Short Stack of Fate

By George on

 


At 8:42 a.m. on a Wednesday, the IHOP off Exit 23 was running at peak syrup capacity.

At one table sat Marla, staring down at her pancakes like they were a jury she needed to sway. She wasn’t eating; she was plotting. Divorce was on her mind—not in a bitter way, but in the same way someone might plan a kitchen remodel: “Messy, expensive, but boy, the end result will be worth it.” She’d been married to Carl for twelve years, and for the past two, he had been, in her opinion, about as exciting as cold toast. She absently stabbed her short stack and thought, I’ll keep the dog, the blender, and the good coffee mugs. Carl can have the treadmill he never uses.

One booth away, Stan was swiping on his phone with the intensity of a man assembling a bomb. His dating app bio said he was “adventurous, spontaneous, and financially stable” — which was 33% true. Between bites of omelette, he muttered, “No… no… definitely no… oh, wow—yes… oh, nope, she likes hiking.” He longed for “the one” but wasn’t sure if “the one” actually existed or was just an urban myth, like honest used car salesmen.

They didn’t notice each other until the waitress, Sheila, accidentally brought Stan’s pancakes to Marla’s table. Marla looked up at him, eyebrow raised, while Stan said, “Those are mine… unless you’re into banana pancakes, in which case, maybe we should talk.”

Marla smirked. “I’m actually planning to be single soon.”

Stan blinked. “Perfect. I’m planning to not be single soon.”

Sheila, sensing fate (or at least a good tip), slid the pancakes to the another booth next to them. “Why don’t you two just share them?”

And that’s how, over an awkward plate of banana pancakes, Marla started thinking maybe she’d wait one more week before calling a divorce lawyer… and Stan started thinking maybe “the one” could be her.

Location: Missouri, USA

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