Keeping The Moon(16)

“No kidding. She was so slammed she just kept moving, so I cleaned it up and made all the apologies. He said it was okay, no

problem, and I laughed and said pretty girls get away with anything.” She looked down, twisting her ring a bit so the diamond sat

in the center of her finger. “And he smiled, and looked at Isabel, and said she wasn’t his type.”

There was a faint cheer from the stadium, and I saw a ball whiz over the far fence and out of sight.

“And so,” she went on, “I said, ‘Oh really? What is your type, exactly?’ and he looked up at me and said, ‘You.’ ” She

grinned.

“I mean, Colie, I’ve spent so long watching guys I liked go after Isabel. When we were in tenth grade, I spent a whole year in

love with this guy named Chris Catlock. And then one night he finally called me. I almost died. But then …”

There was a another cheer from the stadium, followed by an announcer’s voice crackling.

“... he asked me if I could find out if Isabel liked him,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “It was awful. I cried for days. But

that’s what’s so amazing about Mark, you know? He picked me. He loves me.” She smiled again, tilting her head back.

I looked at her profile. “You’re lucky,” I told her.

“Oh, you’ll find someone,” she said, patting my knee. “You’re just a baby still, anyway.”

I nodded, my eyes on the distant stadium.

“I know,” I said, and I had that feeling again, that all of this could slip away at any moment. I could have been anyone to her.

We stayed on the roof for a long time, Morgan and I. We let our feet dangle over the edge and chewed gum and listened to the game,

waiting for the crack of the bat and then whistling and cheering, as the runners dashed toward home.

I worked alternate lunches and dinners at the Last Chance, perfecting my blue cheese dressing and mastering the Cuisinart. But I

still had a lot to learn.

“Waiting tables,” Morgan said to me one day, “is a lot like life. It’s all about attitude.”

“Attitude,” I repeated, nodding.

“Yours,” she went on, gesturing at the restaurant, “and theirs. It’s an even equation.”

From behind the counter, where she was reading Vogue, Isabel made her hrrumph noise. Then she turned a page, loudly.

“Some people can do this job,” Morgan said. “And some people can’t. And it can really suck. Also, as you know by now, you have

to be able to handle people being mean to you.” She tilted her head to the side, watching me. This was a test.

“I can do that,” I said solidly. It was the one thing I was sure of.

Morgan was always close behind me, keeping up a constant chatter of corrections, managing to handle her own section and double-

check mine as well.

“Refill that tea at Table Seven,” she’d say over her shoulder as she passed, her hands full of dirty plates. “And Six is

looking kind of antsy for a check.”

“Right,” I’d say, and do as she said. Isabel pretty much ignored me, pushing me out of the way to get to the ice machine or pick

up her food.

“The important thing to remember,” Morgan always said, “is that you are a human being and worthy of respect. Sometimes,

customers will make you doubt that.”

This I had already learned when a large woman with a run in her pantyhose had asked me the difference between Nachos and Deluxe

Nachos.

“Let me check the menu real quick,” I said, pulling one out from under my arm. “I’m new and I don’t quite—”

“Duh,” she said loudly to her friend, rolling her eyes. Her friend, also large, giggled and smacked her gum.

“You are kidding me,” Morgan said when I told her. We were huddled back by the soda machine. She turned around and eye-balled the

table, hand on her hip. “How rude can you be?”

“Obviously pretty rude,” Norman said from the other side of the food window, where he was flipping burgers.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said.

“Of course it does.” Morgan turned back around, fixing her pointy gaze right on me. “You are not stupid, Colie. Don’t let

anyone make you think you are. Okay?”

“Okay,” I said.

She took a deep breath and rattled it off: “Regular Nachos: beans, chips, cheese, chiles. Deluxe Nachos: all the above plus

chicken or beef, tomato, and olives.”

“Dull,” Norman said loudly.

“Duh indeed,” Morgan replied, grabbing a tea pitcher from behind me. “Get back out there,” she said to me, nodding toward my

section. “There’s work to do.”

And the pronouncements continued.

“Good attitude, good money,” Morgan always said. “Shit attitude, shit money.”

“Oh, shut up with that already,” Isabel would groan, stabbing her pen back in her hair. I don’t know what bothered her more,

Morgan’s advice or that she was sharing it with me.

Despite all of this, Morgan was always the one to crack under the pressure of a busy rush. In my first two weeks, I saw her quit