Cajun Quarter, Pointe Bordeaux
March 18, 2016
Gareth ate his breakfast at a small restaurant, Serenade, in the Cajun Quarter, a family-owned eatery serving “the best pancakes in town”, as proclaimed by the sign resting just outside its doors. He’d come across it during his first week in Pointe Bordeaux, reading the large, chalky letters with a level of scepticism that prompted him to see if they told the truth, if not because he was curious then because he was starting to feel hungry. He’d entered the restaurant, dressed in jeans and a grey shirt, and was soon attended to by a plain young woman, no older than twenty, who placed him at a table near the restrooms, meekly apologising as she explained that the rest of the free tables were reserved.
Gareth smiled at her. “That’s okay,” he said, before pretending to browse the menu. “Is it okay if I order now?”
“Of course,” the waitress said, a little less meek now, a pinkish red colouring her cheeks. Gareth’s smile widened a fraction in thanks, and her cheeks deepened to crimson. He ordered their signature buttermilk and ricotta pancakes, along with poached eggs and avocado on toast in case he was still hungry afterwards. The waitress, whose nametag read
Delphine, departed with the menu to deliver his order.
He waited for his food, sipping on a cup of cold water she’d poured for him as he pretended to mull over his options, and ten minutes later she returned with two steaming plates of cuisine that looked like they belonged in a fine dining restaurant in the Carib Gardens, not here, in what was supposed to be a simple eatery run by a local Italian family.
Gareth thanked Delphine, then dug in. He was pleasantly surprised to find out that not only were the pancakes the best he’d ever eaten, but that the poached eggs and avocado on toast were to die for. He concluded that the food they served here was magic on a plate, and he made sure to let Delphine know as he paid the check in cash. Her cheeks went red again as she giggled, and she shyly told him that she hoped to see him here again.
And so here he was, three weeks into his stay at Pointe Bordeaux, eating his now regular meal of pancakes, poached eggs and avocado on toast as he watched slivers of rain drizzle on the street outside. Delphine came to his table to check that everything was okay, and they engaged in their routine small talk. Over time Gareth had gotten to know her, and as she revealed small things about herself he came to the conclusion that he liked her. A hyperhuman sympathiser living amongst a family of racist, conservative Italians, Delphine longed for the day that she could cut ties from them and their restaurant, trying her luck as a journalist in the big city. But for now, she explained, she was stuck here, in a generally unbearable job; unbearable, that is, until Gareth came along. She told him that the highlight of her day was when he came to eat his breakfast, when she could talk to a polite customer with an open mind, and, for the brief hour he was there, escape from the chaos that was her family.
But a few days earlier she’d expressed just how appreciative she was of him as she served his food. Swallowing past a lump in her throat, she asked him if he was free that night, and if he maybe wanted to go out for dinner with her, if, you know, he wanted.
For seconds he just stared at her, unsure if she was being serious, before looking down at his plate and saying, “I’m married.”
In that moment Delphine went redder than she ever had in his presence, apologised, and scurried away behind the counter, busily attending to the coffee machine although she’d already cleaned it but a few minutes earlier.
But that was Tuesday, and when Wednesday came Gareth made sure that she knew that there was no harm done.
It was now Friday. Gareth chewed slowly on his slice of pancake, savouring its maple syrup-covered sweetness for as long as possible. As she refilled his water, Delphine talked of the weather, and of the rally that was taking place at city hall.
“Are you going to go?” she asked, resting the jug of water back on his table.
It took a moment for him to answer. His mind was preoccupied. Ever since he entered Serenade this morning, he couldn’t help but feel that his doing so was the last time. He didn’t know what it was, but the more he thought about it, the more certain he became… but why? Why would today be the last day he spends eating here? Why would it be the last time he gets to speak with Delphine? He kept at asking himself these questions, shouting into the void, not expecting an answer – but eventually, he gave himself one.
He’d come to Pointe Bordeaux for one reason: to join a hyperhuman convoy in the hope of evading law enforcement for long enough to find a safe haven where he didn’t have to run from his past as Mindjack… or go back to it. He knew from the start that the longer he stayed, the more he risked getting caught. And now he was being given the chance to leave, the chance to search for a new home, where he wouldn’t getting prosecuted for being what he is, for trying to use his power to help people.
A convoy was in the city. He was sure of it. All he had to do was find it.
“No,” he answered, coming out of his trance, “No, I have somewhere else to be.”
When he finished his food, he paid the check and tipped Delphine. He was headed for his hotel, where he’d pack all his things and check out before starting his search.
As he handed his money to Delphine, he told her goodbye, and that she should take care of herself, knowing that she was unaware of the finality of his words.
With that he exited the restaurant, the lingering taste of maple and avocado the only relic of his time there, knowing that it, too, would soon be gone.
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