Chapter 2
Manic Monday Night
Daniel pulls around to drop me off at the back door and says he’ll be back around eleven unless I tell him otherwise. That’s ten thirty in Daniel Crawford time.
“Later, Skater,” he says, reaching a hand toward me.
“See ya, weirdo. Thanks for the ride.” We slap our hands, fist-bump, and wiggle our fingers in the dumbest handshake ever before I hurry inside to clock in.
Obviously, a diner isn’t my dream job. I loved my work study position in the admissions department, but the pay was so low, I was practically a volunteer. I gave it up to work more hours at Pop’s, but I keep checking back for new opportunities that might pay more.
My parents managed restaurants like Pop’s most of my life, so this was the easiest job to get when I moved here for school.
I’ve done office work and some retail, but I’ve been running a cash register during dinner rush longer than I’ve needed feminine products, and customer service has been drilled into me since birth. I barely have to think here.
The goal is to have a completely uneventful night and get home in time to call Nathan on his break. Who knows what’s happened since I saw him yesterday, and the last thing we need is for him to do something stupid.
He’s on edge lately and snaps with the slightest provocation. He was a bit of a partier before we met, and a girl he was, well … with before me claims to be eight months pregnant with his child. Apparently, that causes some inner turmoil (please note the sarcasm), but I’m trying to be supportive.
Wait, though, it gets better.
She’s married.
He insists he had no idea. They met at a sports bar and hooked up after a New Year’s Eve party. Nathan thought she was divorced, but she was only separated from her husband.
According to him, it was a one-time, alcohol-induced thing.
The woman let her family believe her husband was the father and convinced him to reconcile.
Nathan heard she was back with her ex in February but swears he hadn’t seen her and had no idea she was pregnant.
The reconciliation didn’t last. Go figure. Maybe her husband’s good at math.
A few weeks ago, she called Nathan to announce she’s very pregnant and her husband isn’t the father. That’s totally fabulous, since we met in March, started dating on April first (April Fool’s—ironic, huh?), and he proposed to me on the fourth of July.
My luck stands consistent, because she called three days later to rain on my parade. The math checks out, sadly.
I hate math.
I know that seems fast for us, but despite the unforeseen circumstances, Nathan and I want the same things. He comes from a stable, churchgoing family, and his parents have been married for more than thirty years. He has an older sister and brother, nephews, and a stable job with health insurance.
I didn’t grow up with the luxury of stability, and before this admittedly devastating speedbump, Nathan seemed to have it. Maybe I want a life with boring health insurance and church on Sundays. So, sue me.
Expensive gifts and princess treatment were never on my radar, but a partner to enjoy good food, music, and maybe some lowkey adventure with—that’s the dream.
His kisses and compliments drew me in, but I won’t lie—I crave deep connection and security—someone to laugh with, who’s actually mine, and those things always seem just out of reach.
Nathan and I met when he was working at Pop’s as a second job to pay off some debt. I thought that was a sign of maturity and personal growth, but so’s brushing your teeth twice a day, so what do I know?
I’m a big fan of owning your mistakes and making them right, but I didn’t anticipate how difficult he’d be to support.
Or that the list of things I’d be supporting him through would keep getting longer.
Not that I expected life to be all lollipops and rainbows, but I don’t understand why we can’t have a little sugar and sunshine here and there.
We don’t see each other as much since he quit Pop’s, but he works hard and makes good money. I’m proud of all he’s accomplished in such a short time, but he’s … moody.
I think Nathan resents me because he’s in a situation I’d never get myself into, but I’m not judging him. He’s human. He lived in the moment and that moment is soon to deliver lifelong consequences.
Unfortunately, those consequences affect me too.
My first inclination, after the shock wore off, was to help him get through it.
That’s what I do. But his hostility blindsided me.
I keep waiting for the sweet man who adored me to reappear, but I’m not sure he exists anymore.
Part of me thinks I should get far, far away, but I can’t believe I could’ve been so wrong about him.
I read people well. Thanks to my dad, I can sense a disturbance in the force by the way a key turns in a lock or non-slip soles pound across linoleum. I can feel the temperature drop when a mood shifts, a tone changes, or the pantry door is opened and closed a little too swiftly.
I got none of that vibe from Nathan … not at first.
I’m probably just extra sensitive because of how I grew up. That’s what it is. People are allowed to have negative emotions.
Not me, but you know … I’ve heard it’s normal.
Nathan’s frustrated.
It’s not personal.
I’m lost in thought, cleaning the back dining room, when I hear a customer complaining to Lainey at the counter. It’s near closing time, and the woman says she was charged for a soda when she ordered water. Yeah, I did that.
She ordered water at the counter but moved her kids to a table and told me her drink was Sprite when I offered a refill …
twice. So I adjusted her ticket to charge for soda before I printed it out.
She also stuffed her purse with ketchup and mayo packets, and her kids have been pouring salt in the booth seat for the last hour while she was on her phone.
I’m not in the mood for this, but Lainey’s sixteen, a little younger than my sister, Layla, and I’m not going to let this woman crush her spirit quite yet.
At twenty-three, I’m a seasoned veteran.
My dad scheduled me seventy-six straight four-until-close shifts with no days off when I was a senior in high school because he didn’t have enough help.
You can’t hurt my feelings. I don’t have any left.
Lainey looks nervously at me across the room, and I hurry to her at the counter.
“All ready? I can get that for you. You didn’t have to get up!” I smile brightly. Purse Packet Lady glares at me. She knows I remember what she had to drink.
“She says I got her ticket wrong,” Lainey sputters.
Child. Shhhh, I think to myself as I activate my customer service voice and a fake smile. “Nope! I served it myself. Can I add a slice of cheesecake or anything for the road before I close out?”
“Absolutely not. I didn’t order soda, and I was charged right here!”
Purse packet woman points triumphantly, but I calmly remind her, “That may be true, but you asked for Sprite refills at least twice. I totally understand if you forgot, so I made the adjustment for you. Will that be cash or card?”
If looks could kill.
Lainey has turned so pale, I’m afraid she’ll pass out, and the She-Devil Ketchup Bandit is almost making me wish I had let this go so we could all get out of here without incident. But food costs have been drilled into me since childhood. I’m not about to let this woman own us.
When you let three dollars go on one soda, next a whole family will do it, and then people will tell their friends, and it’ll turn into entire parties demanding Sunday Special prices on busy Fridays …
and oh my word. I’m turning into my father.
Not that he’s wrong about this, but I could pick a better hill to die on.
“Brooks!” I hear my last name hissed through a crack in the swinging kitchen door.
Is there anything worse than a balding, middle-aged man who regrets all his life choices?
There is not.
My manager, Dave, lurks behind the door, because he doesn’t have the guts to address a customer. I don’t know why he feels so confident against me, with all my sixty-two and a half inches of sass, but he does, and he barks at me like an athlete he’s about to bench. “Now!”
“Excuse me,” I say walking confidently to the door. “Hey, Dave, do you need help with something?”
He mutters under his breath with his face red and sweaty, “Fix the ticket and close it out. Refund it all if you have to. We don’t do business like this! You’re not the soda police, and we’d all like to go home.”
He wants to yell at me, but he can’t, and for Lainey’s sake, I’m glad.
She’s already shaking. Purse Packet Bandit has been holding her glare for an impressively long time.
Why does this woman have children out at this hour, anyway?
They’re sitting on top of their table flicking sugar packets, competing to see how far they’ll go.
But the salt barrier must be working because the little demons are staying put.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, I must’ve been mistaken. Your soda’s on the house tonight.” I begin to void and reenter a new ticket.
“I said I didn’t order soda, and I will not be called a liar in front of my children. You owe me an apology and compensation for this traumatic experience.”
Oh, no. She did not.
My face begins to heat, and I mentally curse Dave with a plethora of rarely used vocabulary words. I’ll admit to mistakes I’ve made, but humiliation at the hands of my manager and an overgrown playground bully were not on today’s bingo card.
Today’s card is full, with an eight-page paper on “The Psychological Effects of Criminal Justice in the Media,” a mostly dead vehicle, a pound of salt between the booth seats, and my fiancé having a child with a married woman. I bingoed an hour ago, thank you very much.
This is random and not about me.
At least I’m keeping Lainey out of it.
I will neither cry nor commit murder.
I continue my inward peptalk as I say, “You’re correct.” Not remotely. “My mistake.” For working here. “I’ll cancel the ticket.” Because Dave is a weenie. “Have a good evening.” Anywhere but here.
Purse Packet Banshee finally gathers her little monsters and stalks out into the night. Daniel’s already parked to the side of our dark lot, so I try to hurry.
I throw my arm around a traumatized Lainey and assure her, “Kiddo, there are always going to be people like her. She got her way, so she’ll probably be back, and she’ll keep disrespecting people like us.
I’m sorry you were caught in the middle.
I thought she’d accept the truth when she saw the bill and move on with her life. Most people do.”
“I get it,” she says timidly. “But I wasn’t expecting it since I didn’t know how the Sprite got on her ticket.”
“I take full responsibility for that. I should’ve told you and taken over right away. My dad used to lecture me about the rules, but he never backed me up with customers. I’m not in charge here, so I can’t control everything.”
“You got that part right,” Sweaty Dave spits out at me.
He must’ve realized the coast was clear and came out to lock the door.
Heaven forbid he face a customer himself or let me touch the keys.
“It would be great to have one night without you up on your high horse picking fights with customers. Is that too much to ask? Are you bored or something? Table three is covered in salt. How about you put some energy into handling that.”
“I’m on it,” I chirp as I bat away cobwebs and try not to think about what’s making my shoes stick to the floor of the maintenance closet while I excavate a Shop-Vac that’s possibly been here since the ’70s.
Holding my crap together is a superpower I have perfected. This is me not relinquishing control or showing weakness, because I know power-hungry underachievers can smell fear.
I shall not be moved.
I wash up and prep six more strawberry pies for the next day, which leaves my hands a little pink, but maybe smelling like strawberries will make me seem like a less likely suspect when I finally snap. Or maybe it’ll be the evidence that convicts me.
Probably the latter.
Luckily, I already swept and mopped, so the obnoxiously loud vacuum is enough to finish the job. I wipe down the last table and the prep counter, then reluctantly join Lainey and Dave at the register to get our tips for the night.
We did fairly well, despite the nonsense of the last hour. Dave counts out two stacks of bills, and I watch him dramatically pull thirty dollars from my stack.
“Since you wanted to handle that customer so bad, I let ya cover what it cost me,” he says with his sweaty neck vein bulging.
Dude’s gonna have a stroke one day.
I want to snap back that I hope he factored in the cost of the Sprite and ketchup, but I’m starting to lose the will to live, and Daniel’s been outside for at least a half hour.
“Cool. Thanks.” I turn away, rolling my eyes. “You ready, Lainey? Grab your stuff, and I’ll walk you out.”
She gets her sparkly purse, and I pull off my ball cap, freeing my frizzy waves from the opening in the back. I need the hat to hide the subtitles that roll across my face, but it’s been a long day, my head’s busting, and quite frankly, I don’t care.
My eye rolls qualified as a workout tonight.
We walk out together, saying nothing to Dave, but I hear the door push shut and lock behind us. Daniel pulls his SUV closer to Lainey’s little Kia and nods to let us know he’s watching out for us. We won’t leave until she’s safely in her locked car and moving.
“That one’s a keeper,” Lainey says wistfully. “Your whole face relaxes when you see him. I’m glad you aren’t out here by yourself with your stupid dead car.”
I shoot her a smirk. Of course she thinks he’s cute. She’s not wrong.
“Everyone needs a friend like DC. Five stars. Highly recommend.”
“Friend? Oh, that’s what you call him? Okay, then. Say hi to your friend for me.” She giggles, giving me a confused silly smile. Brat.
We call out our goodbyes, and I open the door to my Lucy song playing softly.
That’s different. It’s usually blasting.
I want to comment on it, but I’m so tired. I still fulfill my part of our tradition, changing the song to my favorite.
He watches me recline the seat like I live here. “Rough night, Punk?”
“Meh. The usual. Sorry you had to wait.”
“You’re fine. I had some work emails to answer anyway.”
I buckle up and hit the skip button, singing “Hey Jude.”
My stress quickly melts into a grin as I reach up to pull my pink elastic tie out of his hair.
Weirdo.
He dodges my hand a few times before catching my wrist, but it’s a half-hearted fight. And as usual, Jude makes everything better.
My eyes are closed before I get my hair tie or my hand back.