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Nathan heard the door jingle and the sound of her voice made him spill yum yum soup. He caught the hot spoon before it clattered to the floor and then hunched his shoulders and tried to use his laminated menu to catch a glimpse behind him.
By now he knew it was her.
Embedded among the fuzzy T-Pop radio, a dozen cus- tomers chattering in Thai, squeaky Lazy Susans, the xylophonic brush of the beaded curtain as the wait- ress barreled in and out of the kitchen where a sec- ond radio played the Dodgers game, Nathan heard the scrape of chairs tucked in behind him and his ex-girl- friend commenting on how good everything smelled. And then as if his hands weren’t sweating against the plastic floral tablecloth enough, another voice enthu- siastically agreed with her throwaway comment— yes, yes it really does smell good. A deeper voice.
~
It’s not like Nathan hadn’t imagined bumping into Kat before. Usually he pictured himself playing Frisbee with his dog in the park. Kat was folded over a bench, memorizing lines for yet another audition, when the Frisbee careened into her, knocking the pages from her hands. She’d look up as Nathan bounded over,
his face a magnanimous smile, hers a mixture of embarrassment, self-loathing and, her eyes running up and down his new physique, bottomless regret. They’d say each other’s names. As Nathan scooped up her scattered pages, he’d comment, “Another Tam- pax audition? Good luck” and she’d give a helpless shrug. Then she’d clear her throat and admit “I’ve missed yo—” just as Nathan’s new girlfriend raced over, smooching Nathan on the neck and slinging an arm around his thin waist, an expectant smile on her magazine-cover face as she waited to be introduced
to Nathan’s little friend. ‘Hello, I’m Oksana,” she’d say in an accent creamy enough to butter bread. There’d be no hint of jealousy or even suspicion on her part that this pasty sad bench woman could have ever been romantically involved with her Nathan. “I’m
Kat,” Kat would croak. Then the dog would run over and Kat would open her arms but it would dash right past her, making a beeline for Oksana, to furiously lick her shapely little ankles as Oksana let loose an orgas- mic laugh that echoed through the canyon, causing the whole park to look enviously over at Nathan. Or something like that.
That was not the case here. Nathan felt unshaven and puffy, hungover, with no good news to report on any front, personal or professional, and what the hell was he wearing—laundry day warm-up pants with an AWOL drawstring.
And the worst sin of all, he was eating alone.
He hadn’t expected to run into anyone. Anonymity was a bonus of eating at one of these cash-only hole in the walls he prided himself on knowing. Which made Nathan wonder just what Kat was doing here anyway. Since the break-up there was a swath of places Nathan couldn’t bring himself to eat at. Ital- ian, for one. Italian was their date night food, so on the nose and bougie as a romantic meal. They’d talk in cartoonish Italian accents at the table. Nathan also shunned places within four or five blocks of Kat’s apartment as well as establishments he deemed “hers”—the tapas spot her friend bartended at, the old steak house where they celebrated her birthdays. Nathan respected boundaries and was nonplussed, hunched over his cooling yum yum soup and Pad See Ew to realize she hadn’t paid him the same favor.
He air-scribbled to the waitress and when she hustled over with the bill, he leaned in.
“Is there a back door in the kitchen?” he asked quietly.
“WHAT?!” The waitress pulled back from his whisper. She was screaming. “OUT BACK?! WHY?! WHAT?! WHY—?!”
“Shh. No. Nevermind. Nevermind. Sorry. Thanks.”
Nathan shushed her until she left. He sat rigid and barely breathing, imagining Kat now squinting in his direction, recognizing his red neck and sweat-stained back. After a beat, Nathan picked up their chatter about some new Netflix series and breathed again, knowing his cover hadn’t been blown. He wished he could eavesdrop more but the paramount mission was getting out. He tossed a wad of cash atop the bill, pocketed the mint, and strode blindly through the beaded curtain right into the kitchen.
43
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The Thanks I Get
dunCan Birmingham