The mug shattered on the tile floor, splashes of tea lightly stained the robin’s egg blue chairs and walls. She stood, chest heaving, face red in anger, with her hand still in a claw shape from when she hurled the mug to the ground.
His gentle voice broke the silence of the restaurant. “Honey…” That one small word had broken her trance. She met his sympathetic gaze, seated across the table with his hands still cupped around his intact mug.
Shame flooded every thought in her brain as she looked around at all the horrified guests. How could she have let herself get so angry so quick? They had come to the city for a nice day out. Breakfast at Tiffany’s. It was something she had talked about for years, having breakfast at Tiffany’s, and they had finally made reservations and done it.
Earlier that morning she pulled out her pearls and a black dress; if she was finally doing this, she was doing it right. She and her husband had one of their best mornings ever, no fighting or complaining, he had done everything she could have wanted him to do without her even asking. They had taken the train into New York and had some of the best conversations they’d had in years. To be honest, things had been rough for a while, they had been drifting apart without even realizing it.
Without looking at the waitress, the source of her former anger, she quickly dropped to her knees and began picking up pieces of broken ceramic. The waitress and other staff quickly took over as she mumbled an apology. “We’ll take the check whenever you have a second,” her voice was low, sad and ashamed, and cracked lightly.
She could feel the tears welling up in her. Something she had wanted to do for years would now be a tarnished memory. All because the waitress asked if they were almost finished. In the moment it seemed such an insult, how dare they rush her, don’t they know how long she had been wanting to do this? They hurried to pay, left an extremely generous tip, and practically ran outside onto the busy New York street.
He pulled her in for a kiss and with a smile reached into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out a slip of paper and a pen. With exaggerated movements, he drew a long line across an item on the list. “Don’t worry, honey, the doctor said six months. We’ll come back when we finish the rest of the list.”
All short stories in the “100 prompts” tag will be written using the flash fiction prompts list on Eva Deverell’s Creative Writing Blog. They will all be stand-alone short stories unless otherwise noted. Check out the Story Index for more. (Image is from: Here)
This story was written using Prompt # 55: “I wanted to stand and fight. He just wanted to finish his tea.”