Edgar walks in wearing cheap plastic flip-flops and swim trunks, a towel around his neck and a T-shirt sticking to his chest. There aren’t any droplets in his curls, but those are damp, too, despite the towel and the afternoon sun. His smile is almost shy, and I guess I get why so many people my age go to pieces over him even with the age gap, but I’m not one of them. I won’t tell him I know he’s almost my dad’s age, but I don’t have to remember Lydia’s lecture on not sleeping with the residents. They’re allowed to sleep with each other if they’d like to, but I’m staff. I’m supposed to be professional.
“You’ve been here a while, right?” he asks, crossing his arms on the high counter and resting his chin on top of them. “Had a month already?”
I nod, wondering which question’s coming next. Do you ever stop looking for your cell phone? Eventually, but after my “weekends” I keep reaching for it again. Does the water ever warm up? Define warm. Do you think there’s a God? Dodge and weave.
Edgar fixes his eyes on mine. “Can you identify birds by their calls?”
A laugh bursts out of me, mostly because I don’t want to get into a deep philosophical discussion with anyone just now, thanks. “I’m not the one to ask. Truman’s back tomorrow. He’s your guy.”
“Yeah?” His eyes sparkle.
“He’ll tell you what it is, how it’ll taste, and what he’d forage to go with it.” Wait, am I over-sharing?
Edgar grins without straightening up. “I don’t want to eat it. I just want to know what it is.”
Apparently I’m not over-sharing. “Well, you might be able to get him to stop there.”
“Because he’ll want to eat it.” He raises a challenging eyebrow.
I snort. “I’m pretty sure Truman just walks into the woods barefoot on his days off and lives on whatever he can find.”
He frowns a little. “Raw?”
Seriously, he’s cute when he wrinkles his nose, no matter how old he is. “No, he’s got to try out some new survival way to start a fire.”
He clucks his tongue. “That doesn’t sound very back-to-nature to me.”
“Oh, he’ll lecture you. Heating food causes it to undergo a chemical change that means we can digest it more easily, so it actually creates less waste.” I grimace. “Uh. Less of all kinds of waste.”
Edgar laughs, a guffaw that leans him back so he grabs the countertop to keep from falling over. “You know, I can’t say that’s something I’ve ever really considered.”
Despite the fact that one of his best-known roles involves surviving the apocalypse. “Truman has.”
“Is that …?” But he stops, cocking his head. “I was going to ask if that’s his first or last name.”
I shake my head. “I don’t even know if it’s after Harry S. or Capote.” Or if he’s the one who picked it, or it’s the name his parents chose.
“Ahhh.” He nods deeply. “Capote. That makes sense, with the rest of us. And maybe the, uh. The killing.”
“I don’t think he’s going to be shooting any bird around here with a shotgun.” Homemade bow and arrow is more likely.
Edgar winks, but I can’t tell if it’s because he’s pleased that I know In Cold Blood or because he doesn’t entirely get the reference. “I figured you’re named after Alyssa Orlen, the greatest children’s author of all time.”
My mom loved those books. She was also about Edgar’s generation.
I just smile, which probably doesn’t look all that knowing and mysterious, but at least he laughs again and holds up his hands. “Fair, fair. I should know better than to keep asking questions. Well.” He holds up a finger. “Personal questions. Because I do have another one.” The finger points toward the chalkboard that has the dinner menu. “How’s Lydia at chicken and waffles? Because I’m starving, but I’ll wait for the right chicken.”
“She’s great at both. We didn’t have them together last month.” That must be your request. I clamp down on it, because that feels too much like a personal assumption.
Edgar nods, rubbing at his chin and that recognizable scruffy beard. “All right. I can wait, as long as I get what I want in the end.”
I nod once sagely. “Margaret Thatcher would be proud of you.”
He laughs and does the wink again, and I’m still not sure if that means he caught my reference or if I missed the mark. At least he leaves with a smile, so that’s really the best I can ask for when it comes to customer service. And hey, let’s face it: my expectations for myself are pretty low these days. I’m in bare minimum survival mode where just getting through is worth a gold star.
Rebecca Frost 