Chapter Seven
Alicia
“Alicia, love. Why don’t you go ahead and take off for the night,” Paddy says from behind me.
I glance over my shoulder at him and raise my brows. “Why would I do that? We’re swamped and still have two hours left before close.”
My employer sticks his thumbs through the suspenders he’s wearing, pulling them from his chest before letting them snap back into place. He winces, and I snort a laugh.
“Ach,” he growls. “I can handle it from here. You’ve been working yourself to the bone all week. I was thinking of roping Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy into dish duty, for old time’s sake.”
For the first time tonight, a genuine smile forms as I remember the way Paddy arranged for Norah and Eamon to not only spend time together, but to make amends for the drinking contest they engaged in the night they met.
“It’s fine, Paddy. I don’t mind staying. I need the money anyway.”
Turning, I grab the tray of dishes, intending to take them back to the kitchen, but he stops me.
“How about this? Check your tips, and if they’re enough to make up for the last two hours of work, you go. If they’re not, you stay.”
The twinkle in his eye is a dead giveaway that he’s up to something.
“What’s the catch?”
“No catch, my dear. Just think you deserve a break, is all.” He shrugs with one shoulder while swiping his hand over his trimmed, grey beard.
“Alright,” I agree hesitantly. “I’ll play along, but I’m telling you there’s no way my tips will be enough to cover what I need for the week.”
Patty’s shoulder lifts. “We’ll see. I pulled the jars to the office for you to count. Go on. I’ll finish up here.”
I’m incredibly confused as I skirt my way around him and move toward the kitchen.
The office sits off to the left by a short hallway that has a storage closet and small bathroom.
When I enter the room, I jerk to a stop and my jaw hits the floor.
There, on the desk, are the two tip jars we keep on the bar.
They’re nearly overflowing. Two industrial pickle jars almost full of generosity.
On a good night, combining both tip jars fills one halfway. This has to be a mistake.
I march back through the swinging doors, calling Paddy’s name as I go. He’s standing at the bar, talking to Norah and Eamon, who are laughing at whatever he’s just said.
“Pat,” I say sternly.
“Alicia?” He answers back.
“What the hell is that?” I point behind me toward the office.
He looks past my shoulder then back to me like I’m slowly losing it. “Ah, that my dear happens to be a set of swinging doors that lead to the kitchen. I thought we went over this the day I hired you.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “That’s not what I mean and you know it. The tip jars. They weren’t that full an hour ago, and I’ve only served a few patrons. Who put that money in there?”
Eamon and Norah swap glances as Pat folds his arms over his chest. “I’m sure I don’t know, love. You must have made some customers very happy or made their drinks extra stiff.”
“But…” I start.
“Alicia, lass, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Go on—count your tips, then get out of here.” He says kindly, making my eyes burn.
I’m thick-skinned and do a pretty good job of locking up my emotions, but every now and then, Paddy gives me a grandfatherly look that makes me feel like a little girl who never had to provide for her family.
This is one of those looks.
Inhaling deeply through my nose, I slowly release the breath from my mouth. “Okay. Thanks, Pat.”
He winks at me before turning to Eamon and Norah. “Alright, you two. You promised me dish washing, and I mean to see that you keep that promise.”
* * *
Three hundred dollars.
That’s how much money was stuffed in the tip jars. It’s nearly what I make in three or four shifts. I left work completely flabbergasted and completely suspicious. I don’t know what, but something was definitely going on.
There isn’t time to explore what happened as I pull up to the park, finding my sister waiting on a bench next to the single mom who lives in the apartment next to us.
Bridget is laughing at something she said, and it hits me like a punch to the stomach.
I haven’t seen her laugh like that since she was little.
Her whole face lit up, and she looks so different with that smile.
Her hair, black like mine, is french braided down her back, highlighting her high cheek bones.
She got our father’s green eyes, while I got mom’s blue.
She did get mom’s freckles though. Genetics are so weird.
Killing the engine, I step out of my RAV4 and round the front. As soon as Bridget sees me, the smile disappears, disdain in its place. Ah, there’s the sister I’m familiar with. She averts her eyes, so I don’t utter a word to her.
“Hey, Kat,” I greet our neighbor. “Thanks so much for calling me and staying with her. I’m sorry that your night was interrupted.”
She smiles at me knowingly, tucking her blonde hair behind her ears. “It’s all good. The boys are with their dad this week anyway.”
Kat and her husband split up a couple of years ago and share custody of their sons, ages thirteen and sixteen.
“Bridge,” I say quietly. “Please go wait in the car.”
She sighs loudly, heaving herself from the bench and stalking toward the car. Kat and I watch her until the door shuts.
I turn back to my neighbor. “Does this shit ever stop?”
“I wouldn’t know,” she shrugs. “I’m still in the thick of it.
Mason isn’t that bad yet, but Nick? I feel like it’s a weekly thing, being called into the principal’s office.
A couple of weeks ago, he was getting high in the bathroom when he should have been in geometry.
And God, the attitude. It takes every ounce of energy to not pop him upside the head some days. ”
I huff a laugh and nod in agreement. “Girl, it’s unreal. I can’t do anything right with Bridget. I’d give anything to just be her sister again, you know?”
Kat places a hand on my elbow and gives it a gentle squeeze.
“You’re doing great, Alicia. Teens are rough.
Life is tougher. I took this weekend off, so if you need any help, just let me know.
Bridget and I get along well enough that I think I could find something to keep her busy without it feeling too much like a chore. ”
“I appreciate that, but I don’t want to infringe on your kid-free weekend. You need it just as much as I do.”
“It takes a village, babe.”
I know she’s right, but accepting help from anyone just feels so foreign to me. And the guilt of adding another kid to her plate just doesn’t sit right, but I’m starting to feel desperate.
“I’ll let you know,” I tell her noncommittally. “Thanks again for everything.”
“Anytime. I’m good for a vent session anytime you need it, too.”
“I just might take you up on that one night soon.” God knows I could use it.
With a tight smile, I turn towards my car.
I’m actually surprised Bridget listened to me.
Since our apartment is just on the other side of the building, she could have easily stomped off in that direction and locked herself in her room.
She’s slunk down low in the seat, scrolling through her phone.
My first instinct is to swipe it out of her hands and toss it in the garbage, but that will only escalate the situation.
Once I’m in and buckled, I start the car, ignoring the weird ticking noise coming from the motor in hopes that if I don’t acknowledge it, it will go away. I steel myself for the conversation I have to have with my sister. No matter how I approach it, it’s going to be ugly.
“Do you want to talk about what happened tonight?”
“No.” Bridget turns her face toward the window.
“Bridge,” I counter. “I can’t just ignore this. I specifically told you that you couldn’t go out.”
An irritated sigh leaves her mouth. “I said I didn’t want to talk about it. What’s the point of even asking me, if you’re just going to do what you want anyway?”
“Oh, that’s rich.” I scoff as I pull into the designated parking spot for our unit. “Kind of like how you do whatever you want, even though I’ve told you otherwise?”
She throws open the door and slips out the car, giving me a mocking smile as she nails me right where I stand.“Must be where I learned it, then.”
The door slams as she stomps away. My vision turns red, but I stay rooted to my seat, watching as she lets herself into our bottom floor apartment, slamming that door closed as well.
The moment it shuts, I grip the steering wheel as hard as I can and scream my frustrations.
I’m so angry, that the urge to put my fist through something almost overpowers me.
The thought of it is enough for me to stop short.
I’m not a violent person. A hard ass with a sailor’s mouth?
Yes. But never violent. My father was an abusive man.
Mostly to my mother, but occasionally he’d bust my ass for the dumbest shit.
I vowed that I’d never be like him, working hard to manage my anger in healthy ways.
For years I did kickboxing to let off steam, followed by yoga to center myself.
I had to stop when the gym membership went up significantly.
This reminds me of the huge amount of cash I have in my purse that I don’t want stolen.
Our complex is in a nicer area, and crime has been at a minimum, but growing up in the rough neighborhoods teaches you early on to not linger too long beyond your front door.
Tucking my purse tightly under my arm, I quickly exit the vehicle and jog to our door.
Thankfully, Bridget left it unlocked, so I don’t have to fumble for my keys.
Once I’m inside, I close and deadbolt the door, kick my shoes off, and head to my room.
I have a small safe tucked into the corner of my closet.
It’s underneath a pile of clothes, and it is where I keep important documents and a stash of cash in.
When there’s a good week, after all of the bills are paid and tips are better than normal, I take half of my tips and stick them in the box within the safe.
If anyone asked, I’d tell them it was an emergency fund for when my car inevitably dies, but the truth is that I’m saving up a down payment to buy a house.
I want a place that’s wholly ours— one where we can feel safe and not have neighbors just on the other side of the wall.
I want a home.
Counting out one hundred fifty dollars, I place it in the box then lock up the safe. Remaining on the floor, my arms resting on bent knees, I hang my head before taking a few deep breaths.
Meow.
Lou’s soft, grey head rubs against my arm. He chirps again, this time rubbing the length of his body against my side before burrowing his head under my bicep to bump my nose with his.
“Hey, buddy,” I murmur. “How was your day?”
Meow.
Raising my head, I crisscross my legs and he immediately climbs into the open space, extending a paw to my cheek.
I love everything about this cat, but this is my favorite quirk.
Whenever I have a particularly hard day, he senses it and comes to comfort me.
I get a good nuzzle in before he gently taps my cheek.
“Thanks, handsome. You’re my favorite guy, you know that?”
He begins to purr loudly as he curls up between my legs, winding his body so that he’s on his back. I stroke his belly a few times—only a few because he’ll bite the shit out of me if I do it more than that—then let my mind wander back to tonight.
Rowan wanted to talk about what happened that night in Ireland. Deep down, I know this conversation has to happen eventually, because he’s right.
It did mean more.
And that’s what scared me away.