7. Alba #2
I was working evening shifts on Saturday and Sunday at the restaurant (I only cleaned the offices during the week), so I agreed to meet up with Deena for brunch on Saturday.
The extra tips I’d gotten at work this week were a big help; I wouldn’t be able to afford to eat out without Vaughn’s passive aggressive tipping strategy.
I begrudgingly thanked him in my head, then opened my closet and turned to the section of clothing that I hadn’t worn in months.
Clothing from my old life.
My fingers lingered on the fine fabrics, the delicate details, the solid stitching.
The closures of one shirt caught my eye; I’d never noticed the golden sheen on the pearlescent buttons.
I’d worn these clothes without a thought, without worrying about threads snagging or oil splashing.
All of it had been replaceable. Not anymore.
But Deena was stylish, and despite myself, I wanted to feel pretty.
I wanted her to notice my clothing and compliment me.
It was shallow and vain, but I hadn’t had the luxury of dressing nicely in so long that I couldn’t resist the urge.
I chose a pair of navy wide-leg trousers and a cream knit silk turtleneck.
My hands trembled slightly as I clasped one of the necklaces that I used to wear daily, a thin gold chain with a cluster of diamonds as a pendant.
I’d styled my hair in waves, and when I stepped back to look in the mirror, I hardly recognized myself. It felt like I was playing dress-up with someone else’s closet.
In a lot of ways, I supposed I was.
I grabbed my bag and jacket and headed out the door. When I got to the brunch restaurant, Deena was already waiting. She put her phone away when she saw me and greeted me with a smile and a hug.
“You look amazing!”
I ran my fingers over my pants’ legs and gave her a smile. “So do you, as usual!”
Deena wore layers of cream fabric, all different shades, draped over her body like she’d just decided to go to JoAnn’s and throw on a half dozen bolts of fabric.
An oversized wool coat rested on the back of her chair.
Her earrings were dramatic dangles. She looked fabulous, and not because she’d walked into the Gucci store on Fifth Avenue and dropped the equivalent of a median salary on her outfit. She looked better than that.
We sat down and ordered mimosas. I learned that Deena worked as a freelance travel agent and had found a niche organizing flights for corporate clients.
It was wildly impressive to me that she had her own business and that she’d built it herself—from nothing.
I could hardly understand how someone would start something like that, let alone make a success of it.
I was embarrassed to tell her that I was a waitress and a cleaner, that I was barely scraping by.
She didn’t ask me about my family, about the disownment I’d alluded to the first time we met. I appreciated her tact.
Our food came, and I made a point to notice our server.
She was an older woman with short hair and a kind smile.
Someone I wouldn’t have even seen two years ago.
Not because I didn’t come to brunch restaurants, but because she wouldn’t have even registered to me.
I’d been a horribly self-centered person. I wanted to be better.
“You okay?”
I blinked and turned back to Deena. “I’m good,” I answered, trying to smile.
“Your expression changed just then.”
I took a breath, intending to brush her off, and then reconsidered.
Deena was the first person to befriend me in a long time.
She hadn’t judged me when I’d spilled coffee all over myself, or when I told her what I did for work.
If she judged me for who I used to be, maybe we weren’t meant to be friends.
So I admitted, “I was just thinking about a couple of years ago, how I wouldn’t have even noticed a server coming to my table at a restaurant. Not as…as a real person.”
Deena nodded. “I see.”
“Sometimes…” I tried to snort, to play it off like a joke. “Sometimes I think my current life is some sort of karma for growing up rich. I’m struggling in exact proportion to the privilege I never acknowledged.”
“Or maybe it’s just another chapter. It’s a challenge for right now, and all you can do is see it through. Maybe even make the best of it.”
“Are you one of those ‘everything happens for a reason’ people?” I asked, skeptical.
Deena laughed. “Maybe. Mostly I don’t believe in karma. There are way too many rich assholes who die as rich assholes for your suffering to be some sort of karmic justice.”
Oddly comforted, I tucked into my food. By the time our lunch was over, I felt lighter. I went to work and pretended I wasn’t disappointed when Vaughn never came in. But why would he? He never came in for dinner, and he didn’t eat here on the weekends.
I threw myself into work, and by the end of the night, was surprised with the amount of money I made in tips. Even Elena came up to me and told me I’d done a good job.
When I left the restaurant, it was dark out—but I felt better than I had in a long time. I slept like the dead, and I woke up thinking the light was a little brighter than it had been before.