Method

We were sitting in the comfortable silence only achieved through true intimacy when she appeared behind the counter. Ben gazed down at his slice of cinnamon apple pie, stabbing the golden glazed crust apart with his dinted diner fork. I was staring past his shoulder with my hands nursing a coffee mug filled with lukewarm creamed-and-sugared coffee, poised at the edge of my seat. She was wearing a seafoam green polyester button-up dress with a scallop-edged apron tied at her waist and a golden name tag reading “Winifred”. Winifred pulled a dishrag from the pocket of her apron, and began to rinse and wring it in the sink.

A pair of old men sat at the counter, asking Winifred about the news, lifting their playful eyes in their weathered faces from the thick wads of newspaper clutched between their liver-spotted hands. Both of them were squat, wearing flannel shirts with suspenders holding up their pants. Winifred smiled and nodded at them, with her eyes lowered to the counter as she wiped in methodical circles on the stainless steel counter.

She smoothed back the loose strands of hair hanging from her ponytail as she tossed the dishrag into the sink, washing her hands vigorously afterwards. The old men had returned to their newspapers and chatter between themselves, the acrid talk of old friends jabbing at each other since surviving the war, the stock market and dot com crash, and 2 wives (each). Finally alone, Winifred pulled out a pie crust from the oven and began filling the half-baked tin with berries. She mashed in the ones that were tumbling off the top, her fingers thick with blackberry pulp. With a generous sprinkle of cinnamon sugar, Winifred opened the oven again and slid the tin in but not without incident. She jumped when her fingers brushed against the oven rack, and shook her hand out, cursing as she closed the oven door. Frowning furiously and muttering under her breath, she walked over to the sink to run her hand under cold water. There, she caught my eye and I looked down at my coffee, then at Ben as my cheeks flushed. I found Ben staring back at me, with grinning, knowing eyes.

(367 words)