Chapter three #2
"Here, let me see," I say, peeking around to see the screen. "Okay... $10 off the family pack of paper towels. Buy-10, save-5 mac and cheese. $2 off the oatmeal bars when you buy two. Eggs markdown to $5. Bread BOGO... oh, here. The detergent coupon didn't scan."
Tyler flips through my paper stack. "This one?"
"Yep, the manufacturer coupon. With that, pre-tax comes to $161.04. After that, it should be $164.53."
Tyler scans the coupon and blinks at the number on the screen—$164.53—before an impressed grin spreads across his face.
"Dang, Mrs. Durant, you're like a calculator."
"Math wiz," Mabel mutters, scanning a clipboard in her hand and shaking her head.
"Hardly. Just quick math, Mabel," I correct, shaking my head. "You know that geometry made me nauseous."
"Still impressive, honey. Tell those adorable boys of yours I said hello," she says, before walking toward the back office. I feel a jolt run through my entire body at her words.
Impressive.
She called me impressive. I had always just seen math as something that I'm good at, not something to hold pride in.
Numbers always made sense in my head, and when I was seven years old, doing high-number multiplication tables in my head, my mother thought I could be a math genius.
She was wrong.
I was good at balancing numbers and doing quick math in my head, but put down an equation in front of me, and my brain blue-screens.
Kind of wish my mother was right, though. Maybe I could be an engineer or something by now. I could be doing something useful in society that makes good money instead of... this.
Tyler finishes ringing me out, and I wave goodbye, passing the HIRING, SEE MABEL sign by the door as I walk out to the parking lot.
The sign sticks in my head as I load the groceries into my car—the car that Atlas bought.
I totaled the groceries, carefully clipped the coupons, and did the math on what to keep in our food budget—that I constructed but bought with money Atlas made.
It's uneven. It's always uneven. I don't put forth any monetary contributions, so any work I do feels worthless.
Slamming my trunk closed, I glance back at the sign before studying the clean and bright MABEL'S MARKET signage outside her store.
I always love coming to the market —the smell of the bakery and fresh produce, how clean Mabel keeps the store, and the thought of the work—routine organizational work—is something I already do.
I run a household. I've worked in the service industry before, soothing adult temper tantrums that are so much like my children's temper tantrums.
I'm good at de-escalation, I'm good at math, I'm reliable, and I'm willing to work.
With my mind made up, I walk back inside the store. Tyler frowns when he sees me, but I just walk by him toward the back.
"Is she in the office?"
"Uh... yeah..." Tyler blinks, looking a little concerned now. "Is everything okay, Mrs. Durant?"
"Everything's great, Tyler," I soothe with a smile, and he nods his head, still looking a little dazed.
When I peek into the back office, I see Mabel sitting at her desk, muttering to herself. Her computer has a spreadsheet on the screen and she’s typing on the keyboard like she wants to punish it.
Mabel opened Mabel’s Market nearly a decade ago, and Mercy Ridge hasn’t been the same since.
Using her inheritance, she built the store in honor of her grandfather, Hal Freeman, whose grocery in Mississippi was forced out by a corporation he couldn’t afford to fight.
That loss shaped her family and her purpose, and opening the market became a kind of healing for Mabel. She transformed an abandoned brick building into a place the town quickly claimed as its own, thanks to fair prices, fresh produce from Marshall Farm, and pure generosity.
Mabel never wants anyone in this town to go hungry and will deliver groceries to families in need.
Her office is a testament to chaos, papers scattered, boxes stacked on top of each other from floor to ceiling, pictures everywhere of Mabel and her family.
"Goddamn piece of shit!" Mabel snaps and rubs her face with her hands.
Snickering at her language, I gently rap on the door, and she glances up, brows knitting together when she sees that it's me.
Clearing my throat, I put on my best smile as I reach my hand out for her to shake. She looks confused but grabs my own hand, playing along.
"Hello, my name is Gwendolyn Durant. Everyone calls me Wendy. I would like to apply for a job here."
Mabel blinks, her lips twitching as she glances around the room. "Is this a joke? One of them internet pranks?"
"Hire me," I say, dropping the act.
"...hire you?"
"You're looking for someone to work," I say, gesturing out front to where the sign is. "It just so happens that I'm looking for a job."
Mabel frowns.
"It's just a customer service position, Wendy. Stocking shelves, ringing people out, sweeping the floors, wrangling the carts—"
"And I'll do it," I say immediately, resisting the urge to fold my hands over my chest and beg. "I'll do whatever you need... so long as I can be done by 3:30 for school pickup?"
Mabel's face softens, as if reading my desperation. She sits forward in her chair, her dark brown eyes so kind and open as she gentles her voice. "Is everything okay, Wendy? At home? Do you guys need money? I can—"
God, and she would. She would hand over money to anyone who needed it.
"No, Mabel, I... I need a job. I need to make my own money. I need an income..." is all I tell her, because it's the truth. It's all anyone needs to know right now.
“You know I ran the ice cream shop when I was sixteen, managing the front and doing the books for Mr. Sanderson. I did the books for the garage before I had Liam. I'm good at quick math, and I'm a mom, so you know I'm used to cleaning up messes. I want to work here. Hire me... please."
Mabel stares at me for a long moment before standing up from her desk, and walking to the closet. It takes a minute of searching in there before she turns back to me and tosses me a scrap of green fabric.
When I see that it's a Mabel's Market vest, I smile broadly.
"8:00 start time good?"
School drop-off for the middle school is at 7:30; the elementary school is right at 7:50 and it’s right down the road.
"Yes!"
"Good," Mabel grins, crossing her arms. "Be here tomorrow morning."
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” I rush over to Mabel and hug her, feeling her chuckle and pat my back in return. When I walk out of the grocery store for the second time in fifteen minutes, I wave to a still confused Tyler.
"See you tomorrow!" I chirp happily, practically floating out of the grocery store.
Okay, employment—check.
Next, a bank account.