1
September & A Twatwaffle
SEPTEMBER BY EARTH, WIND AND FIRE
Daisy
“I’m on vacation, David. On. Vacation! Stop calling me, stop asking me to work, stop pretending I’m your damn assistant.” I push the glass door open, letting the cool air of Fourth Street kiss my face as I look around the small deli.
“And actually, you probably shouldn’t be calling him either. It’s Labor Day.Labor Day. Take a day off. Leave me alone. Goodbye.” I hang up the phone, sliding it into my bag and smiling softly at Mateo, who stands from his chair to greet me.
“Hi,” he whispers, kissing my cheek as he always does and welcoming me into a warm hug. The effect this man has on me should be studied. One whispered hello, a hug, and half a kiss, and suddenly, nothing feels like a big deal anymore. My anger settles and I breathe easier. Always in his presence as if he was a calm down token.
“Sorry about that. I fucking hate him.” I take a seat onthe little stool in the corner, my usual spot for our weekly deli dates.
“Why don’t you just quit?” Mateo asks—as if it were that easy.
“Because I’ve had to work twice as hard as all those mediocre white men to get half as far, and I’m finally in a position I love. David, that motormouth twatwaffle, can go fuck himself.”
He raises both hands in surrender, knowing damn well where I stand on this topic. It’s already hard working in a male-dominated field, especially in the South. I finally got my dream job as event manager for The Eagles, the local baseball team, I’m not giving it up.
“I know, I know. I just hate seeing you this upset. But noted—your dream job, and you earned it.” He smiles past me and waves at Ms. Kim, who is currently walking our way.
“Daisy, you’re so beautiful today. What do you want to eat?”
“Thanks, Ms. Kim. You’re always beautiful. The usual, please?” I ask, nodding and smiling at her and at Ms. Anna, who’s standing behind the counter. Fourth Street Deli is a Korean family-owned deli on Amelia Island. It doesn’t matter that Mateo and I live an hour away in Magnolia Springs; the food and the staff make it worth it to come all the way out here for lunch, even if it’s only once a week.
“Also…hanging out with my sister much? Twatwaffle?” He chuckles, that deep, throaty sound reverberating through the quaint space and my damn body. It doesn’t matter that I’ve known Mateo my whole life, friends since elementary school. The way my body reacts to him, like it’s something new and exciting every single time, should be studied.
“Livie’s bad influence is rubbing off on you,” Mateo continues when I shrug, holding his bag of chips my way, offering to share while I wait for my food.
“I hang out with your sister as much as I usually do, thank you very much. But I do love her word choices all the time.” Ms. Kim brings out our food, her face stretched in anI love you like my grandchildsmile.
“I brought extra broccoli salad for you, Mateo. I know how much you like it.” She pats Mateo’s back after giving him an exaggerated wink, and I raise my eyebrow at him.
“Since when do you love broccoli salad that much?” I ask, lowering my voice and hoping a very sneaky Ms. Kim doesn’t hear me. Yes, Mateo orders broccoli salad almost every time, but I end up eating it mostly on my own. This boy can eat a lot, but somehow, when we come here, he always leaves plenty left over. I’ve always wondered why he keeps ordering that particular salad if he won’t eat it.
“I’ve always liked it. I just get full before I can eat it all andyousteal it.” I reach over with my fork, picking up a piece of the broccoli, and popping it into my mouth. I shrug and continue eating my food instead of his.
“I don’t know who said a girl can’t have it both ways—I get to order my favorite pasta salad and then still eat all your broccoli one. It’s a win-win.”
“You know I won’t judge if you order an extra broccoli salad.” He flashes his bright smile, and I lose my train of thought. I wish this feeling, the butterflies in my stomach when Mateo smiles at me, would disappear, but it never ends. It never goes away. He smiles at me, and everything stops,all the time.
“Why are we still talking about broccoli salad?” I ask, eager to change the topic.
“You love it, and I want to talk about all the things you love.”
“Do you know what else I love?” I point my fork at him. “Rituals and routine.”
“Oh, not again,” he groans. He’s referring to the temper tantrum I’ve been throwing over Mateo leaving me this Christmas to go with his family to the Dominican Republic.
“I just don’t understand why you have to go. You don’t want to, and I haven’t spent Christmas Eve without you since…well, ever.” My mom never really loved Christmas. She never liked any holiday, for that matter. She only celebrated Earth Day and our birthdays in the most bizarre ways: something relating to bees for my sister Bee, and something related to flowers for me. ‘In honor of your namesakes’,she would say. So, when I met Mateo’s family on the sidewalk after school, I asked if I could come. Mom shrugged her shoulders, and I’ve never spent Christmas Eve or Christmas without them.
I take a bite of my chicken salad sandwich, closing my eyes and trying to settle my breathing. The last thing I need is to sound clingy. Oh crap, I’m probably ovulating. That’s why I’m so emotional and so…I don’t know…sensitive. It always affects me so much— the hormone imbalance. It took me years to even figure out what was happening, but once I got the PCOS diagnosis, it made sense.
“I’m sorry, I?—”
“You don’t have to apologize, Daisy,” Mateo interrupts. “But if you relax and take more than one breath per second, I can answer one of your questions.” He offers me a sideways smile as he reaches over the table to hold my hand, drawing circles on the top. “I did try to get out of going, but my mother called to tell me Jaime is getting married.”
