“Oh wow,” Devon exclaimed, “I love places like this! You can’t fake that kind of history and authenticity.” I turned to him to see if he was being sarcastic or poking fun at its rundown condition, but he’d meant every word and seemed absolutely enchanted.
We went in through the front door. I’d always used the employee entrance in the past, but that didn’t feel right this time, not after being away for so long. I stopped short in the empty dining room and whispered, “It’s like stepping through time, and I don’t mean the décor. It’s exactly the same as when I left.”
Half of the room was taken up by a long counter and its swiveling chairs. There were four tables off to the right, and thefront wall along the plate glass windows was lined with a row of booths, which had worn, red vinyl seats.
Myra suddenly appeared in the pass-through window behind the counter and shouted, “Kit Kat, as I live and breathe!”
A moment later, she burst through the swinging door to the kitchen, and we grabbed each other in a hug. She squeezed me hard enough to realign my spine, and then she thrust me out at arm’s length and exclaimed, “Let me look at you!”
I’d known Myra all my life, and she’d seemed old even when I was a kid. Now, she was probably in her seventies and still working here full-time, despite her family’s ongoing efforts to get her to retire. She wore her dyed red hair in a helmet that was crunchy with hairspray, and she was never going to give up her blue eye shadow, which matched the light blue uniform she wore with pride.
After thoroughly scrutinizing me, she announced, “You’re too skinny! You look good, though. I like the purple hair, that’s fun.”
“And you look great, Myra. You haven’t aged a day.”
She grinned and gave my arm a playful slap. “You don’t need to tell me that. It’s not like I don’t own a mirror.” With that, she turned her attention to Devon and asked, “Are you going to introduce me to this tall drink of water?”
“Myra Castaneda, please meet Devon Hughes. Devon, this is the wonderful woman I told you about, who gave me a Rubik’s Cube and puzzle books and took such good care of me when I was growing up here at the diner.”
Devon said, “It’s a true pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” and stuck his hand out.
Instead of shaking hands, Myra treated him to a hug and a spinal realignment as she told him, “Now, you just call me Myra, cutie. Any friend of Kit’s is a friend of mine.” She let go of himand asked, “Are you two hungry? I can have Javi cook you up a couple of Kit’s favorite grilled cheese sandwiches.”
“Thanks, but maybe later,” I said. “Would it be okay if I showed Devon around?”
“You’re home when you’re here, kiddo,” she said. “No need to ask permission.”
I led Devon back to the kitchen and introduced him to Javier, who’d been working here for almost a decade. My dad had been thrilled when both Javi and Myra had enthusiastically agreed to stay on after he bought the place.
Next, I led Devon to the back of the kitchen and muttered, “I can’t believe this is still here.” The words “Kit’s Corner” were painted on the wall in primary-colored letters, along with a cartoony landscape of hills, trees, and flowers under puffy white clouds. Beneath that was the little, beat-up wooden table my dad had found at a yard sale and brought in over twenty years ago.
I ran my hand over the table’s surface, which was an unintentional mosaic of paint, glue, stickers, and markers. “Frank, the previous owner, was a kind man. He let me spend every day here after school, because he knew my dad couldn’t afford childcare. Now that I think about it, I’m not sure why the health inspector let him get away with it.”
When I turned to Devon, I was surprised to see a lot of emotion in his eyes. “This isn’t a bad memory,” I said, as I took his hand. “The days felt pretty long sometimes, but I was happy to have my dad close by. And the whole staff took care of me. I always had plenty to eat, and Myra treated me like I was one of her grandkids. I was lucky.” He nodded, but he still seemed like he felt sorry for me. Or maybe this was about him. “What did your mom do for childcare while she was working?”
“She paid the neighbor to look after me. This woman had four kids of her own, so she didn’t really care what I did. By the time I was nine, I’d tell her I was going back to my apartmentfor a while, and then I’d spend hours roaming the neighborhood. I’m surprised nothing bad ever happened to me, since we lived in a rough part of town.”
“That must have been lonely.”
He tried to shrug it off. “You get used to it.” He pointed to an open doorway and changed the subject by asking, “What’s in there?”
“That used to be Frank’s office. I was never allowed to go in there, but I’d sneak peeks once in a while. Being banished from it made it seem exciting, but from what I could see it was just a regular old room.” I walked up to it and stopped before crossing the threshold. “It became my dad’s office when he bought the place three years ago, but it still feels like I’d be breaking the rules if I went in there.”
Devon teased, “Come on. Live a little,” as he took my hand and led me inside.
The office was pretty basic, maybe ten feet by twelve with a desk and file cabinet at one end and a couch at the other. The furniture was the same stuff that had been here for decades, and the walls were the same fake wood paneling they’d always been. But there were a few changes, including a plant and a cluster of framed photos on the now much tidier desk.
I went to take a look at the photos and discovered they were all of my dad and me through the years. That was touching, but it made me a little sad, too. He’d never had much of a chance to hang out with friends, or to find someone special because he’d been too busy—first because he was raising me, and later on because he was running the diner. He’d worked long hours when he’d been the manager, and now that he owned the place I wasn’t sure he ever actually went home.
Devon had followed me around the desk, and he picked up two of the photos and exclaimed, “Aw, you were adorable! Imean, you still are, but you were the cutest kid I’ve ever seen with your giant doe eyes and awkward haircuts.”
“Dad thought he could save money by cutting our hair himself. He used to buzz his off with a clipper, but he only tried that once with me. I looked so pathetic that everyone kept asking him if I was sick. After that, he switched to lopsided scissor cuts.”
My phone beeped as Devon returned the pictures to the desk. I read the message and said, “It’s Myra, letting us know my dad just pulled into the parking lot.”
“I’m not saying older people can’t text, but I’m surprised she does. She just seems so… retro.”
“I know what you mean, but she loves it. One of her grandkids bought her a cellphone and taught her how to text, and she’s totally into it. Every now and then, she’ll send me a totally random meme or cartoon. Then I get to play the ‘what about this made her think of me’ game.”
