My boss turned to me and my heart sank. He was the kind of man who catered to the few rich clients we had, convinced that if he could only cultivate enough of them, his establishment could become upscale. It was his number one rule that the customer was always right. I don't know what made me break it. It was the end of the night, and I was tired, and maybe deep down I was still mad at those kids for telling Makayla it was bad that she didn't have a father. But usually, I could control myself. Something had just snapped tonight.
My boss looked me over, and I suddenly knew what was coming. He turned back to the customer and said, "We don't employ them, sir. Deira, please turn in your apron. You're dismissed."
Dismissed? What did he think this was, some English manor where I was a scullery maid? I should have taken it coolly and then begged him for my job back after the couple left, but the use of that word,dismissed, just sent me over the edge. I ripped my apron off.
"And leave your tips," he said.
"Excuse me?"
"We'll divide them among our waitstaff that didn't insult our guests."
White hot rage coursed through me. Well, if I was going down, I might as well go down swinging. I took the pile of bills from my apron pocket, threw the apron on the floor, and stuffed the bills in my pocket.
"Sue me for them, okay?" I practically shouted, and then stormed out of the dining room.
Luckily, I had almost nothing in the lockers in the back, so I had everything gathered and was out the door before any of the other waiters knew what happened. The last thing I needed was sympathy which veiled a strong air ofat least it wasn't me.
By the time I got to my car I was already crying hot tears of rage and disappointment. Rage because it was so unfair, but disappointment in myself, because Iknewit was unfair. That was the game, and I was supposed to play it. Now I don't have a job. No matter how good the tips were, they wouldn't last Makayla and I long, and my other job wouldn't even cover half our bills.
I yanked open the car door, mad at myself and mad at the world. Without thinking, I got in and sped out of the parking lot. I didn't care where I went, so long as I got far away from where I was.
SIX
CASSIUS
I didn't bother to watch the man leave, but as I went back through the front door, I heard the sound of his car starting. Michelle was waiting just inside the door for me, and she immediately started telling how we needed to talk this through and that she still loved me. I had steeled myself for an argument, at the very least intending to make her apologize before I broke up with her. But the minute that I looked at her face everything I thought I had to say died on my lips. It was too late. All I felt when I looked at her was the pain and anger at this betrayal; all I could see was the image of her in our bedroom with someone else. There was no salvaging this relationship, and I wasn’t going to waste any more time on it.
So, I pushed her and her protestations aside and headed for the bedroom. She followed me. “Why aren’t you saying anything?” she asked as I went through the bedroom and into the closet.
“What’s there to say?” I asked, staring up at the shelves over the racks of clothes until I found my suitcase. She leaned against the closet door and gave me a pathetic look. I ignored it and laid the open suitcase on the floor.
“Aren’t you at least going to yell at me? I deserve it.” I scanned the closet, focusing on what I would need for the next few days. Only clothes—the hotel would have anything else I required. I started taking things off hangers and throwing them into the suitcase carelessly. If they wrinkled, I’d have someone steam them later.
“Cassius, don’t leave,” Michelle’s voice was softer now; it was a voice that had persuaded me to do many things over the course of our relationship. It used to make me smile, because it was fun to be persuaded by her, usually to do things I already secretly wanted to do. But now it left me cold. It turned out this break up would be easier than I thought. It was as though my feelings for her had just evaporated. It made sense, actually. There was nothing I hated more than liars, especially people who hide things from those they supposedly loved. There was probably nothing Michelle could have done to destroy my affection for her more than cheating on me.
I snapped the suitcase shut and started zipping it up.
"You can't just ignore me," Michelle said, and her voice took on another tone I recognized. It was the kind she used when she had a big presentation or was making the hard sell. Next would come a slew of logical reasons why she was right. I stood up, suitcase in hand, and pushed past her out of the closet.
"It was one mistake. We've been together for three years. Look at the life we've built together." Michelle and her bullet list of reasons I shouldn't leave followed me out of the bedroom and down the stairs. "We work well together. We can work on this. We can go to therapy."
I strode across the entryway and out the door to my car. I popped the trunk, threw my suitcase in, and looked over at her, standing barefoot in the driveway, hands on her hips.
"You're right," I said.
Surprise and hope crept onto her face.
"I am?" she asked.
"Yes," I shut the trunk and took a few steps back toward her. "We did build a life together, we did work well together, and you should go to therapy to find out why you threw that all away."
Her face clouded with anger.
"I wasn't happy. I didn't know how to tell you."
"Well, congratulations," I said as I turned away from her and walked over to get in the car. "You found the perfect way to communicate your unhappiness. Now, you're free of this relationship and ready to go find someone to make you happy." I paused after I opened the car door and looked at her over the roof of the car. "You've got a week to move out."
"Move out?" Her voice wasn't just angry now. It was also a little panicked.