Elizabeth had a spat with her ex - husband that morning.
             It wasn’t a huge quarrel: it wasn’t even a “quarrel” really. It was merely a… disagreement, a disagreement about who would keep the children. It was his weekend, of course, but ever since hooking up with his new girlfriend he kept pawning them off on her. Well, she wasn’t having it, but cussing over the phone – which was the circumstance in which the said “disagreement” occurred – set her back by five minutes. It was the cause of her getting stuck in rush hour traffic, dropping the children off late for school, and being a half hour late for work herself.

            Now at her workplace, Lem’s Café’, the incessant dings and chinks of clanging utensils, married with the blare of waitresses belting out their orders to cooks, who in turn bellowed back when the order was ready, did very little to cool her simmering blood.
            “Lizzie what’s the matter? You think I’m paying you for nothing?”
            Elizabeth glanced over at her boss. Was she really so out of it because of her ex? That man. What was the point of separating if, in divorce, he still stressed her out?
            “Lizzie.”
            “I heard you the first time Lem. No need to shout…again.”
            “Well get moving then. Daydreaming isn’t gonna get you paid. Be an airhead on your own time, not in my kitchen.”
            “O.k, O.k. I’m on it.”
An airhead? Elizabeth thought as she headed toward the connecting doors leading into the restaurant. Who does he think he is, my ex?
            “Liz,” Her stride faltered and she turned to face Lem again. “Table two wants a glass of water. Mandy was dealing with it but she’s too busy with other tables – like everyone else around here. Think you can handle that?”
            Elizabeth hated his condescending tone, but still she managed to curve her lips into an acquiescent smile, even as she raged from within. Then she meandered toward the isolated corner where the glasses were shelved.
           “Get him a menu while you’re at it,” he called to her retreating back.
           “Will do,” she said.
           With her back still to everyone, Elizabeth stood in the corner and peered at the glasses stacked on the vast aluminum shelves.  She reached for one then paused for a few seconds after obtaining it. Staring at nothing, she squeezed its circumference with her hand until her grasp was weakened by fatigue. She was so sick of being pushed around. 
            “Lizzie.”
            Quick as a whip, Elizabeth spat in the glass.
            “I’m coming Lem,” she said.

            Turning around, she hustled off to add water and ice to the saliva-tainted vessel, then she placed it on a tray, grabbed a menu, and sauntered out of the kitchen and into the restaurant.
             To Elizabeth’s amazement, she didn’t falter as she approached the table. Even more surprising was that with each step, her temper cooled. Upon reaching the customer, she was euphoric – the best she’d felt all morning.
            To her, that was all that really mattered.