Any Day

She held the pen lightly between her fingers as she waited for the struggle in front of her to cease. Lips spread wide in a patient grin as the father winked in her direction and proceeded to wrench the slippery menu from the mouth and fingers of the baby in the high chair. A young girl with wires trailing from her head loudly belted the words of a pop tune. The mother was performing a crayon sweep in the mouth of a toddler who swung his head violently from side to side. “I think we need another minute,” the dad apologized.

She nodded and looked up to see her manager motioning from the reception desk. She moved to the front of the restaurant where the crowd of people was quickly overtaking the alley of parked strollers. Young patrons gave up their seats on the bench for the elderly, as the wait list continued to grow. Her manager informed her she needed to do her best to free the tables to accommodate the Mother’s Day guests as quickly as possible, suggesting take-out dessert when possible.

She tripped over a cane on the way back to the frustrated family, but didn’t lose her concentration. For three years, she had worked this shift, bringing home more tips than she could earn in several weeks waiting tables during the average lunch shift. She stood again before the family, remembering to blink a sparkle into her eyes as she took their orders and brushed off the repeated apologies. She next served a table with three generations of women, proud mothers and a young daughter, hopeful with swollen belly and flushed cheeks. They laughed as they finished their meal and she loathed the thought of rushing them to eat their cheesecake at home. With a pinched smile, she handed them the dessert menu, relieved they already knew what they wanted to share. No take-out today.

Rushing from table to order station, to the kitchen, to her manager, there was little time to reflect. If there had been, she would have become lost in the hurt of a day designed seemingly in ignorance of women like her, both motherless and childless. All her extra money from this, her second job, fueled her dreams of conception. For four years, she and her husband had tried to bring new life into their little family. Countless losses, painful treatments and decimated hopes should have broken her, but she remained hopeful. Miracles happened every day, even to people who didn’t deserve them. She deserved a miracle.

She helped elderly twins to a booth near the front of the restaurant and wondered about their children, who were not present. Were the pair here to celebrate, or was this just an average day? A baby cried from the back of the room, and her senses rebelled, even while her smile stretched wider and her voice remained calm. The harried family was now leaving, and she remembered the digital stick she had hidden in the restroom an hour before. How could she have forgotten? She delivered boxed and bagged desserts to tables, all with a friendly smile and casual stride. A sudden lull in the restaurant indicated the end of the rush. She noticed a mother in a booth nursing her blanket-draped baby. Removing her apron, she strode purposefully toward the back of the restaurant, anxious to read the digitized adjectives that would describe her future.