggest fear. Go.

I laughed, stunned yet amused. I just met you. I’m not going to tell you that.

Fine. Hypothetical situation. Let’s say you’re at a restaurant, waiting around for someone who never shows. He paused to emphasize. Completely hypothetical. Then he gave a boyish grin that melted me just a little. What would you be hungry for? He slipped the menu across the table with the tips of his fingers.

Oh, um… A nervous hand crept just below my lips, my knuckles hiding a portion of my mouth. Look, I know you feel sorry for me, but you don’t need to do this. I knew how pathetic I appeared, but a sympathy date wasn’t making me feel better.

Aaron’s expression changed from humored to more serious. The only person I feel sorry for is the poor guy missing out on sitting across from you. When I didn’t say anything, he said, Look, I was about to get off work anyway, so I asked a friend to cover my last couple of tables. I’m free… you’re free… Why not make the best of it? His fingers tapped the menu again, but he softened his voice. Come on. What’ll it be?

What I could really use was something cold to chill the warmth spreading across my face, attributed to both flattery and embarrassment. I was not entirely sure how I felt about indulging in an impromptu date with my waiter. Still, his good looks and very forward antics were a nice distraction from the disappointment I’d felt this past hour.

I conceded, opening to the back of the menu. Would you judge me if I skipped the dinner portion and opted for a milkshake instead? My eyes fell to the chocolate-caramel milkshake tempting me from the bottom of the page. Besides, I’d heard this was a good tactic to escaping an awkward situation such as this. Dessert would be a lot faster to consume than a meal if I found myself in need of escape, and given the circumstances, the evening could become weird very fast.

Aaron smiled. Not at all. I think I’ll join you, although I’ll have to go for strawberry myself. He turned his head over his shoulder and gestured to a waiter, who just so happened to be keeping a close eye on us from the end of the aisle. The waiter hurried over and accepted our orders in a formal manner, though I caught the humored exchange that took place between him and Aaron. A wave of nervousness fell on me again, wondering if I was about to be pranked by them. But as soon as Aaron faced me, something about his pleasant demeanor calmed me once again.

All right, you know at least four things about me now, he said, and I thought back to the speed-dating statements he’d made earlier. He was from Danville, which was a small city by California’s standards. I’d never been there, though it wasn’t too far from my own home. He’d also mentioned liking cheeseburgers (which wasn’t very original but I couldn’t argue with his choice in fast food), basketball, and wakeboarding. Oh, and I’d been right about him being a college student.

So… Aaron prompted, motioning with his hand for me to speak.

I sighed, but agreed to play along with his game. Four things: My name is Kate, and I just moved here from Clearlake—

Kate, as in… Kathryn? Kaitlyn? he guessed.

I shook my head. Just Kate. If only everything in my life were as simple as my name. Moving down my list, I continued with, I don’t play sports, like at all. I paused, noticing the raised eyebrow judging me from across the table. What? I don’t! I laughed under his baffled scrutiny, not entirely convinced he wasn’t about to end this date, or whatever this was, based on that comment alone. I decided it best to move on. And, following suit to your unoriginal choice in fast food, I am a girl who likes her chocolate.

Aaron assessed me quietly, his expression suggesting that he was still in disbelief over my lack of love for sports. He pointed a finger at me. Well, at least we both enjoy junk food. With perfect timing, our waiter dropped off our shakes. I tried to sip the shake through the straw, but it was so thick that I had to use the spoon instead. Ice cream never tasted as good as it did in that moment, cooling my flushed face from this unexpected attention, and pacifying the sudden acknowledgement of hunger in my stomach. In our silent enjoyment, I caught Aaron looking behind me at the restaurant doors.

What? I asked.

Nothing. He slipped a bite of milkshake into his mouth. I tried not to fixate on the way his lips slid over the spoon. I’m just wondering if I should prepare myself for a punch to the face or anything like that from, you know, a boyfriend or anyone significant like that?

He was curious about who I was supposed to meet tonight. I knew at this point that no one was coming, but I had to glance over my shoulder anyway before looking down at my melting milkshake. No, you don’t have to worry about a boyfriend. In other words, no, I wasn’t tethered to anyone in particular.

Just irresponsibility, I thought. I met his eyes, liking the way his expression subtly brightened at my words. His interest in me was a positive spin on the evening. Maybe Davis wouldn’t be such a bad move after all.

So, I started, deciding to throw out a question of my own. Do you commandeer lonely tables often? I tried not to be too flattered by his actions, sensing that this charming confidence in Aaron likely amounted to making a number of girls like me blush with pleasure.

He chuckled. No, actually, I do not make it a habit to pick up girls at work. In fact, there’s a slight chance I could get suspended or at least highly reprimanded for doing so. They fired a guy last week who had a reputation for spending more time taking phone numbers than filling orders.

My mouth slipped open and I looked around, wondering if his boss was watching us right now. I’m sorry; I would never want you to—

Don’t worry about it. Like I said, chances are slim. My boss happens to like me better than the other guy.

I narrowed my eyes at him. Your boss is female, isn’t she?

Well… Aaron bobbed his head from side to side. That is also a possibility.

I scoffed at him, but I enjoyed the sound of his teasing laughter. Then I dropped my lips over my straw. My attempt was successful this time and I was able to ditch the spoon for the remainder of my dessert, which wasn’t long. In between sucking down the milkshake, I told Aaron about how I had only graduated high school a few months ago, and that I was here in Davis attending the local community college. He didn’t seem deterred by my reference to barely leaving high school behind, although I eagerly moved on from the subject. I admitted that two activities I enjoyed for fun were bowling and miniature golf, which led into a discussion of whether either of those were sports or games, since I’d already stated my distaste for sports. Aaron couldn’t understand how those were the only two maybe sport-like activities I liked. In turn, I learned that Aaron also enjoyed all things belonging to the outdoors, especially if large, motorized toys were involved.

We moved past likes and dislikes, discussing what-if scenarios involving ethical dilemmas, silly stories about embarrassing moments, the worst pick-up lines, and random hypothetical situations, like what we’d do in a zombie apocalypse. By the time our milkshakes were merely puddles in the bottom of our glasses, we’d debated each other’s answers back and forth, sometimes laughing until our cheeks hurt at some of our ridiculous answers.

Last question, Aaron proposed when he saw me check the time. Let’s say you contract an incurable disease and only have six months to live. Would you allow yourself to be cryogenically frozen if you somehow knew you would be revived in five hundred years and cured? And, he added as a bonus, you would have an even longer lifespan?

Unlike some of the other questions, I didn’t have to think twice about this one. You go first, I decided, saving my answer.

I’m not entirely sure, but if I were going with my first instinct, sure, why not? he answered. It’d be pretty cool exploring the possibility, and seeing what life would be like by then. So much could potentially happen in that amount of time. Yeah, I’d be game.

I had to admire his bravery, even though his answer clashed with mine. I shook my head. Not me. In five hundred years, everyone I knew would be dead. I’d have no friends and no family that I knew. What kind of life would that be? I’d rather die among friends and family than wake up for a lifetime without them.

Aaron pressed his back against the booth and folded his arms. That’s a really good answer. I can definitely respect that. So family is really important to you, huh?

Yeah. I lowered my gaze and instinctively glanced at my silent cell phone.

Aaron stood up. I’ll be right back, he said. I’m just going to pay for our shakes, and then we should probably free up the table. But I want to come back to this topic.

Watching him retreat, I eyed his attractive swagger. I noticed how he personally interacted with fellow waiters and even a couple of customers as he passed them by. No matter the brevity of their exchange, whether through Aaron’s wide smile or the way he clapped his hand on his waiter-friend’s shoulder with a boisterous laugh, each person seemed to brighten.

Catching myself intensely observing him, I knew I already liked this boy. A lot. In less than an hour, he’d captivated my whole attention, tugging at my thoughts and emotions like a magnet. His natural charm eased the knot in my stomach before I’d even noticed the magic in his presence. I couldn’t resist him if I tried.

That was how I knew I needed to disappear.

Suddenly finding myself solo at the booth again reminded me why I’d arrived at the restaurant in the first place. I hadn’t come to Davis for a boyfriend or even a heart-stopping temporary fling. I’d come with a purpose. To work. To protect my family. I needed to focus, not get caught up in the petty throes of romance or any other giddy distraction. Aaron would make that task impossible. I could already feel myself wishing I could permanently forget my responsibility to family and selfishly indulge in my attraction. I couldn’t risk failure.

With Aaron’s back still turned to me, I slid out from the booth, dropping the twenty-dollar bill onto the table. With hurried footsteps, I slipped out the restaurant doors, pulling my jacket securely around me to combat the cool fall air.

Kate

The next morning, I ignored the bouquet of carnations on the kitchen table. I opened my cupboard and thumbed past the line of cereal boxes, debating between a somewhat healthy, nutty granola mix or just going straight for the pure sugar. My roommate walked into the room, dressed in knee-length leggings and a wide-shouldered shirt that slipped off one shoulder.

Those flowers came for you while you were still sleeping, Marie said. She opened a bottle of water and guzzled it down, pausing only to wipe sweat from her brow. They were sitting at the front door with a delivery note when I came back from my run.

I saw them. I poured the rainbow of sugar into my bowl. Did you have a good workout?

Marie folded her arms, watching me for a few moments. Okay, sweetie—I have to ask.

I hated when she called me that—but not as much as when she called me hon—short for the equally syrupy endearment for honey. But as the owner of the duplex and thus, the young landlord who offered me a screaming deal on rent, I really didn’t want to get on her bad side. I decided when I moved in three weeks ago to let sweetie slide. She said it to everyone.

What about? I asked, feigning innocence. We both knew she was talking about the flowers.

Her long legs strode over to the table, and she picked up the tiny card that came printed with the delivery. She read out loud, Kate, sorry about last night. It won’t happen again. I’ll be in touch.

I shrugged, unwilling to offer up anything she didn’t specifically ask for.

She put one hand on her hip, holding the card in the air between two fingers. Either I’m having a bad case of déjà vu or the same jerk that stood you up last weekend did it again. She paused to press her nose to the petals. At least it’s a different bouquet arrangement. She returned her attention to me, obviously awaiting my explanation.

I grabbed the bouquet, turned it upside down, and shoved it petals first into the trashcan. Same jerk.

Oh, hon, I’m sorry. She patted my shoulder, making a sympathetic face. You really need to let me set you up with someone decent, although considering I have zero time to find my own dates, I can’t make any promises. Where did you meet this guy?

I rinsed out the vase. It’s not really like that. He’s just someone I’ve known since I was a kid. He was supposed to drive into town again last night. Truthful without the details. Explaining another missed date with my dad shouldn’t have been difficult. There was nothing weird about a parent visiting their offspring who had recently moved away from home. But I feared too many follow-up questions that I didn’t want to address, which was why I’d avoided telling Aaron last night. It was safer to let him think a date had stood me up.

Aaron. I muffled a sigh. I felt horrible for ditching out on him, especially when he’d been so kind to me. And fun and good looking…. Wistfully reminiscing on last night was a clear reminder of why I’d needed to leave. If we’d exchanged numbers, I’d be wasting time wondering and hoping if he’d call me, and if he did, I’d want to ditch out on my job or homework. I’d be sabotaging myself, and I had too much I needed to accomplish this school year. My brother’s well-being potentially depended on it.

Oh well. That ship had sailed, and I was the reluctant captain at the helm. Drying the vase with a towel, I placed it on the counter. Need a vase? You can have this one.

Save it for later, Kate. An attractive girl like yourself will have more flowers coming your way—just hopefully, not as two pathetic apologies in a row.

It’s not a big deal. I’m not really looking for a relationship. I just need to focus on school.

Marie raised an eyebrow. Um—if I remember correctly from your rental application, you’re what—barely eighteen, right? Live a little before you buckle down! Besides, didn’t you see the clause at the bottom of the rental application that said you are required to have a social life?

I laughed. I would assume you’d want the opposite. Why would you want a freshman bringing her social life into your home? Not that I really expected to have one. Partying was not at the top of my list of responsibilities.

Because I don’t want a depressed, over-worked, and under-paid loner for a roommate! She smiled. Since I’m stuck in this three-year law degree, I need a cheery roommate who won’t bring me down. I do that well enough on my own. We can’t both be neurotic about school.

I’ll do my best, I lied.

Landing a rental in Marie’s duplex was luck on my part. Having inherited the property from her parents, Marie didn’t even need to rent out the second bedroom in her apartment since the income from the other half of the duplex was profitable on its own. However, when she met me, she took pity on my inability to rent the other half of the duplex and offered me an affordable single room instead.

With minimal savings and no car, I tried my best to set everything up within walking distance or a quick bus route. Although, to be honest—the bus was never quick. Thankfully, the duplex was only half a mile from my school. Since it was Saturday, I didn’t have any classes, but I did have to stop at the mall to pick up my first paycheck.

After breakfast, I slipped on my recently purchased apparel from the clothing store where I worked. Pulling a thin, V-neck T-shirt over my head, I put on my one pair of expensive jeans. I didn’t grow up with an excess of trendy clothes, but my job required that all employees advertise the merchandise at work. Even with my employee discount, I’d have to lose a day or two of pay to afford the jeans, but I had to consider them an investment to my job. Relying on that logic was the only thing that allowed me to appreciate how the style and cut fit my legs perfectly.

I said goodbye to Marie and headed towards the bus stop. It arrived shortly and I swiped my card, eyeing the crowd of people oozing through the aisle. Excuse me, I said, sucking in and trying to make myself as small as possible while sliding past occupied seats. At five-foot-three and having inherited my mother’s petite build, this wasn’t overly difficult. There were a couple of seats in the very back that I eventually hoped to reach. Feeling like a pinball, I maneuvered my way down the aisle, angling my body so as not to bump into the shoulders of seated passengers. Halfway down the aisle, I unexpectedly ran straight into the torso of a man. The wallet that I’d been holding between my fingers fell to the floor, spilling loose cards and photos at my feet.

Ooh—sorry! I apologized, although in actuality, it wasn’t my fault. He literally stepped right in front of me. I started to bend down to pick up my belongings, but the guy grabbed my arm. Surprised, I looked up at him and instantly noticed his buzzed head and the black-studded earring in his left lobe. A trimmed goatee framed his mouth and chin.

I’ll get that for you, he said. He bent over to pick up my wallet. It was my fault. I was standing up to offer you my seat. Smiling at him, I accepted my wallet, quickly slipping it into my purse. I glanced at the empty seat and then at him again. He appeared a year or two older than I was, although the groomed facial hair hinted that he could be older than that. His stern brown eyes reflecting back at me made the kind gesture a little surprising.

No problem, I said. I was just going to grab a seat back there.

Directly behind me, I felt a heavy sigh on my neck. (Yuck. One of the pitfalls of using the bus was uncomfortable proximity to strangers.) An irritated voice followed. Look, if you’re not going to take his seat, I will! I didn’t even glance over my shoulder at the cranky woman and instead, accepted the offered seat while the guy with the buzzed head shuffled to the side to let people pass. The bus jolted to a start, and he grabbed the top of a seat to stabilize himself. Regaining his balance, he stuck out his right hand. I’m Ben.

Kate, I answered, taking hold and feeling the calluses on his palm. I noticed his cuticles stained with dark ink. Or maybe grease, like my father’s often were from his job. I pulled my hand away and broke our gaze, my eyes drifting to the floor. Oh, my pictures… Three small, rectangular photos lay scattered on the aisle. They had slipped from the plastic pockets of my wallet.

Ben leaned down one more time to pick them up. Rising, he started to hand them to me and then paused, eyeing the photos. Who’s this? he asked.

The protective side in me tensed, and I had to stop myself from snatching the photos from his hand. He was just being friendly. That’s my little brother. In reality, he wasn’t that little anymore. At fourteen, he surpassed me in height a year ago—but again, not that hard to do with a sister my size. Still, he would always seem little to me in my mind. I put out my hand for the newly laminated pictures, but Ben brought the photo closer to his face, examining it more closely. His eyebrows knitted forward. Then, in the next moment, a hint of a smile developed.

Puzzled, I asked, Do you… have any siblings? My fingers pinched the photos, and I tugged them from his hands.

Sorry. His expression seemed to awaken, and he took a step backwards. Uh, sure. Yeah. I have a little brother. Your picture just reminded me of him for a second.

Everyone needs a brother in my opinion. Thinking about my brother always made me smile. However, I also couldn’t help but frown, wondering how he was doing today. Would my dad take care of dinner tonight? Would my brother come home, looking defeated because the rich kids had picked on him again? If my dad was breaking promises to me, how many was he breaking to Luke?

I tried not to think about Luke too much because it sent me spiraling into guilt that I had left home and he’d have to fend for himself, more or less anyway. My mom showed up now and then, usually when she needed money,