by Carina Adams
“No.” He interrupted as his dark beady eyes met mine. “Go home.”
“Thank you so much for the opportunity,” I lied. “If things change, please call.” When he didn’t respond, I sighed dejectedly. “I’ll get my stuff.”
It wasn’t until after I’d gotten into my old and heavily dented Escort a few minutes later that I realized I still had my apron on. As tempted as I was to ignore it and just go home, the Payne family had been mostly good to me over the few weeks I’d worked for them and I didn’t want to be remembered as a thief. I cursed and slipped from the car.
A few steps away from the door I spotted a new HELP WANTED sign taped to the window. In the white section reserved for a phone number someone had written: Experienced wait staff needed. Overtime available. Ask for Manager.
His employees didn’t get enough hours, my ass. The jerk had lied to my face when the truth would have done.
I let out a low frustrated growl as I hurried back to the parking lot, desperate to get home and pretend the day had never happened. I'd keep the damn apron and he couldn't do a thing about it. I didn’t want it, but I was entirely too mortified to face them.
All the way to my apartment I practiced what I would tell my roommate. No explanation would be good enough when I admitted— once again—I didn't have the money to cover more than my share of the rent. Except now, I wasn’t even sure I could pay that.
Broke college kid was a common label. There was no way to have extra cash lying around if you paid for tuition, books, housing, and food by yourself while going to classes full-time. Struggling as you worked your way through school was a rite of passage for the independent student like me.
However, there was a mountain of difference between broke and destitute. The first meant your bills were paid but there was no money leftover for unnecessary extras, like drinks with your friends on the weekend. The second meant there wasn’t enough cash to pay for necessities – from rent to food to the textbooks.
I hovered on the edge of destitute.
I'd needed the job at the diner. Needed any job, really. I was so desperate there was almost nothing I wouldn't do, or hours I wouldn't work, if it meant my bills got paid. I’d figure out how to make up for missed classes later because it was better than the alternative.
If I couldn’t find a job, I’d have to drop out of school altogether and move home. Just like my mom had. And my nana before her. Neither had gone back, no matter how many times they’d sworn they would.
There was nothing wrong with being a laborer. Nana made a damn good paycheck as the manager of Stinson’s Bakery. She’d raised her own kids as well as my brother and me, and while we hadn’t had money to burn, we’d never gone without.
The Stinson’s would hire me on without as much as a blink if I ended up back in my hometown. My aunt had never gone to school; she’d worked with Nana all through her teens and then trained with Spike, the owner, to take over cake production. I could make a decent wage and be happy without a college education.
I didn't want that life, though. Almost every day for the last twenty-two years, my nana had grilled it into my head that I would to be the first in our family to earn the illusive college degree. Desperate for me not to become my mom, she’d told me I needed to get out and never look back. Her dreams for me had become my own.
I’d promised myself that I'd succeed, that I wouldn’t repeat the same mistakes of the women before me, and refused to go back on my word. I would never be penniless and live in my car with my children or depend on my family to help. I would be something.
My jaw clenched and my teeth ground together as I sat up a little straighter and pushed the images of my childhood from my mind. No. My apple might have fallen close to the tree, but I'd make sure it kept rolling until I found an entirely new orchard.
I would figure something out.
I turned up the radio as loud as it would go and got lost in the heavy beats as I drove the familiar back roads home. Music soothed my soul and let me forget about life for a bit. Plus, if I couldn’t hear the weird sounds my old Ford had started to make, I could pretend it was fine.
Something had to go right. Just one thing in my favor. Defeat was not an option.
The parking lot at my apartment complex was practically empty, which wasn’t a surprise. The majority of students who lived there hadn’t moved back into town yet and the rest of the tenants were professionals who commuted to the city. The brand new, bright red Jeep Grand Cherokee Trackhawk parked in the reserved spot next to mine was a shock, however.
I adored my roommate’s girlfriend. Part of me wanted to be just like her when I grew up. Olivia Parker always had an upbeat attitude. The way she saw the best in every situation inspired me.
It also annoyed me when I simply longed to wallow in self-pity.
Plus, each time I checked out her new set of wheels, envy washed over me. I rolled my eyes as I read the bumper sticker on the back that declared, “Life is Beautiful”. Of course it was when your existence was as charmed as hers.
Not only was she sweet as pie, she was the kind of gorgeous that made men act obnoxious in an attempt to gain her attention, and the trust fund she’d received from her grandfather ensured she never had to worry about pesky regular people problems—like being evicted or having her cell phone shut off. I hated the pity that entered her eyes every time we talked about money.
I crept into my apartment and slid my keys onto the counter so they wouldn’t jingle. I dashed down the hall on my tiptoes, relieved the two of them weren’t in the main area. If I could avoid them for a few hours, it would give me a chance to get online and find another job, something to get me by. There had to be a fast food restaurant hiring within a thirty-mile radius.
Before I made it to my room, a pint sized pixie charged into the hall and straight into me. I fell into the wall with a loud thump and yelped in surprise.
“Good lord!” She swore as her hand flew to the towel that covered her body, strands of wet hair pooled on her shoulders. She giggled. “Cady! You scared the crap out of me. I almost peed my pants. You okay?”
The door to Frankie’s room flew open and she rushed out, ready to pounce on her girlfriend’s unidentified attacker. Her feet faltered as soon as her eyes met mine and her lips curled into a genuine and relieved smile as she reached out to help me stand.
“You’re home early.”
Livie adjusted her towel. “Sweet. You can come out with us. We just said how much we missed you.”
Frankie wrapped an arm around Livie’s stomach and pulled her close, but my best friend’s eyes never left me. “You got fired.”
It wasn’t a question and there was no malice in her tone. Yet, I knew I’d disappointed her. Again.
I shrugged and didn’t hide anything but my pain. “I did.”
“Oh, honey.” Livie stepped away from Frankie and wrapped her arms around me. “It’ll be okay.” She grabbed my hand, led me to the living room, and yanked me down onto the couch next to her. “What happened? This one was going so well.”
My teeth sunk into my bottom lip. I wished I had a really good lie. Anything more exciting than the truth. “My boss had a good excuse, but I think it’s because I’m an awful waitress.”
Livie frowned. “You weren’t awful. You’re new. They knew you didn’t have much experience when they hired you.”
“She dumped a soda all over that guy last week because he was being a dick,” Frankie pointed out with a chuckle.
“Not funny,” Livie narrowed her eyes on her girlfriend. “That was an accident and she apologized. Cady’s clumsy,” she argued on my behalf.
“And temperamental,” my dearest friend replied, unfazed. “She did it on purpose. The jerk made a comment about your ass and she flipped.”
“She's learning,” Liv hissed, as she ignored Frankie’s last statement.
“Then she’s a terrible student.”
“I’m sitting right here,” I snapped. “I can hear you.”
/>
Frankie plopped down onto the coffee table in front of me and leaned forward and her electric blue eyes searched mine.
“You know I love you with my whole heart, but you were never going to make it as a waitress. Do you remember that time in fourth grade when Mr. Litchfield had us host a mock restaurant?” Her lips twitched as she fought a smile. “When Henry Leonard tried to send his peanut butter and jelly sandwich back you calmly informed him if he didn’t like it he could march down stairs and make himself another one. When he told you your place was in the kitchen, not his, you smashed it in his face.”
Livie gasped in shock, as if she thought the behavior seemed completely out of character for me. The woman was so incredibly kind she really only saw the good in everyone. “You didn’t.”
Frankie’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “Oh, she did. I was so proud of her.”
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “It had nothing to do with his damn sandwich or my ability to be a waitress, and you know it.”
The little bastard had called her a ‘dirty dyke’ on the playground that morning, and even though I hadn’t understood what in the hell the phrase meant, I could tell by the way he’d sneered the words that it wasn’t nice. The jerk had taunted Frankie until she’d cried more than once and I had been fed up. No one made my girl cry. I’d done much worse to defend her over the years. I’d do it all again without a second thought.
“Oh, it had nothing to do with the food. But it was definitely a precursor to how you’d behave when you had to deal with assholes. Face it, Cady Girl, if it involves blood or jackasses, you’re out.”
She had a point. Blood made me queasy.
“I can deal with donkeys just fine, thank you.” I crossed my arms, leaned back, and surveyed her. “I’ve been handling you for twenty years, haven’t I?”
We both ignored the snort that came from beside me.
“It’s different when you love the asshole. You can tolerate them better.”
“Maybe I love you because you’re a dick. Ever think of that?”
Francesca Carmichael had been my soul mate since the beginning of time, at least that’s how it felt. Polar opposites, even in kindergarten, we'd grown into more than words could define. As different as night and day, we fit together perfectly, like Yin and Yang. I had her back and she had mine. I called her on her bullshit and she told me when I was an idiot. There had never been two people who loved each other more than us.
“I was a horrible waitress,” I turned my head toward the window so I didn’t see the worry in Frankie’s eyes. She’d suggested months ago that I line up a backup internship for our senior year. I hadn’t listened.
I hadn’t thought I needed to. I’d been lucky our freshman year and gotten hired in the accounting department at Morris and Morris, one of the largest firms in Maine. Reese, my supervisor, had convinced me to stay and promised a superb letter of recommendation once I got my degree.
That had been before she’d gotten arrested for embezzlement. Apparently, she’d skimmed from the company for years and it finally caught up to her toward the end of my junior year. The owners thought the entire department was guilty because none of us had found the discrepancies. They fired us all.
The case made national headlines. My name was permanently linked to the scandal. I hadn’t been surprised when I couldn’t find another bookkeeping job.
“I’ll find something. I promise.”
“You will.” The confidence she had in me broke my heart.
Livie squeezed my hand. “Let’s get drinks.”
“It’s the middle of the afternoon,” I reminded her.
“But it is after noon,” she pointed out. “Day drinking is the best.”
“I need to find another job. And you two don’t need me to tag along on your date.”
Frankie bumped my knee with hers. “You’re not going to find one in the next two hours. Liv’s going to her grandfather’s for the weekend, so we're going to have a late lunch before she leaves. Let’s go celebrate. My treat.”
“Celebrate? I got fired.”
“Yeah.” My best friend’s smug smirk slid into a face-splitting smile. “Without police involvement. No one was hurt. You’re moving in the right direction.” She winked. “That’s huge.”
Livie swore uncharacteristically under her breath, probably appalled Frankie would bring up the incident we’d all sworn never to speak of again. “You are horrible. You know that?” She scolded with a shake of her head.
I couldn’t stop the chuckle that tumbled out. “She’s right. No one had to be taken to the emergency room and I wasn’t escorted off the property.”
“See?” Frankie’s shoulders shook as she fought off her laugh. “A reason to celebrate.”
“Yay, celebratory drinks with my two favorite girls.” Liv stood with a beam. “I’ll go get ready.”
Before I could argue, she’d turned away, and started to sing to herself. Frankie’s eyes followed her, glued to her girlfriend's every move, a goofy smile tugged at her lips.
Francesca was a master at hiding her emotions. I’d always been extremely proud that I could read her when no one else had been able to. The way she felt for Livie was clear to anyone who bothered to look though; she practically glowed with love. It made me happy.
Frankie slid her attention back to me. I tried to hide the grin, but couldn’t wipe it from my face. Her face went blank, eyebrows high. “What?”
“I’m one of her favorites,” I lied without missing a beat, surprising myself.
“That’s only because she doesn’t know you well enough yet,” Frankie stood. “You’re really quite horrid. I’m not sure how you don’t go through friends like you do jobs.”
I snorted and lifted my middle finger in her direction. She always knew just what to say to make me laugh. Which was one reason I loved her. And why she’d always be my person.
Two
Cady
“What about a daycare?” Livie asked as she tapped a blood red nail on the table. “There has to be one that has odd hours to fit your class schedule.”
Frankie choked on her whiskey.
I ignored her, focused on the petite beauty across from me. “I do love kids.”
“How you gonna justify what happened during that summer nanny gig?”
“That was ten years ago.” I waved a hand in the air. “If it ever came up, I’d explain it the same way I did to the Wallingford’s.”
“Do I even want to know?” Livie asked apprehensively.
“Probably not.” I grumbled. “I told them I didn’t know how to cook when they offered me the job, however the mom insisted I start dinner every night. I charred a few of her copper bottom pots and pans, even though she’d said it was impossible. The day the oven caught fire was the last straw for her.”
“That doesn’t sound that bad.”
“What she’s not telling you,” Frankie supplied gleefully, “is the entire kitchen was engulfed in flames and she had to call the fire department.”
“I got the kids out.”
“The Wallingford’s had to do a fifty-thousand-dollar renovation and even then their house still reeked of smoke.”
“Yes, but I got the kids out,” I pointed out again.
Livie, not surprised by any of my failures anymore, simply twisted her lips. “Being a cook is definitely out.”
I ignored her and picked up my drink. The two of them had spent the last hour trying to figure out what type of industry I'd potentially be able to handle successfully. All it had done was make me feel like an epic failure.
I wanted to talk about something else. Any topic would do. I was seconds away from mentioning the state of our economy because a political debate with my opinionated friends seemed more enjoyable.
“Hmmm.” Liv’s eyes drifted over my shoulder, her lips twisted in thought. “Bartender?”
“Hell, no!” Frankie shook her head vigorously. “We’ve established that she can’t be a waitress. She defin
itely shouldn’t be around people who’ve been drinking. We like it here. We’d be banished for life.”
“That means shot girl is out, too.” Livie sighed sadly. “My friend Lake makes a killing. She likes it better than her old job.”
I snorted. “I think it’s safe to say shot girl was never an option.”
Her perfectly made-up face contorted into a confused scowl. “Why not?” She narrowed her eyes. “You realize that means you’d serve shots, not threaten to shoot people, right?”
I stuck out my tongue and rolled my eyes. Brat. I knew what a shot girl was.
I lifted my hand in front of me and motioned to my body before pointing at my face. “This isn’t what a shot girl looks like.”
“You’ve got a good point,” Livie agreed with a shrug. “They smile.”
Frankie hooted with laughter.
Impressed at Livie’s quick comeback, I barely hid my amusement. “That’s not what I meant, smart ass.”
She slid her margarita out of the way and braced her arms onto the table in challenge. “Then what did you mean?”
“If I looked like either one of you I’d still have a job and wouldn't have to worry about rent.”
I lifted the glass and polished off another Long Island Iced Tea. Drinking it all had been a bad idea. Frankie had tried to object when I’d ordered it because I was a lightweight who had a one drink max rule, but it was on special and I’d pulled the pity card, so she’d relented.
My friends had gotten appetizers and water for us all, yet I was still only one sip away from completely useless. It was a miracle I could think straight let alone talk in full sentences.
Livie turned toward Frankie and let her eyes roam over her body. When she spun back to me, her eyebrow was popped in challenge.
“Sporty Spice over here,” she flung a thumb in her girlfriend’s direction, “has a perma-scowl stuck on her face unless she’s on the back of a bike. Or on top of me.” Livie shot her partner a wicked grin. “You seriously think any of your bosses would have preferred the chip on her shoulder and her attitude compared to your sweet smile and kind heart?”
