Saturday's Storyteller: "Personally, I prefer pandas."

by Belinda Roddie

"Personally, I prefer pandas," remarked Jenny as she perused the teddy bear-patterned pajamas in front of her, neatly folded and tagged. Her sister, Gina, rolled her eyes.

"Well, good luck finding panda pajamas in half a hour," she replied. "We need to meet up with Dad at the restaurant by six. No later. Remember?"

Jenny lifted a sleeve of the pajama shirt before lethargically letting it drop. Despite her usual sass and wit, she seemed much more worn out than usual. She had taken on more hours at work, and the stress was certainly affecting her physically. Gina could almost swear that the number of bags under her sister's eyes had doubled since she last saw her.

The restaurant that the two women planned to meet their father at was a childhood favorite, an independent little diner called Lassie's that always gave its patrons a free slice of pie if they ordered both a soda and an entree. Gina hadn't been able to get enough of the chocolate satin pie, so she always ordered the fettucine plate even when, as of late, the alfredo sauce had been thin and watery and bland and the pasta overcooked. This time, she could stay away from the pie, if it meant she could simply enjoy a burger or a sandwich without feeling bloated from lackluster carbohydrates. Jenny, of course, would probably only have a salad. As usual.

"Protein could give you more energy," Gina reminded her as they departed from the clothing store, swinging a bag that contained two pairs of waist-hugging jeans against her left hip. "Seriously, could you at least have a chicken dish or something?"

"Sounds fowl."

Gina ignored the dismissive pun.

***

"Waiting for someone?" the waiter asked Mister Jerry Atgold, as the latter drummed his fingers against the table. The ice was starting to liquefy in his pint of beer.

"Yes. I'll call you over when I'm ready."

The chubby, spiky-haired server nodded before trotting off to cater to an old couple, the woman complaining loudly about not having enough saltine crackers for her southwestern corn bisque. Jerry sighed and stuck a stained finger into his beard, twirling at a loose tuft of hair. Gina and Jenny were most likely still meandering the mall, while he waited for another fifteen minutes until he could order a pizza to go with his drink. So far, however, the heavy stout hadn't done much to settle his stomach.

He was not exactly sure how to break the news to them. Jerry had been divorced from his wife for quite some time, and she had long since traveled to Florida with two suitcases and a new scrawny hubby tucked under her beefy arm. Most likely they were off motorboating in the Atlantic while he was sitting in Lassie's, the ceiling lights so white that they were almost sterilizing. The glaring neon "Open" in metallic cursive didn't soothe his head or eyes, either.

Jerry picked up his pint glass and impulsively tilted it from side to side. Not enough to spill any of the mediocre beer, but enough so the last remaining shrapnel of ice brushed the sides of the glass like snow hitting a fogged up, amber window. He had asked Matthew not to come. It would not have been appropriate at this time. Not with Jenny looking like death ever since she took up a managerial position at the convenience and losing livelihood in her cheeks and smile each time she catered to an extra furious entitled customer.

Sticking his right hand in his jacket pocket, he raised his head at the sound of high heels and saw Gina sashaying toward him, an obviously tired Jenny in tow. Gina smiled and set her bag down gently against her chair before sitting down.

"Hi, Dad," she said. "Ordered yet?"

"No," Jerry replied. "I was waiting for you."

Gina ordered a margarita, Jenny a water. The three did not say anything to one another until the waiter came back with drinks. They only spoke to give their orders - a deep dish for Jerry, a mushroom and avocado burger for Gina, and, surprise, a salad for Jenny. By the time the waiter turned away from the table, Gina was glancing at her father over the salted brim of her drink.

"So, Dad," she said. "It's not a holiday. My birthday's not for two weeks. Jenny's birthday was six months ago. Christmas is long gone. What's the celebration?"

Jerry sighed and started pulling at his graying beard again. His stomach ached for the pizza. He ached to be home. He was already regretting this set-up.

"It's not exactly a celebration, per say," he admitted. "I actually wanted to talk to you two about something."

He smelled pepperoni and watched as the deep dish was set in front of him. The salad was second, burger third.

"You remember Matthew Gunn from my previous job, correct?"

Gina raised her eyebrow as she raised her burger to her lips. "Yeah? How's he been?"

"He's..." Jerry squirmed. "He's been fine. In fact, he's been living with me."

He looked at Jenny. He couldn't tell if she was confused or her eyes were simply glazing over.

"We've started a partnership."

Gina set down her burger. The teeth marks on a protruding wedge of avocado were prominent in the blaring light of the diner. For the time, Jerry realized how small his oldest daughter's teeth were.

"So..." She clicked her tongue. "A business partnership?"

"Don't be facetious, Gina," Jenny mumbled with a leaf of lettuce stuck between her molars. "A partnership. A love partnership."

***

Matthew sat on the couch in Jerry's apartment with a bowl of macaroni and cheese on his lap. The pasta was cold, and the cheese was coagulated. Somehow, he felt a sudden chill despite it being seventy degrees outside.

"Yep," he said with a sigh. "Jerry's dropped the bi-bomb on his daughters."

On the TV, a cartoon was squealing at Matthew. The main character, funnily enough, was a talking panda.

This week's prompt was provided by Arden Kilzer.