My mother pushed her teacup toward the middle of the table, her fingernail tapping the rim until the porcelain rang against the glass. A thin gray film had formed over the surface of the Earl Grey.
“It is completely cold,” Diane said, her voice carrying to the booth behind us. “Is anyone going to do something about this?”
I tapped my gold wedding band against my thumbnail, a quick double beat. “I can ask the server to bring a fresh pot.”
“Don’t bother,” Diane said, letting out a heavy sigh that ruffled the edge of her paper menu. “They are far too busy for us.”
Ryan checked his sports watch, the screen lighting up green against his thick wrist. “We have about forty minutes before the traffic on Interstate seventy-seven gets heavy, so let us keep the ball moving.”
Melissa sat beside him, her fingers busy folding her cloth napkin into a small, tight square. She did not look up from the polished wood of the table.
“I will find him,” I said, sliding my chair back.
“Sit down, Emily,” my mother said. “The mood is already ruined.”
George placed his hand on my wrist, his thumb resting gently against my skin. He did not say anything, but the pressure of his grip was steady and warm.
The Garden Cafe was crowded for Mother’s Day, filled with the clink of silverware and the smell of toasted pecans. Outside the large glass windows, the Charlotte humidity was already rising off the asphalt parking lot.
“They should have more staff on a holiday,” Melissa whispered, her voice barely audible over the clatter of plates.
“It is a staffing optimization issue,” Ryan said, leaning back. “You have to look at the labor cost margins.”
“I just want a hot cup of tea,” Diane said, adjusting her beige cardigan around her shoulders. “Is that too much to ask on today of all days?”
The table went quiet as the server passed by, carrying a tray of mimosa glasses. He did not look at our table.
Twenty minutes later, our server returned with a black plastic presenter and set it down exactly between Ryan and George. Nobody touched it for three minutes.
