Maybe I needed the comfort, I don’t know. It’s all been one endless blur—
“Order up!”
Too late to go back now.
“I got it, Sampson,” I declare after he rings the bell for my order again. I know what I’m doing. Him somehow still unconvinced or just irritable.
I’d go with the latter.
“A little faster next time. My food’s gonna get cold.”
Glaring, I take the items without a word. Our distaste for one another evident in the brief time we’ve known each other. Alma hired him after I left, needing the extra help.
He dings it again and I shoot him a glare over my shoulder.That was right in my eardrum, asshole.
“Careful or that isn’t going to be the only thing crying out when I shove it up your—”
“—How are we doing?” Alma questions. Appearing from thin air.
“Just peachy,” I lie. The tension was palpable.
She slings her arm over my shoulder, a roguish smile twitches across her lip before looking at Sampson through the food window. “Treating our girl good?”
His smirk is charged but Alma doesn’t notice. The sound of my plate hitting the tray with too much force drawing her eyes away from him.
“You got it all?”
I shift, righting my arm with a grunt. Her concern deepens.
“Yeah, I’m good. Thanks, Alma.”
She gives my shoulder a little squeeze. “Anytime, hon.”
Alma knows me better than most people. That not working in my favor now as I head toward my table. Her eyes pierce their way into my back, same as they’ve been doing since I came here asking for my old job.
Watching me more closely than ever.
I know she can tell something’s wrong, but she agreed anyway. My penance is her hovering over me any chance she can.
She never says it, but I know she wants me to tell her what’s going on, but I can’t do it. Not yet, maybe, not even ever.
I’m not ready to open myself back up to that torture when I’ve just settled back into my old normal.
I try and keep busy, and I’m grateful this job allows this for the most part. New customers in and out daily. When we do hit the slow periods, I’ll clean tables, or wash dishes, anything to avoid whathedid to allow to plague my mind.
It’s exhausting but it’s the only way I’ve been making it through.
At least on the clock. Late at night, another story.
That’s when my mind does nothingbutwonder. Crying myself to sleep more nights than I will ever admit out loud.
The familiar humming sound of the fryers cooling my only company. Confined once again to the cot, same as all those years before. I was thankful Alma hadn’t removed it from the closet after I left.
The sun would rise too soon, and I’d do it all over again. Copy and pasting myself into autopilot.
“After you finish up with your bill, can you drop table six their food?” Alma asks over my shoulder hours later.
“Sure, no problem.” Not bothering to lift my head as I type in the total at the register.