Gemotions

The notice, a stark white rectangle amidst the usual menu flyers, was the first thing Maya saw. "Closing," it declared, in a font that seemed unnecessarily aggressive. She squinted, then reread it, as if the words might somehow rearrange themselves into something more palatable. They didn't. Her jaw tightened, and she slammed the door of the diner shut a bit harder than necessary.

She marched inside, ignoring the cheerful "Good morning!" from the owner, Mr. Henderson, a man she'd known since childhood. She chose her usual booth, the one by the window, and sat down with a thud. She wanted to order her usual—the extra-crispy bacon, the perfectly-poached eggs, the sourdough toast. But today, she just wanted to prove the notice wrong. She would make them stay open.

"The usual, honey?" Mr. Henderson asked, his voice laced with the weariness she’d seen only a few times before. She met his gaze, and she said, "No. I want the most difficult thing on the menu. A patty melt, well-done fries, and a black coffee." The fact that they usually burned the fries didn't matter. They were going to make this work. She would make them, even if it took all day.