5. Mckenna
FIVE
MCKENNA
The cool morning air is refreshing against my skin. It jolts me awake, even better than caffeine, and erases memories of last night, of how out of character I acted.
It allows me the mental clarity to focus on the task at hand: finding a job.
After a series of unsuccessful attempts at coffee bars, restaurants, cocktail lounges, and pubs, I try the café near campus.
Grounds and Grinds is open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. It’s a late-night study haven, an enclave for students who need a warm, cozy space with light background noise to finish homework, write papers, or meet with friends and debate the merits of group projects.
While it’s certainly not my first choice, given how many BU Law students occupy tables at the café, I’m not in a position to be picky. I’ll be grateful for any employment opportunity extended my way.
As I step into the street, a car horn blares, and I jump back, colliding with a garbage can.
“Shit.” I grip my elbow where I bumped it.
Before me, Grounds and Grinds beckons. It’s my last shot. My last hope. I need this.
Blowing out a deep breath and straightening my spine, I cross the street. Before I enter the café, my phone rings and I stall, almost grateful for the interruption.
“Hello?” I answer.
“Mckenna,” Dad’s voice comes through the line.
“Dad? What number are you calling from?”
“Oh, I’m in the Bahamas this week. Didn’t Carrie email you?” He references his personal assistant because clearly, his emailing me would be too much to ask for.
“Must have slipped her mind,” I mumble, twisting a lock of hair around my finger as I loiter in front of the café. “How’s your trip?”
“Good. Good. You know, work.”
“Right.”
Silence stretches between us. Why did you call? I want to yell the question but instead, I clear my throat, prompting him.
“I, uh, I wanted to see if you’re free for dinner next week,” Dad says slowly.
“Dinner?”
“Yeah. Thursday night?”
Gah, why is this so awkward?
“Okay.” I mean, obviously I have nothing going on, so I don’t have to check my busy social calendar but, “What’s the occasion?”
My heartbeat thumps in my eardrums as a little bubble of hope expands in my stomach. Does he want to get together to just…talk? To see me and spend time together? I bite the corner of my mouth, waiting, as my toe taps out a beat on the pavement.
“I, um, I’m seeing someone,” he explains.
I close my eyes. My bubble of hope pops. “Oh.”
“Yeah. Jeannie wants to meet you.”
“Great,” I manage as a slickness sweeps through me. So, he only wants to have dinner with me because Jeannie suggested it? I blink back my disappointment and hope the ball of hurt in my throat melts.
“Good. Say, 7 PM?”
“Works for me.”
“Carrie will email you the details.”
“Okay. I… Dad?”
Silence. I pull my phone away from my ear and stare at the screen. He already disconnected. Wow. Not even a good-bye.
Shaking my head, I slip my phone into my purse and suck in an inhale. It’s my fault for getting my hopes up. The past two years and the way my relationship with my parents has disintegrated as they battled through their divorce has taught me that I can only rely on myself. I need to show up for me.
With that thought ringing in my mind, I enter the café.
“Good morning,” a cheery voice greets me.
I glance in the direction of the woman and freeze.
You’ve got to be kidding me. Seriously, universe?
She pushes her blonde hair behind her shoulder and gives me a quick once-over, her eyes sparking with memory, her lips drawing tight.
I step to her, trying not to think of her perky breasts or her yellow boy shorts, or the moans she made when Mav thrusted into her on the other side of my bedroom wall. Oh my God, stop it! I yell at my wayward thoughts.
Mortification rolls through me. I want to dip my head, turn around, and bolt from the café. But sheer desperation keeps me rooted in place. It’s not like I can rely on my parents for a safety net. No, I need this job.
“Can I help you?” the blonde asks. Her hands are busy with menus and rolled silverware. She’s good at her job, qualified.
I rub at the center of my chest. It shouldn’t bother me, but it does. She’s beautiful, clearly a lot more fun and less prudish than me, and qualified to live in society.
She looks at me and lifts her eyebrows, calling me out.
I clear my throat. “I’m here for a job application.”
Surprise flickers in her eyes, but she doesn’t comment. She reaches under the hostess stand and pulls out an application. She places it on a clipboard and sticks a pen into the silver claw. “Fill this out.” She hands it to me.
“Thanks. I, um, I’m Mckenna.” Stop stuttering. You can at least introduce yourself!
She gives me a small smile. Polite, efficient, working . “Lia.”
“Lee!” a guy hollers for her.
She gestures to a chair in the little waiting area, and I sit. Then, she springs into action.
I watch, forgetting about my application, as Lia whirls around the café. She exudes an effortless friendliness that people—BU students, professors, and families alike—are drawn to. She stops to chat, refills coffee mugs, and memorizes orders.
She brings out plates piled with toast, bacon, and eggs. She delivers maple syrup and ketchup. She does it all, and the entire time, she doesn’t crack. She doesn’t dab at a sweaty hairline or glance around helplessly.
When she looks in my direction, I fill out the mocking job application.
How have I gotten to age twenty-seven without ever holding a job?
The thought bewilders me because it doesn’t make sense. Allegra worked at a cocktail lounge our senior year at UCLA. Even Ivy was a bartender back in the day.
Did Mav work before the band made it big? Ugh, stop thinking about Mav!
My nose wrinkles in distaste.
“You done?” Lia asks.
I stand and pass her the clipboard.
She scans my application before sighing. Looking at me, she shrugs. “One of our best servers just quit.”
“Uh, what?”
Lia chuckles. “It’s your lucky day, Mckenna. You really want a job?”
I nod.
Lia rolls her lips together and studies me. “You start tomorrow morning. Be here at 5:45 AM.”
I gasp.
She narrows her eyes. “I’m training you. We’ll be together through the brunch rush on Sunday. Then, you pick up whatever shifts are open until you prove yourself. After a month, I’ll do my best to schedule the days and times that work for your schedule. Base pay is $6.25 an hour. Anything else is tips.” She watches me closely, but I don’t flinch.
I’m in shock. Do servers live on $6.25 an hour plus tips? How is that even legal?
“Tips are great if you know what you’re doing,” Lia continues.
“Okay,” I agree. “Thank you.”
“See you tomorrow.”
“Yeah. See you.” I hitch my bag up on my shoulder and leave the café.
It’s still early, only 11 AM. I don’t have class until 6 PM tonight.
For a while, I wander the streets. Cold air stings my cheeks, but it’s sunny and bright, and I revel in that.
I can do this. Tomorrow morning, I’ll start my new job. I’ll prove to myself and everyone who knows me that I can work hard. That I’m capable. Enough.
Stopping at a little bakery, I purchase a cannoli and head home. I shower, blow-dry my hair, and choose an outfit for training tomorrow.
Then, I open my laptop, intending to study, when the noise on the other side of my wall picks up.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
“It’s 2 PM,” I mutter to the empty space.
Mav’s headboard hits the wall.
Who the hell is just hanging out in the middle of the afternoon, down to fuck?
“That’s it, babe.” Mav’s voice is raspy and deep.
I swallow back my scream of frustration. Popping in my AirPods, I turn up the music. I grab my laptop and book and relocate to the kitchen. I make myself a cup of coffee and gobble up my cannoli, eating my feelings.
I shouldn’t be mad at Mav. He’s living his best life. Good for him. He can afford to have parties and midday sex and not worry about anything.
It’s me who’s falling apart. The stress of the last few weeks is getting to me. Moving, student loans for tuition, living with Mav, needing a job, Bran’s incessant presence…and on top of that, I haven’t had sex in over six months.
It’s pathetic, really.
I lick up a dollop of cannoli filling. The closest thing I get to orgasmic bliss these days.
I am so fucking pathetic.
I try to focus on the assignment I need to complete for class tonight.
My phone buzzes with a message.
Unknown: Hey, it’s Lia. There’s been a change to the schedule. Can you come in tonight? 10 PM? We’ll start training.
I let out a shaky exhale. Tonight? My class ends at 9 PM. If I head to the café straight from campus, I’ll make it with time to spare.
Me: Sure. See you then.
Lia doesn’t say anything else, and I read another two pages of my Trusts and Estates assignment.
Laughter on the stairs tugs my attention, and when I look up, I see a curvy, gorgeous brunette descend the staircase like she’s entering a debutante ball.
I fight the urge to roll my eyes.
She loiters at the bottom of the steps, and Mav comes into view. She leans into him, and he grips her ponytail, tugging until her face lifts to his. He kisses her hard on the mouth and palms her ass before walking her to the door.
What a gentleman.
I wince at my salty thoughts. It’s stupid to be jealous of Mav and his hot sex life. It’s dumb to compare myself to the beautiful woman he was just with. Sure, she’s got shampoo-commercial-worthy hair and a tiny waist. Good for her.
I close my empty cannoli box and tug at the hem of my sweater.
The front door closes, and Mav turns. Spotting me in the kitchen, he smirks.
His eyes are sharp as they drink me in, and mortification over last night—how I behaved last night—rolls through me.
I can’t believe I lost my cool like that in front of Mav.
But today, I’ve got my shit together. I may even have a job.
I sit up straighter and stare back at him.
He strides toward the kitchen, his eyes locked on mine. His expression is unreadable, but his body is drawn tight, as if my sitting here pisses him off. Maybe it does.
Does he want to talk? God, I hope he doesn’t bring up last night. Didn’t we agree to forget it happened?
I press my lips together and sit on my fingertips to wait Mav out.
He leans against the kitchen wall, one hand gripping the doorframe. The tattoos on the back of his hand ripple.
I suck in an inhale, waiting for him to say something. Anything.
Mav studies me, tilting his head to the side. “Don’t wait up for me; I won’t be home tonight.”
Then, he turns and climbs the stairs.
That’s it? Seriously!
I sit in silence, listening to his receding footsteps.
That’s all he’s going to say about last night? About today?
I should be relieved. Instead, a hollowness fills my chest. Narrowing my eyes, I open my mouth and holler, “Yeah? Well, I won’t be home tonight either.”
Mav slows on the steps but doesn’t turn around.
Instead, his disbelieving chuckle echoes in my eardrums.