One Thursday Evening by Hannah Montante (California, 25)

          Every Thursday night at 7, Cecilia and Eliza went to the local diner. They rarely
discussed it. No other establishment was ever considered (except for that one time the restaurant
was unexpectedly closed for fumigation). It was the way things were.
          One Thursday evening, Cecilia arrived at the restaurant one minute before the hour,
expecting to see Eliza in their usual booth. Instead, an elderly couple had planted themselves
there. Cecilia frowned. Had she mixed up the days?
          But no, she hadn’t. It was Thursday. She knew this because they had served tamales for
lunch at work that afternoon, which they did every Thursday.
          ​“Excuse me,” she said to the nearest hostess. “Have you seen a girl about yea high — she
held up her hand — with brown curly hair? Big glasses?”

          “Sorry, I don’t think so, ma’am. Can I put your name down while you wait?”
          ​First, Cecilia did not appreciate the girl’s use of ma’am since she had only just turned 24, and secondly, she would not put her name down because her friend Eliza was many things, but she was never late.
          “No, thank you,” she said. Where could she be?
          She decided to check the ice cream parlor down the street, which was where they usually
went after dinner.
          When she arrived, a familiar face was standing out front, but not the one she’d hoped to
see. She tried not to make eye contact.
          “Oh, Cecilia! It’s been so long. This is my husband.” The woman gestured to the man standing beside her, who wasn’t paying much attention to the interaction. Cecilia didn’t know what to say.
          “Oh, hi. It’s nice to see you.” She paused. “I’ve been meaning to call about an appointment; I’ve just been so busy,” she lied.
          “No worries! You can set something up with my office any time,” the woman said.
          “Thank you! Nice to see you,” Cecilia replied, plastering on a smile. She opened the door to the shop.
          “How many?” the hostess asked.
          “Oh…” She glanced around at the pink upholstered booths and chairs but didn’t see Eliza. “Just one.”
          “Right this way,” the girl said, and Cecilia followed. She was seated at a small table in the corner, next to a family of four kids smacking each other with menus. The parents failed to notice, or at least care.
          “What would you like?” said a smiling waitress, laying a pink menu in front of her.
          “Just water for now,” Cecilia answered. As she waited for her water to arrive, she perused the menu as if she hadn’t looked at it a million times before.
          “I’m so glad you made it,” a voice said nearby.
          Startled, Cecilia lifted her head and spotted a man with thick brown hair sitting in the booth across from her, looking in her direction. There wasn’t anyone else at his table.
          “Yeah, I’m talking to you,” he said with a laugh. “Are you alone there?” He scratched his earlobe.
          “Yeah,” Cecilia replied quietly.
          “What are you doing?” He smiled.
          “Just waiting for my friend. In case she shows up.” She tucked her hair behind her ears.
          Suddenly, a confused expression overcame him. He tapped his ear. “Sorry, are you talking
to me?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
          She could see clearly now — a tiny device was hanging around his earlobe.
          “Oh, sorry,” she said, her face reddening. “I thought you were, um, I have to…” She rushed out of the booth and onto the pavement outside, letting out a big sigh. She was surprised to see that it was already dark.
          It was always later that Cecilia remembered to check the places where things belonged. After all, Eliza only lived a block down the street from her. It wouldn’t take too long to check if she was home.
          When she arrived at the house, the porch light was on. Cecilia knocked once, then again,
hesitantly.
          “Hey,” Eliza said, the front door swinging open immediately. She smacked the gum in her mouth. “How was your night?”
          “What happened?” Cecilia asked.
          “What do you mean?”
          “You didn’t come to dinner.”
          ​“I was on a date,” Lisa said. “I thought I told you.”
          ​But instead of asking how it went or saying, “How silly of me,” as one might do, all Cecilia could formulate was, “Oh. See you later.” Then she turned around, back down the steps and into the darkness.



Hannah Montante is a writer and singer-songwriter who likes to write about quirky characters and semi-true events.