♛: Sharing a dessert WeatherAtom?
Mark watches raindrops trickle down the diner windows with afatalistic sense of doom. His moods have always been easily influenced by theweather but it was never a problem until he got his powers and themeteosensitivity increased ten-fold; now he can barely get out of bed if it’sraining cats and dogs like today. He would have liked to simply stay in, curlinto his blankets and ponder the meaninglessness of life until it stoppedraining, but no such luck: he doubts his parole officer would take kindly toMark skipping his appointment simply because the weather sucks.
His only hope by now is sugar: while it doesn’t makeeverything alright, giving himself a sugar high sometimes pushes back thedepressing thoughts to a bearable minimum. So he watches the waitress approachhis table with something akin to hope; the spindly old woman stops at the boothnext to Mark’s and then turns to Mark with a sweet smile (Mark wonders how shecan look so happy when the world is such an awful place).
“Anything for desserts, honey?” she asks, pen already hovering over the beat-upnotepad in her hand.
“Chocolate soufflé, please.”
“Oh, darling,” her smile falls a little, “we’re fresh out, I’m sorry. Anythingelse I can get you?”
No soufflé. Great. Mark feels his throat tighten, and it’ssuch a stupid thing to be sad about, but he was really looking forward to meltychocolate goodness. But of course nothing can go right. Life just sucks, so whyshould it give him any breaks?
“No, thank you,” he mutters and stares at the half-empty glass of water sittingin front of him. She hovers for a few seconds, but then disappears withoutanother word.
Before Mark can decide to pay and walk into the rain becausewhat the hell does it matter if he gets pneumonia, someone’s sliding into hisbooth, across from him, and Mark briefly wonders if he’s become invisible – notthat he expects people to pay attention to him. Before he can even finish thatthought to its bitter end, something slides over the table and suddenly there’sa little ceramic bowl with…
Mark glances up and his eyes go wide. The guy across fromhim is smiling wide, like he’s just won the lottery, and there are tinybreadcrumbs sticking to his no-doubt expensive tie. Not that Mark knows muchabout expensive menswear: but it’s difficult not to recognize the face thatkeeps popping up on various magazine covers at least a couple times a year.
“I’m sorry,” he says and grins sheepishly at the dessert. “I overheard thatthey were out. You can have mine, if you want.”
Mark blinks at the puffy, slightly cracked crust and hismouth waters a little.
“I can’t take it,” he mutters and attempts to push it back – but Palmer isquick, stopping the movement from his side so that the little bowl ends upsomewhere in the middle of the table.
“Yes, you can. Or we can share, how about that?”
There’s something about that blinding smile that Mark wouldnormally hate in a mood like this: happy people always irk him when he’s upsetor moody or depressed, because it feels like he’s somehow failing at life,failing himself, because he feels somiserable for no good reason. But Palmer doesn’t tell him to smile, doesn’tmake stupid bargains like ‘I’ll give you this soufflé if you promise to feelbetter’, so Mark finds himself nodding, and Palmer beams even wider.
“Great. I’ll go get another spoon. Feel free to start without me,” he chucklesand slips out of the booth. Mark follows his long steps, feeling like he’ssomehow walked into a hallucination. Maybe someone slipped some drugs into hisfood – that would explain the weird, floaty, dream-like feeling.
But Palmer returns just a moment later, wielding a hugesmile and a tiny spoon, and he doesn’t have four heads or dragon wings, so Markassumes no hallucinogens were present in his meal.
And the soufflé’s all that Mark hoped it would be, runny andchocolatey and just this side of too sweet, too much, to improve his generaloutlook on the world at least a little. Palmer groans around his spoon almostobscenely, and a bit of the gooey center of the dessert gets stuck in thecorner of his mouth, and Mark can’t really look away at the raindrops anymore.
They don’t talk, but Palmer is still smiling by the timethey finish the tiny portion, and the random act of kindness kind of does makeMark feel a bit better.
And when Palmer asks if he could take Mark five blocks downto this place that has “a triplechocolate cake to die for, seriously, you’ll love it”, Mark finds that he doesn’twant to say no.
