47. Riley
“Welcome to Henry’s.I’ll be your server this evening. Is there anything I can get the two of you?”
I stand, pen poised against my notepad, at the side of a young couple’s table. After a week of unemployment, wallowing in my apartment, I was forced to reconcile with the fact that I needed a job—and that the fastest job I could snag was my old one, at the restaurant. I’ve been back for over two weeks, and it’s starting to feel like I never even left.
“Um, yeah,” says the woman, who’s wearing a silky black dress. I have to tear my gaze away from it, or I’ll be reminded of the one Cole ordered for me. He sent it back to my apartment along with everything else, but I haven’t had the stomach to unpack that box yet. “We’ll share a bottle of your house cabernet—”
Her partner, a man with curly black hair, shoots her an adoring smile across the table, and she returns it, her fingers entwining with his. I feel as though there’s a pit in my stomach.
“—and I’m going to get a Caesar salad, to start with.”
I turn my attention to him, and he says, “I’ll get the minestrone.”
I jot down both orders. “Okay, that’s great. Would you guys like to order your main course right now as well, or wait until after the appetizers are out?”
“We’ll wait, for now,” he replies.
“Okay, thanks.” I flip the notepad closed, giving them a forced, courteous smile. “That’ll be out in just a few minutes for you.”
I head back to the kitchen, where there’s a computer terminal for entering orders. I tap at the screen to wake it up from screensaver mode, then begin keying in the wine, the salad—
Oh, shit.
As I hit the button for minestrone, the computer displays a message: out of ingredients. I groan, staring at the rubber mat on the floor. That’s right. Our manager told us this afternoon, at the beginning of my shift, that we were out of minestrone. I should have remembered.
One of my coworkers, a waitress named Julia, pauses as she goes past me. “Seriously? Again?”
I suck in air through my teeth, letting it out as a sigh rather than replying to her directly. Julia has been on my case since the moment I got back.
“That’s your fifth mistake this week,” Julia says. “Get your head in the game.”
Then she bustles off toward the cooler. I glare after her half-heartedly, wishing I could put my foot down and argue with her a little. Unfortunately, she’s right.
I have been off my game this entire time. Coming back to the grind of waitressing felt painfully familiar, but that doesn’t mean that I remember everything about the job.
Since I started back up again, I’ve felt like I’m wearing a pair of shoes that are a size too small.
They moved everything around behind the bar, so I feel like I don’t know how to find anything, even though it would’ve been second nature when I last worked here. I’m distracted, frazzled, and I’ve messed up half a dozen orders in the past two weeks—an alarming rate of failure.
I’m trying to push past this period in my life. Moving on has been harder than I ever would’ve imagined, but all I can do is keep my head down, pay my bills, and move through it.
I’ve been trying to leverage my new nannying experience to get a job in social work—to return to what I truly wanted to do, my calling. I don’t want to nanny again. I know it’ll just make me think of Archie, and of Cole. It would break my heart even more.
If I really want to move on, that era of my life has to be completely over.
With a sigh, I pick up my notepad and head back to the table.
“Sorry, guys,” I say sheepishly to the customers, interrupting their conversation. “It looks like we’re actually fresh out of the minestrone. Is there anything else I can get you, sir?”
“Oh, that’s no problem,” the gentleman says, smiling at me. That’s a relief; sometimes, the customers are less than happy about the waste of their time. “I’ll just have the salad, too. Thank you.”
I rush back to the kitchen to fire his order, then bring them their bottle of cabernet as fast as humanly possible. I don’t want to keep these two waiting—no sense in taking advantage of their good will.
As soon as I get them their wine and return to the kitchen, I’m interrupted by the host, Ricky, who stops me at the door.
“Don’t tell me,” I groan. There’s only one reason Ricky would come talk to me, and it’s if he sat another table in my section.
“Table four,” he says, unapologetic. I nod, closing my eyes for a split second before turning on my heel to greet my new customer.
As I draw near, I start in on my spiel. “Hi, welcome to Henry’s, I’ll be your—”
I stop abruptly as the customer lowers his menu, revealing his face. It’s Noah. He raises an expectant eyebrow at me.
“Noah?”
“You haven’t been returning my calls,” he says, setting the menu down on the table. “So I had to chase you down here.”
I bite my lip guiltily. I’ve seen plenty of Noah’s calls, and each time, I told myself that I would drop him a line the next day, when I had the energy. Each time, I forgot.
“Sorry,” I tell him. “I’ve just been… distracted.”
“Distracted?”
I sigh, hanging my head. “Okay… more like heartbroken.”
“That’s what I thought.” There’s a dangerous edge to Noah’s tone. He sounds furious; I’ve rarely heard him this way. “Listen, if you want me to give that asshole a—”
“No, no,” I say quickly. “I don’t want to have anything to do with him anymore. I’m trying to move on.”
The anger fades from his eyes, and I wonder if he’s just hiding it for my benefit. He nods. “I understand. If there’s anything I can do to help you, let me know.”
“I’m okay,” I insist.
Noah looks around at the dining room of the restaurant, then gives me a skeptical stare. “You sure? Because it looks to me like you’re busting your ass for minimum wage again.”
“It’s actually below minimum.” I make a feeble attempt at a grin, trying to go for the joke. “The rest is made up in tips, so make sure you leave twenty percent.”
Noah doesn’t crack a smile. He looks at me seriously. “Riley, let me help you. You know I could help you.”
“I’ll be okay,” I repeat. “I have some money saved up from nannying, and I’m looking at places to apply. I’ll land something eventually.”
“I know you will. You’re so fucking smart. But listen, if you ever need anything… if this ever gets to be too much… promise you’ll let me know. You’re my sister. I want to do everything I can.”
“I’ll let you know,” I tell him, though internally, I know I never will. “And I swear, I’m landing on my feet here. I’ll be fine.”
He nods, though he looks uncertain.
“I just had to learn to harden my heart a little,” I say. “Give it some time, and everything will work out.”
Noah’s expression remains grim at that, and he shakes his head slowly. “I hate that,” he says. “You weren’t supposed to have to do that.”