For the first part, go here.

Just as she had on all her birthdays, Carolina waited on her grandmother.  This time, her dress was pink and fitted, with a sweetheart bodice and cut on the bias so it swirled around her knees when she walked.   Although she would have never dared to do it in public, at home she had twirled and twirled, pirouetting across her bedroom so the dress fluttered around her in pink silken waves.

Carolina stared at the paintings of pies and cookies and cakes in jaunty colors and quick brush strokes and gazed at the crystal chandelier twinkling above her.  Glancing at her watch, she frowned.  She may be Evette’s granddaughter, which is the only reason she’d been able to leave school every day to have lunch with her grandmother for the past 12 years, but she still had to go to class.  And if her grandmother didn’t hurry, she would be late.

As if sensing her mood, Josh held out a pink plate covered in petite fours.  “She’ll be here.  Don’t worry.  It’s your birthday, after all!”  Smiling as she took a tiny pink iced square, he teased, “So what will we have today?  Chicken fingers and macaroni and cheese?  Perhaps you’ll be adventurous and have creme brulee for dessert, or iced tea instead of fruit juice!”  He laughed, taking a chocolate petite four for himself.

Carolina blinked, nibbling on the sweet cake.  “What do you mean?”

Josh popped the entire cake in his mouth, brushing crumbs off his grey mustache.  “Carolina, dear, it was simply a joke.  You’re just such a creature of habit. Most children come here and choose something different every day–it’s all we can do to keep them to a few things on the menu!  I’ve never seen someone as steady and predictable as you.  For 12 years, it’s been chicken fingers and macaroni and cheese with a glass of fruit juice, a side of fruit salad and two peanut butter cookies for dessert.”

“I like chicken fingers and macaroni and cheese,” Carolina muttered, glancing in alarm at her sticky fingers.  Handing her a napkin, Josh shook his head.

“And there’s no reason you shouldn’t.  I just thought it was funny, that’s all.  I mean, the Comfort Menu offers roasted turkey, chicken pot pie, prime rib, thick club sandwiches with slabs of bacon, pancakes, waffles, hamburgers, fried chicken, baked fish, meatloaf, slow cooked beef tips and rice…and you get chicken fingers and macaroni and cheese.  You could get that anywhere.”  He shrugged.  “It’s like going to a fancy restaurant and getting a salad instead of the garlic butter infused filet mignon.  I mean, our dessert menu has creme brulee, flan, ice cream, macaroons, cobbler, pie, even peanut butter pie with truffle shavings…and you get two peanut butter cookies.”

“But if you like the salad…” Carolina protested, her cheeks burning.  “What’s wrong with a little stability?  Everything is always changing and becoming different?  What if you want things to stay the same sometimes?”

“The more birthdays you have, the more you’ll learn that everything changes, even when you think it’s the same,” Josh advised, popping another petite four in his mouth.  “No dish of macaroni and cheese is ever identical to the last.  No day is the same as the day before that.”

Carolina raised an eyebrow.  “You should try high school.”

Snorting with laughter, Josh’s eyebrows leaped off his forehead as he accidently inhaled part of his petite four.  Politely ignoring his choking and gagging, Carolina turned as Emmaline, the elderly waitress who had been bringing her chicken fingers and macaroni and cheese since her sixth birthday, popped her head in the lobby.

“Miss Carolina, Miss Evette said she will be late,” Emmmaline drawled, her wrinkled face puckered with worry.  Her white curls were held back with two sparkling barrettes that glittered as her head shook.  “Should I get your table ready, my dear?  I know you have English in forty five minutes.”

“Why do they make children study English in schools?”  Josh grumbled, his face red and sweating from the petit four’s attack.  “I mean, we’re in America.  What else are we going to speak?”

Emmaline rolled her eyes, ignoring him.  “Chicken fingers, macaroni and cheese, fruit salad, two peanut butter cookies and fruit punch, dear?  The usual?”

Carolina stared down at her pink sparkly sandals, at her pink nails.  Running her hand through her long blond hair, she raised her eyes to a swirling depiction of a giant cupcake on the wall.  Her gaze moved from one door to the other.  The stable black font of Comfort, versus the swirling gold letters of Whimsy.

“Maybe I am dull,” she murmured, her eyes locked on the door labeled whimsy.  “Maybe I do need a change.”

Emmaline’s eyes widened, her wrinkled mouth drawing into a tiny bow.  “Oh, Miss Carolina, no one says you need to change.”

Josh shrugged, holding a cheesecake petite four to his lips.  “But we’re not saying you can’t either.  Why don’t you try the fried chicken?  Or perhaps the meatloaf?”

“If she’s going to get anything, she should get the roasted turkey and spiced apples,” Emmaline argued, her white curls bouncing around her head.  “Or perhaps the chicken pot pie with the biscuits and jam.”

“Boring.”  Josh yawned.

“Just because some of us prefer not to eat pad thai or raw fish”–

“California rolls are not raw fish, Emmaline.  And not all of us want to eat meatloaf every Monday and baked chicken every Tuesday.”

Emmaline sniffed, crossing her arms over her cherry dotted apron.  “I’m with Carolina.  Knowing what you’re eating every day is comforting.  It’s one less thing to think about, one less thing to worry about.  And when you’ve had a bad day, you know a delicious meal of your favorite things is waiting for you.”

Josh rolled his eyes.  “There’s no adventure in that,” he groaned.  “There’s no whimsy, no freedom, no excitement.  It’s like going to your grandmother’s house every day.  For lunch it’s tuna salad and chips, dinner is roasted chicken with mashed potatoes.  What if you want fish tacos, or a guacamole burger?”

Emmaline gasped.  “Why would you ever ruin a burger with guacamole?”

“My point.”  Josh held up another petite four in salute, popping it into her mouth.

Sniffing loudly, Emmaline turned to Carolina and held out her hand.  “Come on darling, I’ll set you up with a table.”

Carolina peered at the door, at the thick black letters spelling Comfort nailed to the wood.  She thought of the gigham and white eyelet lace tablecloths inside, the walls painted a pale green and decorated with hand sewn samplers and photographs from the owner’s childhood.  She thought of the dark fruit punch in the thick glass pitchers, the ceramic bowls topped with macaroni and cheese, the delicious sizzle of the chicken fingers that came with thick white gravy and rich barbecue sauce, depending on whatever mood she was in that day.

Then she looked at the gold letters scrolling across the other door.  Whimsy. There would be no chicken fingers in whimsy, no simple macaroni and cheese and peanut butter cookies.  The macaroni and cheese in whimsy probably had jalepenos and bacon, the peanut butter cookies were probably mixed with oatmeal or something insane like chocolate and caramel.

Carolina fingered the hem of her pink dress.  For 12 years, she had gone for comfort.  For 12 years, she’d had the same thing every day.  For 12 years, she knew what each lunch would bring.

But now she was 18.  And her grandmother was late.  And the petite fours had been inhaled by lunch.

A wrinkled hand touched her shoulder.  “So dear,” Emmaline asked kindly.  “Comfort or Whimsy?”

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  We have a week full of fun coming up!