Pascal’s Problem

Pascal had a problem to solve and he pondered over his options at breakfast by the window of the cafe that was a minute’s walk from his apartment. He looked out the window, not wanting to hurry, hoping to find some inspiration outside. But it being a grey September working day, the few figures using the sidewalk rushed past and only served to snap off his thoughts. When he allowed his thoughts to return to breakfast – black tea, plain omelette and toast with St. Dalfour’s jam – it seemed to him that he was not making any progress and was nowhere nearer to a solution. Then the waitress’ voice came out of a fog and reached him.

“Is the food okay, sir?”

Pascal raised his eyebrows and turned his head to her, instinctively shaking his head and indicated that No, no, all good.

The pretty waitress, wearing her strawberry colored hair up in a neat bun and revealing her clean, unblemished neck, went away unconvinced.

Pascal returned to his piece of paper on which he’d written the problem and took a thoughtful bite of his toast.

Rene walked into the cafe and headed straight to the counter, looking forward to his morning interaction with the pretty waitress, the same one Pascal had barely noticed. So it was that he walked up to the counter and waited patiently for her to turn back and face him. When she did, she found a smiling Rene.

“Hi. Good morning.”

“Good morning. How are you?”

“Fine. You’d like the usual?”

“Yes please.”

“Ok, take a seat. I’ll bring breakfast over.”

Turning away with a pleasant flutter in his tummy, Rene discovered a familiar face seated by the window, head down over breakfast. He walked over and sat opposite Pascal, who looked up, a little disappointed.

“What is it?”

“Nothing. Good morning.”

“Yeah, it is a good morning every time she comes over”, Rene said with a jerk of the head towards the counter.

Pascal followed Rene’s gaze to the waitress. She? Was he talking about her?

“Lovely isn’t she?”

“Hmmh.”

“What’s your problem?”

“Trying to solve a problem. Two options. Can’t decide.”

“Maybe I can help.”

“Here’s breakfast,” the waitress arrived with breakfast.

“Thank-you Renata,” Rene of course knew her name. “By the way, that’s a lovely necklace you’re wearing. My Aunty – ”

Here Pascal raised his head and gave a puzzled stare in Rene’s direction. The latter, blissfully ignorant of his friend, had his entire focus on the girl in the mauve uniform, who seemed genuinely taken aback by the compliment – “…was speaking about necklaces yesterday evening and I couldn’t help notice the unique design of yours. Is it by any chance made in Italy?”

Pascal hadn’t noticed that she was wearing a necklace.

“Yes, that’s right Monsieur – was it Rene?- yes, Rene. How did you guess?”

“My Aunty gave me a long…,” – Pascal’s eyebrows knitted and he seemed to be trying to understand how his lonely, silent table had suddenly become the hub for a budding romance. He sat back, allowing the puzzled stare to remain on his face, easily noticeable if anyone had glanced in his direction –

“… a long lecture about necklaces and bracelets and I gathered that the best kind were usually from Italy. But honestly,” – Pascal noticed that the conversationalists appeared to have forgotten about him – “…I have no idea about these things and how it all works. Only noticed that yours look lovely.”

What was that? A faint blush appeared on the girl’s face – Pascal could clearly see it- and it was matched by a godawful sheepish smile on Rene’s. Pascal stopped thinking momentarily, feeling like the tide ran out suddenly and he was stationary, grounded unmoving on a sandbar. Were sparks actually flying between those two, then and there? In that cafe, at his breakfast table?

“It belonged to my late mother,” the girl said. “I wore it today because it’s the anniversary of her passing and I wanted to remember her.”

A look of compassion came over Rene and he glanced briefly at Pascal, then turned to her again. What was the name again? Renata. He asked her out. Right there. She accepted.

Pascal shook his head in amusement and, in his heart, wished them the best of luck. What was it that he had been vexing about before all this?

photo from unsplash.com by Petr Sevcovic