Smoldering

by Tiffany Aleman

  “What. Are. You. Doing?” Todd asks acerbically.

  “No,” I whisper.

  Damn that felt good.

  “What?”

  With renewed vigor, I square my shoulders, hold my head up high, and stare into his eyes so I can make sure he hears me this time. “I said, no.” I turn to the minister who looks as if he’s seen a ghost. “I’m sorry, sir, but there’s no need to continue.”

  “The hell there isn’t,” my father says from behind me. “You are to continue,” he states, half yelling at the minister.

  “No, he’s not.” My head swings around to look at my father. “I love you, dad, but I’m not marrying Todd.”

  “Oh yes you are, whether you like it or not,” my mother states from beside me.

  “What part of ‘no’ don’t any of you understand?” I ask, exasperated at the fact that no one is listening to me.

  “If you do not marry him, you will be dead to us,” my father states. His hands are tucked casually into his suit pockets like this is just another day at the office, not like he just gave me the biggest ultimatum of my life.

  At one point in my life, those words would have gutted me. Hell, thirty minutes ago those words would have caused me physical pain, but not now. Now those words are of liberation to me, words that make me feel free. As I look from my father to my mother who is seething with anger to Todd, who looks as if any minute he may snatch me up by my hair, drag me away, and marry me against my will, I take a step back to stand beside Jen.

  In one smooth motion, I rip the veil from over my face, tossing it to the floor below, before crossing my arms over my chest. As I look at my parents and Todd, I ask, “You still want to blow this joint?” My question is meant for Jen.

  Jen grips her bouquet in one hand, before looping her other arm with mine. “I thought you’d never ask.” She laughs.

  “I knew you were a part of this,” my mother says in a deadly calm tone, taking a step forward to stand nose to nose with Jen. “You are nothing but trash, and you’ve made my daughter just like you.”

  Right now, at this moment, I expect Jen to actually punch my mother in the face. I wouldn’t stop her if she did. Instead, she laughs a bellyaching, clutching-your-side laugh. My jaw drops as I turn to look at her. For a good, solid minute, she laughs before standing upright to wipe away the tears now running down her face. She takes a couple of deep breaths, puffing out her cheeks to help gain control of herself. “I may be trash to you and that’s okay because I‘d rather be a ‘trashy nobody’,” she air quotes before continuing, “than be a self-centered, fake bitch.”

  Collective gasps and murmuring ring out throughout the room. I turn to Jen with a smile reaching from ear to ear plastered across my face. “Let’s get out of here,” I say, tugging on her arm and leading her away from my parents and Todd.

  As we make our way down the aisle, arm in arm, I hear Todd shout from behind me. “You’ll pay for this, you bitch. Mark my words.”

  His words stop me mid-stride and I look at him over my shoulder. “I’ll be waiting,” I reply with a smile before flipping him my middle finger.

  With nothing left to be said, Jen and I walk out. It’s the biggest ‘fuck you’ to my parents, Todd, and everyone else in the room, and in this moment, I feel free for the first time in my life.

  Two Years Later…

  “Ugh…,” I groan as I roll over in my bed. My head tucks beneath the pillows to drown out the noise coming from the living room, which just so happens to be on the other side of the wall where my bed sits. “I’m going to kill her,” I murmur to myself. Shoving out of the bed, one of my pillows falls to the floor and my blanket hangs haphazardly, parts of it touching the hardwood below.

  When I jerk open the door, Jen stands behind the bar, making her morning protein shake. Not much taller than my five feet five, Jen stands at five feet seven. She wears her hair pulled back in a low chignon, not a strand of hair out of place, and an immaculate three-piece suit that only she can pull off.

  “Don’t you think you could make a little less noise?” I ask, yelling above the grinding sound coming from the blender.

  You’d figure after living with her for two years I’d be used to it by now, but I’m not.

  “Well, good morning to you too, sunshine,” she says jokingly. Ignoring the scowl on my face, she continues. “But to answer your question, no. Nobody told you to get a night job.”

  I pad across the living room to sit down on a barstool in front of her. With my elbow on the bar, I prop my head in my hands and yawn. Our apartment isn’t much, but we love it. It has two bedrooms and two bathrooms, and is perfect for us. The walls are painted a calming shade of blue and the white baseboards provide a crisp contrast. The smallest area in our entire place, the kitchen, has little counter space, a bar separating it from the living room, and just enough cabinets to fit everything we need to eat and drink from and cook out of. The appliances aren’t brand new by any means, but they work and aren’t a fire hazard, so that has to count for something. A light brown sectional takes up the majority of the living room. Two windows give us an amazing view of Gaston Street and Forsyth Park. A ladder style bookshelf leans against one of the walls between the two windows and a TV hangs above the mantel of our fireplace.

  After walking out on my wedding two years ago, I gave up the only life I’ve ever known for the one I wanted and Jen tagged along. And to be honest, this is the happiest I’ve ever been. My first month of freedom from my parents and Todd, I stayed with Jen until we found our own place. We moved from our Nation’s Capitol down to coastal Georgia. Savannah to be exact.

  Let’s just say the pictures of the Hostess City on Google do not do it justice. Spanish moss hangs from the large oak trees that litter the town’s squares. The rich history in this city comes alive as old historic buildings line the sidewalks down on Bay and River streets. A cemetery in the center of the town reminds me of a time before us. Forsyth Park, not far from where I live, bustles with people throughout the year, but I must say my favorite time are the weeks leading up to St. Patrick’s Day. The water in the Forsyth Park Fountain is dyed green for the festival, and no matter how many times I’ve seen it, I’m still stunned by its beauty.

  Tourists fill the city throughout the year, but who can blame them. I love it here just as much as they do.

  Jen wanted to move to the West coast. She said, “The further away we get from this shithole, the better.”

  I couldn’t blame her for feeling that way. Yes, she’s close to her family, but Jen’s always been the kind of person to just get up and go and not think twice about it.

  Not me.

  I was born in Richmond, Virginia, twenty-seven years ago. I only lived there for ten of them before my parents shipped me off to an all-girls boarding school in Connecticut. But I’ve lived on the East coast all of my life. It’s home. So, moving out West just didn’t appeal to me. That’s when Jen and I compromised and agreed on living in the South. She used her fancy degree in Aeronautical Engineering to land a job helping design aircrafts at Gulfstream.

  As for me, my degree in nursing hasn’t been used once. I know I can get licensed in the state of Georgia, but my parents paid for my degree, and because of that and my own stubbornness, it means nothing to me like I mean nothing to them. This is the reason I wait tables at night at a truck stop off I-95 close to Ft. Stewart, a local Army base. It doesn’t pay much, but my tips are great, and I love my customers.

  “I know that, mom.” The emphasis I put on the word ‘mom’ has Jen glaring daggers at me.

  After a couple of tense seconds, Jen’s features return to normal and she shrugs. “I mean you have a degree. Why don’t you use it?”

  “You know why.”

  “I know, I know. Your parents paid for it blah, blah, blah.”

  “Why do I feel like you’re jumping down my throat?” I sigh. I don’t need this right now. What I need is to go back to bed, wake up in a few hours, go for a run, and get r
eady for work.

  “Because I love you, and sometimes, you need a good kick in the ass to see that you are so much better than working in a damn diner at a truck stop. And who better to kick you in the ass than me?” she asks, arching one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows, daring me to argue with her.

  “As much as I hate to admit it, you’re right. But right now, I’m comfortable and happy. Doesn’t that count for something?”

  “It does.” She nods. “But I know you, and I know this isn’t what you wanted for yourself either. Look, I’m not going to harp on you about it anymore.”

  “Thanks,” I reply sarcastically with a roll of my eyes.

  “Today,” she adds, smiling like a Cheshire cat. “But tomorrow is a new day,” she says sweetly before waving at me over her shoulder, and walking to the door with her hips swaying from left to right.

  “Have a good day,” I shout before the door clicks shut behind her.

  Mentally, I remind myself of what all I need to get done today. As much as I want to go back to sleep, that will have to wait. Laundry is at the top of my list of priorities right now. Hopping off the bar stool, I go into my room and gather all the dirty clothes strewn across my floor. People might think I’m a slob if they saw my room, but I see independence.

  All my life, I’ve either had a nanny or a maid, even when I moved out on my own. I argued with my mother over the fact that I was grown and completely capable of taking care of myself. But she said, “Why would you do that? You come from a respected family, a rich family. There will be no more talk of you taking care of yourself.” There was no point in arguing with her, so I dismissed the entire conversation. If there was one thing I learned about my mother, once her mind was set on something, then that was that.

  Carelessly, I toss clothes into the basket before heading to the laundry room just off the kitchen. As I open the door to our front-load washing machine, I groan in frustration when I see that Jen’s left a load in there. I pick at one of her shirts and feel that it’s still wet, which means she more than likely put it in this morning. Switching her clothes over to the dryer, I throw mine into the wash and make my way towards the coffee pot.

  One of the many things I love about my roommate and best friend is she knows coffee is my lifeline. We’re always stocked up on K-cups, and she always makes sure the canister is filled with water, waiting and ready to go. As I wait for my coffee to brew, a yawn escapes me just as my phone starts ringing. I rush into my room, stubbing my toe on the doorframe. Pain shoots up my foot and radiates throughout my leg. “Fuck! Shit! Argh…,” I yell, hopping around on one foot as I reach for my phone on the bedside table. Just as I reach the damn thing, the ringing stops only to start up again. Falling onto my bed and wishing for the pain in my foot to subside, I glance at the caller I.D. Work.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Kelsey.” It’s Dave, the day manager. That can only mean one thing… they need me to come in. “Are you busy today?”

  “Uh… I have a couple things I nee—”

  “I’m sorry to ask, but Lisa quit,” he says in a rush, cutting off my words.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  He sighs into the phone. “I hate to ask you to come in, especially knowing that you worked last night, but I really need someone to fill her shift. What do you say?” he asks with a nervous chuckle. When I don’t say anything, he adds, “You can have off tonight. I’ll work your shift and you’re already off tomorrow.” The thought of him working my shift is comical since he can’t wait tables to save his life, but I’m not going to argue with him. If he wants my shift, he can have it.

  “What time do you need me there until?”

  “Nine tonight.”

  I don’t want to go into work, but knowing they need my help makes me feel guilty. “All right.” I sigh. “When do you need me to come in?”

  “Great, and how about as soon as possible.” His enthusiasm bleeds through the phone, and I can’t help but feel like such a bitch because I’m not as excited as he is.

  “Sure. I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I reply before hanging up.

  If my day couldn’t get any worse, I think I’d drop down on my knees and give thanks, but that’s not going to happen. Let’s just say, after I agreed to come in for the day shift since Lisa quit, my day has successfully gone to shit.

  I had to pull my sopping wet clothes out of the wash and throw them in the dryer, hoping they’d be somewhat dry after I got out of the shower. And let me tell you, wearing wet clothes in January sucks. While in the shower, I got soap in my eyes, and it burned, but nothing comparable to the chunk of skin I took out of my knee while I was shaving. Blood poured down my leg, and the thought of sticking it under the spray of warm water made me cringe, but I sucked it up and did it anyway. After I got out of the shower, I saw the time and realized that I needed to hurry, so I had no other option but to throw my wet hair up in a bun, sweep some mascara on my lashes, and put on extremely damp clothes. Just as I was about to turn into the parking lot of the truck stop where Smokey’s Diner is located inside, my car decided to break down. Knowing I had no time to piss and moan over something I had no control over at the moment, I got out of my car and walked the rest of the way. I couldn’t complain too much since I was literally right around the corner. At least it didn’t happen on the interstate.

  Things finally begin looking up once I get clocked in. The customers are nice and the tips are decent. We aren’t too busy and I actually have a moment to collect myself before getting ready to leave, and that’s when the mother of all bombs gets dropped on me.

  I’m leaning against the front counter, doing my side work when Dave comes out of the office. His jacket is draped over his arm and a huge smile makes his chubby cheeks seem even chubbier. All the while, he tosses a set of keys up in the air, catching them before they hit him in the face. I haven’t given my car issues a second thought up until this point, so I internally groan, knowing that I need to call Jen to ask for a ride home.

  Maybe I should just use my degree. At least then, I wouldn’t have to worry about mechanical issues on my car any more since I’d make more money.

  “Hey, Dave,” I say garnering his attention. “I really appreciate you working my shift tonight.” My subtle reminder of the deal he made earlier on the phone doesn’t seem to put a damper on his good mood. He catches his keys one last time before coming to a stop in front of the counter.

  Our diner takes up half of the inside of the truck stop. Booths line a wall on each side of the restaurant. A long counter with a dessert case at the end takes up the length of the back wall. In the center, a few tables sit with chairs surrounding them. It’s not anything spectacular and the décor isn’t much, but people seem to love this place and the food.

  “Yeah? About that.”

  Oh, hell no!

  “Yeah. About that,” I mimic. “We had a deal.” If he’s forgotten, I may have to knock that smile off of his face.

  “I completely forgot I had a date tonight.”

  “Not my problem. Just like it wasn’t my problem when Lisa quit this morning, but I still came in to help you out.”

  “I know and I really appreciate it.”

  I arch an eyebrow at his pseudo form of a thank you. He laughs at my expression, even though I don’t see what’s so funny.

  “I’m not working for you tonight, date or no date. I’m tired. I’ve only had about three hours of sleep. I just really want this day to be over with.” I sigh out in exasperation.

  “What’s with you today, huh? You’re never this crabby. Normally, you’re all smiles and… nice.”

  Well, damn. Now I feel like shit. He’s right. Normally, I am full of smiles with a happy attitude. “Look, I’m sorry.” I shake my head. “Today just started out really bad for me, and I know it’s no excuse, but I am sorry.”

  He nods. “Apology accepted, but look, I gotta go,” he says as he taps the counter twice before walking away.

  M
y jaw drops in astonishment as I stare at his retreating form. “Are you serious right now?” I shout out just as he reaches the door.

  “Come on, Kelsey. It’s a date. You can’t tell me, if you were in my position, you wouldn’t be doing the same thing I am right now. Call me if you need anything,” he calls out over his shoulder as he pushes the door open and exits the building.

  I don’t even know what to say or how to react right now. Amazement washes over me at his audacity. The nerve he had to renege on his deal to work for me tonight or the fact he had the balls to bring up my dating life, or lack thereof, blows my mind.

  A date?

  It’s not like it’s a foreign concept to me. After I left my fiancé at the altar, it took a while for me to get back out there. With a lot of encouragement, okay, pushing, from Jen, I finally took the bull by the horns and got back out in the dating world. Out of all the dates I’ve had, nothing serious has stemmed from any of them. Come to think of it, it has been a few months since I’ve gone out. I make a mental note to talk to Jen about going out tomorrow night.

  “I can’t believe you let that asshole treat you that way.”

  My head snaps to the right. Dante stands in the doorway leading out from the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest, and his white apron hanging loosely around his slim waist. “He knows he can treat you however he wants because you let him do it.”

  I love Dante, I really do, but sometimes he inserts his opinions when they’re not needed. He’s the night cook, and from what I’m guessing, he showed up just as Dave pulled his shit and watched it all from the cut out window in the kitchen. When I first started working here at Smokey’s, I took an immediate liking to Dante. He’s like the brother I never had. He likes to say it’s because he’s never hit on me. I like to say because, next to Jen, he’s the realest person I’ve ever met.

  I push away from the counter, straightening my half-apron over my pants. “Thanks Dante for your subtly. I love being called a pushover.” Sarcasm drips from my tone like an engine with a bad oil leak. I walk around him and out into the dining room, retrieving a towel from the fill up station. As I begin to wipe down tables, I ignore the fact that he’s now standing next to me.