The Absurdity of Fairy Tales

two

..

What would happen if we

Could see each other's souls?

Would mine be black, or would

I just not have one at all?

..

When Nick and I walk into Milly's, this little classic diner five minutes from school, we're immediately greeted by the smell of fries and a thousand bittersweet memories.

Milly's was always a sure pit stop whenever my parents and I visited Nan. We'd sit right in front of the window—the same table Nick and I sit at now—and order. A strawberries-and-cream milkshake and a small cheeseburger for me; a black forest shake and a chicken club sandwich with a small salad—Caesar, no parmesan—for my mom; and a double vanilla shake and two large bacon cheeseburgers—ketchup, pickles, mustard, extra onions, extra tomatoes—for my dad. Two extra-large servings of classic fries split between us and a slice of apple pie each for dessert, too. I tried ordering their orders once or twice after they first died, but I can't stomach pickles and black forest shakes are too tart for me.

But it's still a haven, even with all the bittersweet memories. An empty one, too: Nick and I the only ones here other than a middle-aged man typing away at a laptop across the room. Milly, the diner's co-owner, waitress, hostess and busgirl, is busy wiping down tables, but she smiles and holds up a finger when I catch her eye. I smile back and nod as I take my seat.

Nick throws himself into the seat across from me, dropping his bag on the floor. When I look over at him, he's pulling his glucose meter out of his pocket, bottom lip caught between his teeth.

"You feeling okay?" I check as I watch him set up, the empty lancet between his teeth.

He gives me a patronizing look as he pricks his finger without flinching. It still makes me wince just watching him. "I'm fine, Mom."

I purse my lips but say nothing. Nick's the worrier, not the worry-ee. He's always hated the extra attention he gets for his diabetes. Luckily, so far as I know it's always been fairly manageable.

After a few seconds, the screen lights up. "See?" he says pointedly, shoving the monitor in front of my face.

117. I push the meter away from me. "Yes, I see," I say, making a face at him. He makes a face back and stuffs the meter back into his pocket just as Milly makes her way towards us, smiling widely.

Milly always amazes me; she must be at least sixty, but she's like a carbon copy of a fifties pageant winner—all voluminous hair, bright smiles and generous curves. "Hiya!" she chirps as she stops in front of our table, grinning, notepad in hand and pen tucked firmly behind her ear. "How are ya? First day of school go well?"

She looks at me for a split second then, just me, and her gaze sharpens into focus. As I watch, a lump building in my throat, her smile falters into something else, something different. Sympathy wells up in her eyes. All of the sudden, I'm acutely aware of the forms in my backpack Nan has to sign under 'Guardian'.

This has happened between the two of us before; I always think she's going to say something, that somehow, she's seen into my heart of hearts and knows what happened to me, what I became after my parents died. She must know. But she's never said anything, not when I first came here by myself, small and alone and wishing I could melt into the floor. Not when I started ordering the orders of my dead parents. Not when I stopped ordering cheeseburgers in favor of a salad. Not then, not now, not ever.