3. 3
3
I ’m not the most attractive I’ve ever been as I scarf down mozzarella sticks, but I’m not the least attractive. I know that because Bailey keeps glancing sideways over at me, no matter what she’s doing. I know what someone who’s interested looks like, and it’s exactly what I’m seeing.
At some point, a guy walked behind the bar and started making drinks. I watch as they make their way through a rush, moving around each other perfectly. Not an elbow bumped or a drop spilled.
Vic asks me to sing a song with her and another one of the women from her class, but I’m not a fan of the song. I know what my voice is meant for and what it’s not.
She glares daggers into me as she’s dragged onto the stage without me. I’ll make it up to her, she’ll just have to be patient.
Vic has always been a fan of my singing voice, swears she could listen to it all day.
She doesn’t believe me when I say the same thing back to her. She has the voice of a damn angel, and she hits notes that I could only dream of. It’s obvious that as soon as the first words leave her mouth, the entire place is enraptured. People around me, ones that were uninterested and involved in their own stories, have shut up to pay attention.
She still won’t believe me after this, despite all of this clear evidence. Her friend is good, but her voice shakes with nerves, and she could really raise the volume a bit. All in all, they’re the least embarrassing act of the night.
So far.
I watch as the applause quiets, and the next duo takes their place in front of the mics.
“Do you ever come out from behind there and take a stab at it?”
Bailey chuckles and shakes her head.
“Not usually, but no one has gone out of their way to convince me.”
“I have to go out of my way. Got it.” My ears are filled with giggles from the next two girls trying to sing. Given their nerves, I doubt they’re going to stay up there for the whole song, something by Rihanna I think. I raise a brow at Bailey. “Does that mean I have to reach back there and pull you out?”
She laughs loudly, gaining the surprised attention from her coworker.
“Dave,” she calls to him, before holding up the same bottle she’d used to pour my shot. “Mind if I…” Then she points to the stage area.
He shakes his head in disbelief, but seems amused. I must be special, because something tells me no one really has gotten her out here.
“Have a blast, hon’.”
“I’m going to need this first,” she tells me before throwing back a shot of her own. I watch her throat move as she swallows and it’s one of the single hottest things I’ve witnessed. I’ve never found necks to be particularly attractive, but there is a first time for everything.
“I’ll take another one, too. Fuck it.”
Only after we’ve both taken our second shot, do my eyes track her as she walks around the bar to stand next to me. She smells strongly of vanilla, enough to remind me of the days I only ever bought the cheapest, sweetest body spray I could get my hands on.
It’s honestly a little off-putting, but not enough that I reject her outstretched hand.
“I won’t do Taylor Swift. Anything else is on the table.”
I gasp, a look of horror filling my face. There goes my game plan.
“What’s wrong with Taylor Swift?”
“What’s not?” She smiles, completely oblivious to the fact that I’m actually horrified. “But we’ll start with how overplayed she is. I can’t count the amount of times I’ve been forced to listen to people squeal the words to Shake It Off . Grown men think that choice is hilarious.”
I’ll let that slide. Any song is annoying if you hear it too much, and I can go the rest of this night pretending that’s her only problem with one of my favorite artists. My normal, overzealous defense will just dampen the mood.
We sweet-talk our way to be up next, mostly because Vic was signed up multiple times. I get a little sass from her for choosing Bailey as my first partner, but again I tell her I’ll make it up to her.
Bailey chooses Mr. Brightside , and I somehow manage to refrain from making a comment. It’s not a bad choice, but she wanted to talk about songs that are overplayed?
It’s a cute moment, when the music starts. We look at each other and smile, feeling the rush of a bunch of random, pregnant womens’ eyes on us.
Not that being pregnant is a relevant fact about our audience, but I haven’t been able to forget it.
The second Bailey starts singing, I look away from her and hold back a cringe. She’s one of those . She’s trying really hard, not matching the pitch for a single second. You know when you can tell someone was told they had a beautiful voice as a child? And then they roll with it for the rest of their lives, and sing like they have to prove that’s still true? Even when it isn’t?
Yeah .
I sing louder than I normally would, just enough to fill my own ears. To keep everything else out.
It only works half the time.
I still enjoy myself, and when all is done I can’t stop smiling.
“Holy shit,” Bailey yells. “You’re a literal star.”
I wave her off.
“Yeah, right. I’m just having fun.”
“Everyone in the world wishes that their version of just having fun sounded that good.”
“Reya!” Vic’s voice reaches me before her hand wraps around my arm. “It’s our turn. Get back up there.”
I give Bailey an apologetic smile, but I’m not that sorry. This is going to be good.
I made out with Bailey. A lot.
It was almost more, but I thought that would’ve really upset the Uber driver.
More than we already had. The poor thing was so uncomfortable.
I insisted that Vic should head home without me, and that was her compromise. She would only leave without me if she could get me an Uber. Bailey was already planning to take one home, so there was an added stop.
Her apartment was much closer to the bar, and I pouted when we reached it. She tried convincing me to go inside with her, but I found some scrap of self control to tell her I couldn’t.
We exchanged numbers. We’ll see how things go.
I had fun, but I know we’re not a love match or anything. A couple hours of talking quickly let me know that we don’t have anything in common. They say opposites attract and all that, but there’s no way I could show serious interest in someone who hates Taylor Swift that much.
It goes way deeper than the cringey old men at karaoke night. She’s really got something against her, and I think hating on successful women for no good reason is a red flag. That’s all.
I don’t think I got drunk, I don’t have a hangover. Then again, I always chug a glass of water before bed so that probably helped. All I woke up with was the need to pee, which is exactly why I got into the habit. If my full bladder isn’t going to pull me out of bed, nothing is.
I pull a t-shirt over my head as I walk out of my bathroom, and head for my kitchen.
If I could survive on drinking Pepsi all day long, that’s what I would reach for in my fridge. Unfortunately, the amount of caffeine does nothing to energize me these days, which is the downside of my little addiction. I remember when one can would make me wired and jittery. I miss it.
I’m not the biggest coffee fan, I only drink it when I have no other options. Although tea doesn’t exactly taste the best, it does the trick when I throw in three bags at a time. Sometimes I spice it up with sugar, or honey, or fruit flavored syrup.
It’s a cold morning, so I fill my electric kettle and pull out a box of tea that smells like cinnamon and vanilla. Maybe it’s a controversial opinion to have, but I think smelling tea is always better than drinking it.
If only that gave me the boost I require.
My chilly hardwood floors have the cold seeping through my fuzzy rainbow socks. What I miss most about living with another adult is that there was a chance they could turn the heater on before I got out of bed. Caleb usually did, and despite his many faults, it was appreciated.
It would help if I had Amelia pick out some rugs for the space, but I always forget how necessary they are until I’m actually standing in my kitchen and making my hot tea.
Which means I remember every day, just not for very long.
It takes a few seconds for me to realize that my usual silent morning isn’t silent. The sound of footsteps from outside the door reaches my ears. Low, mumbling voices, and the occasional laugh. It’s not only the fact that people exist out there that takes me by surprise, but the time of day. These were prime sleeping hours for the kids that used to live next door.
My curiosity leads me to my window, the one overlooking the large front patio that connects the two apartments. I push the curtain aside, just the smallest crack to avoid being spotted. I want to have the one up on my new neighbor, by knowing what to expect from them before they get their first impression of me. I tend to get very mixed reactions when people meet me for the first time. They either think I’m the most adorable teenager they’ve ever seen, or way too immature for my grown age.
I can’t even blame them. Being mature is overrated.
The first thing I see is the back of a man’s head. His hair is a mix of differing shades of gray. There’s someone sitting in a chair–my chair, actually–whose face I can’t see either, because they’re facing away from me. Long, shimmering, golden blonde hair falls over their shoulder, and I see the side of what appears to be black sunglasses. I’m led to believe there’s someone facing them , but the man must be perfectly blocking them from my view. I back away, not feeling like being a total creep today. I’m sure I’ll have a chance to introduce myself soon. I usually wouldn’t care about doing it right this moment, but I haven’t fixed the bedhead I no doubt have, and I’m still feeling grumpy about the cold.
If they’re still checking things out, or moving things, or whatever they’re doing this afternoon, then I’ll introduce myself on my way out to work.
My phone chirps on the kitchen counter, and I jump like I’ve been caught. I huff a breath, hating how easily sounds do it to me.
Destiny: I have a headache. Can’t come in today.
I scowl at the screen. Destiny has a headache every other week. I want to ask if she’s heard of Excedrin, but I’m a nice boss. A cool boss. I’m the manager they actually want to work with most of the time.
Funny how that results in more of them calling out on my days. I don’t get it. Jenna, my co-manager, is terrifying. I can tell that working with her makes our employees nervous, but telling her that they can’t make it at all must be scarier somehow.
Reya: Did you ask Macy or Paige if they could take your shift?
I already know she didn’t. She’s going to say she did, but Paige will confirm for me tonight that she didn't hear from her.
Every. Other. Week. We play this game.
Destiny: They said they can’t.
Reya: Feel better.
But what I really mean, underneath those two words, is that I hope she quits soon so I can play a different game. I’m bored of this one.
Working a thirteen hour day instead of my usual eight or nine means nothing for my paycheck. Coming in early to cover someone’s shift doesn’t benefit me in any way. Making a set salary has its ups and downs for that reason. I get paid enough to typically make up for moments like these, but it’s hard not to dwell when it happens.
And it feels like a waste. One of our employees could use the extra money, but none of them ever want to come in on their days off. Not that I can blame them for that. I’m wholly unavailable to them when Dahlia is here and not at school. When she’s with me, that place is the least of my concerns. Hence the reason Jenna is my co-manager instead of the Assistant Manager. She needs to be able to take care of every last detail in my absence.
In case of an emergency, when the two of us have something going on, or we get sick at the same time, there’s a part time guy. Henry can mostly hold the fort down, but I’ve definitely had to run over to the store in my pajamas and a face mask to assist him once or twice.
I sigh, frustrated with the lack of time I’ll now have to get my day started. Her shift starts in less than an hour.
I attempt to sip on my tea as I walk right back to my bedroom in search of an outfit to wear. It’s a bad idea, because more of it sloshes into my mouth than I intended, and the hot liquid burns my tongue and my chin as it drips down.
This is great.
This is fine.
I set the mug down on my dresser, fully knowing it might leave a ring on the wood and I’ll be whining about that later. Right now, I don’t have time to care.
I rummage through my dresser drawer, full of bottoms that are all the same color: black. In theory it’s a good idea to keep similar things in the same drawer, but not when I want to locate one particular tiny pair of leggings and everything gets yanked out and unfolded in my search to do so. Again, it’s future Reya’s problem.
I do this a lot, so future Reya tends to not like me very much.
I throw a long t-shirt over them, a faded yellow with some band’s logo that I haven’t listened to since middle school. It’s cute enough, and it hides the fact that I’m not exactly supposed to be wearing leggings at work. My girls and I have a mutual understanding, I don’t say a word to them about their own dress code deviations, and all’s fair. I can’t be expected to survive a long day like today without an elastic waistband. It’s far too much to ask of a person.
On a good day, I love to play around with my makeup. As a rule, I won’t be caught in public without winged eyeliner, and I prefer to make it bold. I’ve got every color of the rainbow and more in my collection.
If I wasn’t about to stop at a drive-through on my way to work to grab a breakfast burrito, I’d do a smokey eye look with yellow or pink liner. Some days I can’t decide if I want to match my hair or my clothes, but I will always be matching. The lack of time on my end allows me to put an unhealthy amount of blush on my cheeks and nose– actually, it’s going all over my eyelids too. It kind of makes me feel like a fairy. I add black eyeliner, black mascara, and I’m left with just enough time to put on some deodorant and a spritz of my favorite perfume.
I have Vans the same shade as my shirt that I pull on over no-show socks. A glimpse past my curtain again tells me that there is no longer anyone out there, and it’s started to rain.
Perfect.
I just hope the few seconds it takes to find my coat aren’t going to make me late for work, because that drive-through is always packed this time of day, and I’m not going to survive my shift if I don’t sit through it.