A Little Fiction for You

The following is based on a writing prompt about 2 women in a cafe' talking. I'm searching for a title - What do you think I should call it?

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“You know, I really don’t know what to do,” Sheila said as she dragged her finger through the condensation on her water glass.

Marie looked at her, her brow lightly furrowed with concern. “Okay, but you do have to do something. Anything.” She picked up her own water glass and took a long swallow then set it back down. “I mean, even if all you do is walk in and look him in the eye, steady for ten seconds, you know, hold your ground, well, then that’s something. Right?” She raised her eyebrows in an effort to look positive, even though she wasn’t, and supportive, even though she felt completely used up.

Sheila took a deep breath and let it out. “Look him in the eye,” she muttered. “For ten seconds. Hold my ground.” She snorted. “Maybe.”

A waitress walked over to their table, her fifty-something hair and make-up arriving a second ahead of her. “Ladies?” she said and gave them a well practiced, worn out smile. “My name is Estelle. What can I get for you this evening?”

“Cob salad, hold the egg, exchange the bacon for turkey bacon, house dressing on the side,” Marie replied without giving the woman a second look.

“Advice,” Sheila said and flushed as soon as the word was out of her mouth.

Estelle stopped writing Marie’s order on her pad and tilted her head to regard Shelia. “Man, money, love, job, dog, what?” sbe asked.

Sheila swallowed. “Yes.”

Estelle blinked. “He got money?”

“No.”

“Got a job?”

“No.”

“Dog?”

“Yes.”

“Dog listen to you?”

“Yes.”

“That’s easy then, honey. Kick the man to the curb and keep the dog. The dog knows what side his bread’s buttered on. You feed him, give him a good home, teach him who he can count on and watch how he keeps that man out of your house.”

“The dog’s a female.”

“Makes no never mind. Better even. She knows what you goin’ through. She’s been watchin’”

“I told her to stare him in the eye,” Marie put in. “For at least ten seconds.”

Estelle looked at Marie and nodded, then she turned back to Sheila. “Your friend’s right. Stand your ground. Nothing like long hard eye contact to put men and dogs in their place. They get that. Makes sense to them.”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been good at those staring games. My eyes water the moment I try.”

“Look,” Estelle said and put her hands on her hips, boney, sharp things that poked out from her waist like armor. “Is he gonna stay if you do nothin’?”

“Probably,” Sheila replied softly.

“Oh, you know he will, Sheila!” Marie snapped, her limit nearly reached.

“That what you want? Him around all the time? Loafin’? Eatin’ your food? Messin’ your house? Addin’ to your list of things to be done every day and not helpin’?”

Sheila stared at the waitress and shook her head.

“Then you’re gonna have to do it. Otherwise he’s gonna fester in your soul.”

Sheila’s lips parted, her eyes wide. “He’s…he’s…he’s my son. He could never fester…”

The waitress rolled her eyes. “Honey, even the good ones can fester. You made him a good home, sounds like. Too good. He don’t want to leave. You got to be like a mother hawk. Push him outta the nest and make him fly. Stand your ground on the edge of your home and dare him to settle back down there.”

“Oh Sheila, the woman’s right. Kick him out already.”

“Pack his bags," Estelle continued. "Put them outside, walk him to the front door, hand the boy $300 and push him out. You stand in that doorway, you and that dog, and you look him in the eye and dare him to come back in. Tell him you love him. More now than the day he was born. But he was born, his rent on your body was done after nine months and he was out. Now he’s…”

“Thirty-two,” Marie sighed and shook her head.

Estelle looked down at Sheila and gave her a serious once-over. “The man’s thirty-two and you’re still taken care of him. Now that’s enough, honey. You tell him you love him, but you and the dog got things to do, people to see, and places to go, and so does he. It’s time for him to fly the nest and make something of himself. Then you stand there and you don’t let him back in your house. Stare him. And watch how that dog backs you up like nobody’s business. Cause she knows. She knows what he’s doin’ and I bet my paycheck she don’t like it either.”

“You know what?” Marie scooted her chair back and reached down for her purse. “Forget the salad,” she said, and pulled her wallet out and rifled through the bills tucked inside. “Here.” She slid a fifty across the table toward the waitress. “That should cover your time.” She turned to the other woman. “Sheila, get up.” She snapped the wallet shut and shoved it back into her purse. “Come on. Get up. I’ve had enough of this.” She reached over and dragged Sheila up out of her chair.

“Marie, wait.”

“No. No more waiting. I’ve spent years waiting for you to do this. Years, Sheila. I love you, but I’ve just about had it. He’s thirty-two for God’s sake.” She shook her head hard when Sheila tried to speak. “No. He’s your son, I know, but he’s my nephew and I can’t stand to watch him do this stupid thing to either of you any more.” She pulled Sheila in by the arm and pointed at Estelle. “The woman is right. She’s right, she’s right, she’s right. Enough is enough. I’m taking you home and we’re packing him out of there.” She turned back to the waitress. “Thank you.”

Estelle nodded, smiled. “Certainly.”

Sheila blinked and whispered, “Thank you,” as Marie escorted her out of the café.

Estelle looked down at the fifty lying on the table. She reached out and tried to touch it. Her fingers passed right through the bill, left it rocking ever so slightly in the ethereal breeze of her translucent fingers. “Certainly,” she said again.

She put her pad back in her pocket and turned away, walked past a young waitress keying in orders at a side kiosk and touched her lightly on the shoulder. The girl turned and looked around but no one was there. She glanced at the table she had just seated and saw that the two older women were gone.

“Hey, Shelly,” she called to the other young woman waiting tables. “Table seven’s vacated.”

“Great. I needed that table.”

Shelly finished serving her customers and then went to clear the used water glasses and wet napkins. The fifty was resting against one of the glasses, the edge of it wet from the condensation dripping down the glass.

“Holy crap,” she whispered and then added “Thank you,” to no one in particular.

“Certainly.”

She turned around, but no one was there.