Simone
SIMONE
S imone thought she might eat her lunch outside today and decided on a particular park bench only an eight-minute walk away from the school.
She entered the staffroom to retrieve her packed lunch only to stop short when her phone vibrated twice. She had a message from someone.
Remy
Hey, I’m at Shokupan getting a sandwich for lunch. Want one?
With her hand still holding the fridge’s door handle, Simone frowned.
Remy’s message was both concise yet vague.
Was she offering to not only buy Simone lunch but deliver it to her as well?
Simone had always wanted to try the famed Japanese milk-bread sandwiches at Shokupan, but how would she return the seven pounds the sandwich costs?
Would she offer Remy ten pounds and tell her to keep the change?
Or would she have to scoop pound coins into Remy’s open palms?
Was it simply a case of the next round being on Simone, and would she then have to organize said next round?
It struck Simone how obvious the solution might be to other women her age, to women with friends.
Simone often caught her colleagues leaving school grounds and returning at the end of the hour; she doubted they were always eating alone because whenever Simone did eat her lunch in the park, she never spotted her colleagues.
Lunch alone, every day, was likely not the norm for anyone else.
“Another salad at your desk, See-mone?” Martha asked.
Simone lifted her eyes from her phone and her hand from the fridge. “No, actually,” she said, and a slight frisson went up her back when she added, “I’m meeting a friend for lunch.”
Fifteen minutes later, Simone was seated on a different park bench under a tree waiting for Remy. While she waited, Simone used the time to consider possible protocol.
Remy had already been at the sandwich shop, likely standing in the queue, when she’d messaged, and Simone had replied with the name of the park and “Yes, I’ll join you for lunch.” However, she didn’t hear again from Remy until she replied saying she was seven minutes away.
Simone had brought her salad just in case Remy arrived with only a sandwich for herself, which is what she assumed when Remy failed to ask what kind of sandwich Simone would want.
Was Simone meant to have looked up the menu online (admittedly she’d done this two months ago when Shokupan had opened, even going so far as to decide that she’d get either the Cauliflower Satay or the Prawn Sambal whenever she made time to visit) and then message Remy her order?
But that would imply Simone expected Remy to pay for her lunch.
Therefore, the logical thing to assume was that Remy had bought only one sandwich.
Yet, that action didn’t quite match the person who had shown up at her front door with a birthday cake and four hours of her time.
Simone’s theory that this would be outside Remy’s character was proved correct when Remy ambled up the path with a paper bag big enough to house two generously filled sandwiches.
Simone curiously watched the ease with which Remy sat beside her, smiled, and said, “Hey, Simone,” before delving into the paper bag on her lap. As if what they were doing today was something of a ritual between them.
“They had a lot of options,” Remy said, pulling out the sandwiches. “My phone didn’t have any signal in there, so I chose two for us to share—I hope you don’t mind.”
Simone said, “No, I don’t mind,” and surreptitiously closed her bag so Remy wouldn’t spot the container of salad.
“I remembered that, at Mantl, the waiter asked if we had any allergies he should know about and you said no,” Remy said, “and that you’ve mentioned you like lemongrass, lime juice over your salads, and the combination of peanut butter and dates, so I got us the Cauliflower Satay with roasted cauliflower, peanut sauce, date chutney, and some lime dressing on the salad.
” Remy handed one half to Simone. “Then I got the Prawn Sambal,” she continued, inspecting the filling of the sandwich half in her hand, “which has a lemongrass aioli, pickles, and crispy onions. There’s a lot of other stuff in there too—look at the size of them!
But those are the main flavors I remember. ”
Remy was too preoccupied with the abundant contents of her sandwich to catch Simone staring at her in amazement. She managed to recover just in time for Remy to turn to her. Simone gulped quietly and said, “Thank you, Remy. They sound great.”
What were the chances Remy would select, out of Shokupan’s extensive menu, the two sandwiches Simone had wanted to try?
But it wasn’t luck or coincidence. Remy had taken the time to consider what Simone might like based on all the conversations they’d ever had.
Her brain had stored details that Simone would consider disposable.
She had never considered that Remy was mentally pocketing her preferences to use at a later date.
Perhaps Remy never even meant to, and her brain was simply a sponge by default, soaking up information about people she spent time with.
Simone chose not to think any further—Remy was already making quick work of her sandwich—and took a bite of hers instead.
Simone took in Remy’s oversized jumper and considered asking her about whether she was any closer to making a decision, but Remy looked so content this afternoon, Simone did not want to ruin the mood.
They were truly an unlikely pairing; Simone would have decided what to do days after receiving the news, yet here was Remy, comfortably plodding along.
Instead, they spent the next forty minutes alternating between light conversation and comfortable silence.
Both sandwiches were absolutely delicious.