Regrets

Sarai fidgeted with the edge of the checkered tablecloth. She’d chosen a spot near the restaurant kitchen, where the clatter of silverware was loud and the scents of garlic and oregano were strong. The swinging service door might give her a glimpse inside, to Mariela.

When Sarai had left her, she’d taken the cat, the good fry pan, and the photos of their trip to Tuscany. She’d left the slide whistle Mariela had given her as a gag gift, and she’d left the engagement ring.

Six months later, she couldn’t remember what the fights had been about. Her bed was too empty, the silence too thick without Mariela’s constant bustling, the tunes she’d hum as she cooked.

“Can’t you sit still for five seconds?” Sarai had nagged. “You’re driving me nuts!”

Stupid. She’d been so stupid.

“I miss you,” Sarai would tell her. “I’ve been selfish. Quit your job, go back to school like you wanted to. I’ll support you. I’ll always support you.” 

She’d say it. She just needed a sip of wine first. One more bite of focaccia.

The server approached, a new girl. She didn’t recognize Sarai. “Are you ready to order?”

Sarai swallowed. “Actually, I’d like to speak with the head chef.”

The girl frowned. “You mean Mariela?”

“Yes,” Sarai breathed.

A thousand hopes sparked in the pause that followed. A thousand futures, a thousand whispered “I love yous.”

“I’m sorry,” said the server, “but Mariela quit last week. She’s moving to Italy with her girlfriend.”