“Esme,” I whisper.
“What?”
“My real name is Esme.”
Sara’s eyes go wide. “Oh.”
“You’re right about what you said, too,” I continue. It’s like a gushing flow. Now that I’ve started sharing my truth, I can’t stop. “I am running from something: a life I didn’t want.”
“And… the father of your baby?” she asks.
I shake my head. “Not exactly. We wanted different things,” I answer sadly. “I couldn’t compromise. If it was just me, maybe I could have. But I have my child to think of.”
Sara nods. “Was he a dangerous man? Like the men out there?”
Either Sara is incredibly perceptive or I’m just that transparent. I take a deep breath and try to explain.
“He is more dangerous than all of them put together,” I tell her. “But not to me. He was good to me. I believe he maybe even loved me.”
She reaches out to touch my hand reassuringly. “Then…?”
“There is no separating work from your personal life,” I say. “Not when it comes to the mafia.”
“Mafia?” Sara breathes. “He’s in the mafia?”
“Something like that,” I confirm with a nod. “And he wasn’t going to leave that way of life. So I did.”
She squeezes my fingers between hers. “Thank you for telling me, Esme.”
I smile. “I’m sorry I lied to you for so long.”
“I understand why you did,” she says simply. “Why don’t you go back home? I’ll hold down the fort here.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“It’s okay to accept help every now and again, Esme,” she says.
It feels better than I can express to hear her use my real name.
The weariness hits me all at once. Three months of running and hiding and scrapping and looking over my shoulder all the goddamn time. To have someone offering me simple help, with such an honest, trusting smile…
It’s overwhelming.
“Thank you.”
I give her a tight hug before we exit the walk-in fridge together. Then she offers me a parting wave and heads down the narrow corridor towards the dining area, while I turn into the bathroom.
I’m parched and tired, but I’ve gotten so used to the discomfort that I barely even notice it anymore. I splash some cold water on my face and stare at my reflection in the mirror.
Ruby is more accurate than I’ve given her credit for. I look scarily thin, a fact that’s only highlighted by my massive belly.
My rent is due in a week and I’m counting on my tips to get me over the edge. Otherwise, I’ll have to dip into my emergency cash reserve, which I’ve been hoping to save for the baby.
I have no plan once the baby arrives. I know that’s as reckless as it is stupid.
But really, what are my options?
I can’t afford to hire a nanny or a babysitter and Ruby has made it abundantly clear that she won’t have me waiting tables with a baby on my hip.