Janey ordered coffee, hot enough to justify a law-suit. To her, the mud taste was more pronounced with ice. Or maybe when her tongue wasn’t burned halfway to well-done. August always told her that her words burnt the tongue, the coffee was just for fun.
August couldn’t remember when they started but Thursday mornings had turned from phone calls to coffee to breakfasts. She was just glad to get eyes on her sister.
Janey began, “What the hell does that old man need a gas card for anyways?” Mid-morning was just enough time for Janey to get her hell back.
Deadpan, “Dad has a boat, it gets bad mileage.”
Janey, as ever, was quick with a retort, “If he can afford the boat then he can afford the extra three cents a gallon.”
“Everyone’s got a budget, even rich people. I bet he’s cutting back after spending all that money on your habit.” Old jokes die hard in family. But at least it was a joke.
“Shut up. That man just gets cheaper every year. He’s worn the same pants to church since I moved out. Pastor Jimmy told me after church last Easter.”
“Pastor Jimmy gets his kicks lying on people.” August passed the mug between her hands. She’d already emptied it of the hot chocolate, and so worked the smooth ceramic in, re-molding it. The window called to her. The road was wide, enough for 6 cars, and dotted with McDonalds, Autzones, and eyebrow shops. Some young man was trying to cross the street, but he fell over drunk at the median. He seemed safe enough.
“I’m just saying. I don’t know what he’s saving for. It’s like he doesn’t know his time is up soon.”
“I think he’s not used to living comfortably. Sometimes it feels like waking up from a coma and not knowing what to do without a tube down your throat.”
Janey exhaled through her nose, a half-laugh half-acknowledgement. She wasn’t wrong, and sometimes Janey felt it too. She only ever put 20 on her pump, scared of the overdraft that never came.
The waitress sauntered over with their breakfast: oatmeal and raisins for Janey, and braided donuts for August.
“I could ask you the same. Isn’t oatmeal the cheapest thing they got?”
“I like oatmeal. It always explodes when I make it.” Anyways, there’s nothing to prove to a sister after 46 years. It’s just that way.
Sometimes, August untwists the donut. The glutenous sinews tremble and snap as she slowly pulls, the steam puffs towards the domed glass light illuminating their table. Today, though, she’d skipped breakfast before coffee and the donut was gone almost as fast as it came. Across the table, Janey watched the cinnamon sugar turn from solid to liquid in the mealy heat, then mixed with the back of her spoon. She let each bite linger. Lost in the early threshings of a hard-earned meal, she turned absently to the window. A young man was smoking at the median, shaky hands made a path.
August, too, drifted towards malaise, and memory laced over piled donuts. Janey’s room filled to leaking with waxy haze. Iridescent rays from the small lamps bent sideways, so she always felt woozy without smoking. An unfocused cough would follow her for a few days after, the thick air needed time to process. August could never quite shake the post-smile Janey always found, sparkling with dark resin. That was a while ago.
Janey returned first, “What’s got your mind?”
“Old times. Dad was a cheap bastard. I wish he bought you more shoes.”
This was a kind thing to say, Janey knew. A nod, and then a few bites of oatmeal. Sometimes it’s nice just to think that other people were watching.
“I can buy my own shoes now. He had no taste anyways.” The sisters shared a short and knowing laugh.
August wondered, as she often did, whether she had done enough, back then, for Janey. Janey wondered if she had enough time before work to stop by the ATM. Probably.
The waitress approached, time to settle up. Janey reached for the bill quickly, with confidence. “I got it.”
“You don’t have to be proud around me honey. Anyway, dad would say”
Softly, repeating, “I got it.” Two twenties, well-loved, were tucked into the pleather folder.
“Well, thank you. I got next.” August meant it, though in an unenforceable kind of way. Then she nodded towards the window, “You think that kid will make it?”
The young man had begun to size up the road. Like usual, it was pretty much empty, but sideways vision was a killer. Janey didn’t dare to look, “God willing.”
With an unsure step, he set out. The asphalt cracked with wiry grass that trampled under foot and tire. Then, he fell.
Lo, this is a small town. The driver slowed to a halt, then leaned deeply into their horn. Janey could feel the glass shake from the call. This woke her, and the two left the diner. The young man stirred and made his way to the roadside. Janey grabbed for a sidehug and August obliged. August could feel her ribs. Unsure what to say, she said nothing.
Janey smiled, “I’ll see you next week.” And they saw each other next week.