Flash Fiction by Lefki Karantoni

“You’re doing it again,” Linda said, sliding her tray onto the café table.

Maureen didn’t look up. She was busy rotating the little metal stand that held the menus, lining it up exactly with the edge of the sugar bowl. She adjusted it a fraction, then a fraction more.

“Third time this week,” Linda continued, unwrapping her cheese sandwich. “We’ve got the whole place to ourselves and you still pick the wonky table by the window.”

“It’s not very wonky,” Maureen replied calmly. “And it’s got the best light. Plus, all the chair legs are even. I checked.”

Linda took a bite and watched her friend rearrange the salt and pepper shakers into a perfect triangle. The café was empty except for the bored girl behind the counter who was pretending to wipe the same spot on the fridge door.

Maureen finally sat back, satisfied. “There. Now it’s right.”

“You’ve been dragging me here all the time since Derek passed,” Linda said gently. “They’re going to start charging us rent.”

Maureen gave the menu stand one last tiny nudge. “Better than sitting at home listening to the clock.”

The two women ate in silence for a while. Linda’s sandwich crunched louder than it should have. Maureen sipped her tea slowly.

Eventually Linda sighed. “Next time I’m picking the table.”

Maureen smiled for the first time all morning, small and dry. “We’ll see.”

She reached over and straightened Linda’s plate by half an inch.

The End

Text © Lefki Karantoni