I’m wearing my fuzzy mustard peacoat while scraping dishes at the bus station when Darius asks me, “How many cats came with that coat?”
It’s winter and cold on the patio. I can’t get through a shift without having an issue with one of my least favorite coworkers—the propane heaters. Some only work sometimes and only if they are lit by certain people. Some just linger in the corners long past functioning with nowhere to go. Some look as though they are about to melt or explode, and I have to kind of hold my breath while lighting them. I think about the sound of the five gallon propane tanks exploding in people’s backyards when the Thomas fire swept through the hills in the winter of 2017. I sweat under the heat-lamps and take requests to turn the knob on the propane this way or that. I have to practically hold men down in their seats to keep them from helping me with the heavy apparatuses. There’s something about outdoor flames that they can’t resist.
The hosts walk couples back to their tables, and a quarter of the time they’ll pause at the top of the steps while looking down at the outdoor dining area of the restaurant.
“Don’t you have anything inside?”
They walked past every occupied table to get here, so with observation they may have noticed that we did not in fact have anything inside. My poor hosts escort people from one end of the building to the other, being pushed around by people afraid of weather.
Since his messages started showing up on my phone, I think about Darius before I fall asleep. He shows up in my section all night. We all help each-other, but I notice that he’s always there. I feel his presence as he observes me. I wonder why he sends me messages when he does. Does he like me? Do I like him?
I get it in my head that there is no harm in a workplace romance. I get a lift every time I receive one of his unsolicited texts about nothing. He sends me a picture of his cat. I send him a picture of my dinner.
The storms that rage through the valley prompt messages between coworkers on our 7shifts inter-restaurant communication app.
Everyone be careful coming up the 33 from Ventura. There’s a flood warning.
Yes everyone please be safe!
I get a text from Darius, 7shifts search and rescue. I laugh and feel closer to him.
When there is finally a break in the January rain I bop around the house and prepare for what I’m not sure is a date. We both have the night off, I am in a kind of panic wondering whether it is or isn’t. I am doing this new thing where I’m attached to my phone because I know I might get a message from him. I don’t know what this is, but I’m nervous about the possibility of romance and also prepared for the disappointment in case it isn’t, I think.