Eight walkers, one winding line, and several opinions about lunch.
Lunch had been delayed by a shoe.
The shoe belonged to Max, who stood at the end of the family holding Grandpa’s hand and examining his loose lace.
“It keeps coming undone.”
“That’s because you’ve tied it into a wish,” Grandpa said.
He set down his canvas bag and bent to make a proper knot. A paper parcel rustled inside. Max sniffed.
“Is that lunch?”
“Emergency supplies.”
“I’m having an emergency.”
“You’ve been outside for six minutes.”
Max considered this. “It’s developing quickly.”
The Long Table
They set off again: Grandma, Lily, Dad, Sam, Mum, Rose, Grandpa, and Max. Eight people linked by seven pairs of hands, with Grandpa’s bag swinging from his shoulder.
The line bent around a lamppost. Grandma’s red scarf lifted in the breeze, and Lily hopped over a pavement crack without releasing either hand. Somewhere ahead, onions sizzled behind an open café window.
“Pizza,” said Sam.
“Noodles,” said Lily.
“Soup,” said Grandma.
Dad looked along the line. “We’re finding one place.”
“A very long place,” Mum said.
Rose tilted her head back toward her. “Can my lunch be a pancake?”
“You had pancakes for breakfast.”
“I know. They were good.”
Behind Grandpa, Max stepped carefully over another crack. His knot held.
“I vote for something we can reach before dinner.”
The Menu
Outside the café, they folded themselves into a loose semicircle around a menu board. Grandpa’s bag brushed Dad’s elbow. Warm bread smelled faintly through the paper.
Sam found pizza. Lily found noodles. Grandma found soup.
Dad brightened. “There. Everybody gets what they want.”
Mum peered through the window. Two small tables were free, one beside the door and one behind a large pot plant.
“Four here, four there,” Dad said.
“Which four?” asked Lily.
“We’ll work it out.”
Rose squeezed Mum’s hand. “Am I behind the plant?”
“Only if you’re growing,” said Grandpa.
Max rose on his toes to inspect the window. “Can the plant sit with the other four?”
Dad looked at the tables again. He pictured passing Rose’s plate around the leaves, then carrying someone else’s drink across the room.
“Let’s keep walking.”
Grandma glanced at Grandpa’s bag. “How far do you think your emergency supplies will stretch?”
“Depends how much everybody argues before the first bite.”
Eight Places
At the little park, Grandpa opened his bag beneath a tree. The folded picnic blanket came out first, followed by sandwiches, oranges, and a flask of water.
“You brought a whole lunch,” Dad said.
“I’ve walked with this family before.”
Mum spread the blanket over the grass. Its corners curled until the children put their shoes beside them. Dad sat down, then shifted his knee so Lily could settle next to Grandma. Sam moved the sandwiches into the middle, where everybody could reach.
Rose patted the space beside her for Max. He dropped onto it with a sigh normally reserved for people returning from the mountains.
“Made it.”
The grass smelled damp beneath the blanket. Paper crackled as Grandpa opened the parcels; a little mustard had escaped onto one corner.
Grandma took that sandwich.
“Mine’s trying to leave.”
“Hold it firmly,” said Max. “We’ve walked far enough.”
Any Objections?
For a while, the only discussion concerned who had taken two orange pieces and whether two halves counted as one sandwich.
Dad leaned back on his hands. “So. Is everybody happy with lunch?”
Sam nodded with his mouth full. Lily offered Grandma another napkin. Rose was peeling a corner of crust from her sandwich and placing it neatly beside her shoe.
“No pizza complaints?” Dad asked.
Sam swallowed. “I’m still thinking.”
Grandpa lifted the last wrapped sandwich from the bag.
“Anyone want this?”
Sam’s hand went up.
“Thinking makes me hungry.”
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