Two Tables- A Short Story (Part One)

The Christmas season was one Wren never looked forward to.

Being an atheist meant she could have found much better ways to spend the month of December than listening to Jingle Bells and Silver Bells and the annoying little bell over the door in the restaurant where she worked. 

But there were some days when she genuinely hated the month all the more so for the impatient, rude customers who seemed to think that Christmas was their perfect excuse to demand quicker service and a better attitude from her at the end of her shift- and this went double-time for the Sunday crowd.

Wren was used to the church people coming in droves on Sundays, and they were, for the most part, decent tippers, even if those tips often came wrapped in those little papers throwing a fiery hell and peaceful heaven in her face. She could tolerate them long enough to give a fake smile and pick up the cash they left for her. 

However, today was not one of those days. 

On the first Sunday of the month, just as all the Christmas hullabaloo was starting up, Wren had to cover a double shift, since her usual partner in crime, Leigh, was out sick, meaning Wren was serving tables since 10AM that morning, and some ten hours later, was still running orders around and clearing tables. While she could at least be grateful that the early afternoon crowd was long gone, she now was forced to put up with the long-lingering evening crowds. Did no one care that the restaurant closed in an hour, that her feet hurt, and that she would rather stab her big toe with a fork than hear I'll Be Home For Christmas playing over the speakers. 

She hefted a tray of BBQ ribs and fries evenly distributed among the plates and headed towards the back corner where two tables were just settling in for a nice long stay. She could already hear her own voice getting ready to remind them, multiple times, that they would need to vacate their table in a timely manner in order for the closing crew to clean the dining room.

Wren could already hear the argument as she approached the first table. The five adults were, quite loudly, voicing their opinions about the holiday decor and the music- and for once, she found herself totally agreeing with them. 

"I mean, it's just tacky. That's all it is. Tacky." The woman said, and the other woman at the table nodded heartily. "Everywhere you go, it's in your face. It's like they don't want you to have any doubt that Christmas is being commercialized." 

"And what's worse is everyone, everyone, goes along with it." The older of the two men said. "Doesn't matter what religion you are, you're just supposed to agree and deal with it in order to please the Christmas celebrating people." 

Eyeing them slyly, Wren looked for the usual signs that she could have quite a bit in common with them. But, no, they weren't wearing tee shirts with her favorite rapper, some random musician, or a brand name. No tattoos visible, and she couldn't see any piercing matching those she admired and wished she was brave enough to get. They looked... like church people. Strange. 

Their voices began growing more animated as they dove headfirst into a passionate speech about the evils of Christmas, and had the restaurant not had strict policy about not getting involved in conversations without an invitation- or sometimes, even with one- Wren would have voiced her agreement. But the rule was there, and so she took the other four plates to the table directly behind them and began handing the plates out. 

The older couple and two young women were obviously a family unit. Dressed up, two out of the three females wearing a cross necklace, they were obviously church folks. Wren was glad when they quietly thanked her and didn't ask for extra sauces. They kept their voices low. 

Not that it would matter. The other table would have drowned them out anyway. 

Taking her tray back to the kitchen window, Wren finished up the tickets for the other two tables near the front that were almost finished eating, and delivered them, then waited fifteen minutes before going to the back to refill drinks. The loud table could barely stop their arguing- which was confusing to Wren, since they seemed to agree with each other, meaning no argument over the subject was needed- to say they would like refills or eat anything on the quickly-cooling plates in front of them. The quiet table thanked her in a quiet manner and kept eating. 

Another ten minutes went by, and still, the plates were barely touched at the loud table. The other table was mostly finished, although they seemed quite uncomfortable listening to the heated discussion behind them.

Giving it another ten minutes, Wren went back to subtly prompt the loud table to finish up, watching the clock with an eager eye. 

"Hey, everything good here?" She asked, pasting her smile in place. 

The older man shook his head. "Can't you ask them to turn the music off?" 

"Wish I could, but the owner likes it." Wren sighed. "I might can turn it down though." 

"I'm just saying, you're going to drive away customers. Don't you think anyone who doesn't celebrate what those songs are pushing is going to want to go somewhere else?" 

"I really can't say, sir." 

The younger of the women spoke up. "What if an atheist was playing songs about whatever pagan winter celebrations they have? Don't you think Christians would ask you to turn it off?" 

Okay, Wren could admit, she was a pagan, but she hadn't really done any looking into 'pagan winter celebrations' or how they would affect her beliefs. "Again, I can't really say." 

"We like the food here, so we'll come back, but I doubt it'll be until January!" The other man said. "Your boss just doesn't seem to care that some people don't do this whole Christmas thing. Catering to one group doesn't make for a great business model." 

"Yeah, I don't celebrate Christmas," Wren said, suddenly feeling quite uncomfortable. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to complain if someone else does. Whatever floats your boat, y'know?" 

"We don't and it is offensive that we have to put up with the constant music and wreaths and nonsense everywhere." The older woman sniffed. "Can you just ask if they'll turn it off until we leave?" 

"I really can't do that, it's not my decision." 

"Why not? You just said you don't celebrate Christmas. Don't you want it off?" The younger man asked gruffly.

"I mean, yeah, I would but it's not up to me. My boss doesn't have anything against Christmas, so..." Wren tried to replace the smile but couldn't quite make it convincing. "Do you need any to-go cups?" 

Wrong thing to ask. All faces grew visibly red and they began slamming down their forks and napkins onto the half-eaten plates. 

"No, we don't. It's clear this place only cares about people who don't swim against the current. We're done." The man said, as they stood up. 

"Wait, I-I didn't mean- I'm sorry-" 

"Save it." The younger woman sniffed, brushing past Wren.

Wren watched them head, en masse, to the cashier and heard the not-so-hushed whispers about her. 

And there goes my job. Great.

"Excuse me, miss?" 

Wren turned to the quiet table. "Yeah?" 

"Can we get our check, please?" The man asked. "Just whenever you get a minute." 

"Sure thing. Do you need to-go cups?" 

"If you have time." 

Nodding, Wren bit her lip as she went to get four foam cups to fill with sweet tea before stopping by to pick up their check. She was mostly under control, her hands barely shaking, as she watched the evening shift manager coming to see what the ruckus was about. Her knees were shaking as she walked to the back tables, her mind swirled with one repeating thought: what am I going to do?

Setting the four cups down and placing the check face down on the table, she managed a weak smile. "Anything I can get for you before you go?" 

Four heads shook, the man fished in his wallet. "Let me get that tip for you." 

"It's okay, you can just leave it on the table." And please, save your religious pamphlet.

"No, no, here," He pulled out a few bills and handed them to her. "Didn't see the other table leave one, and you did as much for that table as you did ours." 

"I'm, uh, really sorry about all the, um, the noise." Wren pocketed the tip without looking it over, knowing it would be rude to count it right now. "We don't usually get that kind of stuff-" Her voice choked up as she saw the manager heading her way. 

"Hey, no problem, it happens." The mom said, giving her sympathetic smile as they stood up to leave. 

"Wren, I need to speak to you." Bill looked grouchier than usual as he motioned her towards the hostess station. 

"Um, enjoy your evening." Wren said, nodding towards the ticket. "You can take that up to the cashier and she'll take care of you." 

After a sound lecture on keeping her opinion to herself and being warned that he would not tolerate this kind of situation again, Bill somehow managed to refrain from firing her on the spot, though Wren couldn't help but wonder what was preventing him from doing so. He'd let other waitresses go for less.

She went to clean up the two tables, and wished, for once in her life, there was some greater power out there to ask for divine intervention. If there had been, she'd have asked the loud table not to return ever again.

It wasn't until she was in her car that Wren remembered the tip in her pocket. She pulled the money out and tried to make out the faces of the bills in the dim light. 

Eighty bucks glared up at her in the most joyous way such stern presidential faces could.

A couple weeks went by, and Wren felt her job might actually be secure for at least the rest of the month thanks to the constant flow of crowds and the lack of waitresses. Wren managed to keep a smile in place, though every rowdy table made her nerves twitch and her stomach twist up. She knew Bill was watching to catch her in just one more situation like that loud table, and she couldn't stomach getting into another religious debaucle. 

She'd just settlted in for another evening shift when she spotted a somewhat familiar face being seated by the hostess. The mother from the loud table was picking up her menu and giving it a quick look-over when Wren came by to bring her glass of sweet tea. 

 "Hi, are you ready to order?" Wren asked politely.

"Yes, I think so. I'll just take the pulled pork sandwich with macaroni and baked beans." She handed Wren the menu with a smile. "Do you by chance remember me?" 

Wren nodded. Eighty reminders that had turned into a full tank of gas and groceries for that week were hard to forget. 

"I was kind of hoping you'd be working today, I have to admit. We were afraid you might have lost your job." 

The concern was nice, even if it was from a stranger. "No, I managed to keep it. Thanks." Wren pulled the ticket with the hastily written order from the pad. "Let me just go turn this in-"

"Would you mind stopping back by after?" The woman asked, her eyes dimming. 

Hmm, this could be trouble. "Uh, sure, but I'll have to check a few tables first." 

"Of course, yes." The woman smiled again. "I don't want to keep you from your job, I just had a few questions I kind of wanted to ask." 

Wren nodded politely, eyeing her other tables. "Okay, well, I'll be back around when I can." 

The other tables ended up taking longer than Wren thought, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing. She appreciated the woman's kindness, but didn't want this churchy woman giving her a lecture. She didn't have the time or desire to hear about some loving God, her eternity in hell, or how she ought to find Christmas to be the perfect time to come to whatever church this woman attended. 

Finally, knowing the woman's order was ready, Wren went back. 

"I've got just a second before I need to get some to-go cups." Wren said, tucking her hands behind her back. 

"Okay, I'll be quick. When I was here last time, you said you didn't celebrate Christmas. Atheist or apathetic?" 

"Atheist, without any intention of changing my mind." 

"Ah, okay. Well, I wanted to apologize for the other table acting the way they did. They had no right to take out their feelings about Christmas, whether you agreed with them or not, on you and cause such a stink." The woman sighed. "It wasn't kind of them, and it certainly wasn't right of them to do as people who represent Christ." 

"I mean, I would have rather not have had to deal with that, but it is what it is." Wren shifted from foot to foot. 

"Well, either way, you didn't deserve that." 

Wren paused. "You're not going to try to change my mind?" 

"About?" The woman frowned up at her as if she genuinely didn't have a clue what Wren was talking about.

"About Christmas, about being an atheist... y'know, all of it?" 

The woman grinned and shook her head. "No." 

"Really?" 

"Would you listen if I tried?" 

Good point. Wren had heard enough people try to convince her to change, and no one had suceeded. 

"Besides, I've got to eat quickly. I'm on my way up to the hospital, and don't quite have time to debate whether or not you believe God exists." 

"Hospital... I'm sorry, I hope everything is okay." 

"Mm, well, we will see. My husband had a heart attack, and he's recovering from bypass surgery. My daughter is with him while I got something to eat." 

Wren's heart clenched in a most painful reminder. "My mom passed away because of a heart attack. I'm really sorry to hear that." 

"Thanks. Actually, he was the one who kept telling me we needed to get back here and check on you." The woman smiled. "He was pretty concerned, and if we hadn't been called out of town, would've been back much sooner." 

"I-I appreciate that. Tell him I said thanks." 

"Sure will." 

Wren looked down at the sandwich. "I, um, better let you get to eating then. Sounds like you have somewhere you need to be sooner rather than later." She escaped as fast as her feet would carry her to the break room to take a deep breath and get under control. She had a job to do, a job already in jeopardy, and she couldn't be crying all over the customers. 

Fifteen minutes later, Wren saw the woman cleaning her hands on a napkin and looking at her watch. Hurrying over with her ticket, Wren tried to find the right words to say. 

"Could you- well, would you tell your husband thanks for me? And thank you, too, of course. I really hope he recovers quickly, so you can enjoy your Christmas." Wren said, laying the ticket down. 

"I will. I hope you don't have anyone else come in giving you a hard time about Christmas." The woman sighed. "Whatever you're celebrating, if you do, I hope it's nice."

"Not really planning on doing anything, but thanks all the same." Wren paused just for a second. "You're really not going to try to invite me to a church or some Christmas party hoping I'll suddenly change my mind about everything?" 

"Nope. Like I said, you wouldn't listen if I did. You'll only change if you want to, and you've said you don't want to. No amount of arguing on my part is going to change anything. Have a good rest of the day." 

And with that, the woman left her tip on the table, and carried her ticket carefully to the cashier, and leaving Wren thoroughly confused. 

It wasn't like she couldn't change. 

Wren thought those words over again and again in her head through each day, every shift, as she kept her eyes sharp for the woman or her family. She could change if she wanted to, but she didn't want to. She didn't believe in God, and she didn't like Christmas. She didn't want to change. 

But something still kept nagging at her. The question of why she didn't like Christmas stayed pretty stuck in her head. 

After all, I don't think it would make sense to celebrate something so religious if I don't believe in religion, would it? But it couldn't be any weirder than being religious and not celebrating Christmas.

And why don't I like Christmas? Plenty of people aren't religious and celebrate it. We have Xmas and Santa. We don't have to have a religious celebration.

But there was something about that woman, about her husband and daughters. Wren was fairly certain that they would have a much more joyful celebration than anyone she knew, even with him recovering from a heart attack. 

She'd probably chalk it up to God. 

After all, wasn't that who most church people gave credit to? They all pinned everything on God and how happy God made them, even with bad stuff going on. It took a lot to believe some divine being somewhere, that couldn't even be seen, could keep one smiling even when life was falling apart. Wren couldn't imagine having to give credit to someone else when something good happened. It didn't make much sense that God couldn't keep bad things from happening, but should be given credit when good things happened, right? 

It didn't make sense. 

Part Two will be available December 22nd, 2021