“Oh, how interesting. She must have quite the breath,” Constance gives a little, sadistic type of laugh that injects itself straight into my veins, flooding me with immediate rage.
This fuckin’ lady sucks. There are no ifs, ands, or buts about it.
“She’s dead,” I say, hating how cold the words come out, but Jesus, Constance Berry is not meant for easily triggered people. Because in under three minutes, I’m fuckin’ triggered.
But Goldie’s hand tightens around my thigh as she slides it down toward my knee, massaging me affectionately.
“Mom, that was rude,” she says, and I’m surprised because I didn’t expect her to say anything. Equally, I wouldn’t have been mad at her for not. But she did.
The waiter approaches, and instead of diffusing the tension at our table, he increases it when he sees me.
“Atti, yo, remember me? I apprenticed at the Kings for a year a few years back.”
I narrow my eyes. “Oh yeah.” I look at his name tag. “Carlos, what’s up?”
He shrugs, focusing only on me as we catch up. I mean, I don’t want to catch up, but he’s doing it. “Been working here since they opened a few years back. Still trying to find what’s right for me, but I don’t know. I thought I’d know, but nothing has felt like the thing,” he says, and his tone tells me he’s looking to me for advice.
“You’ll know it when you find it. If you don’t feel like you’ve found it, it’s ‘cause you haven’t,” I tell him, and that’s the truth. I’ll never forget my first engine rebuild with my Dad in the garage of their place. Something inside me went off like a rocket, and I knew.
“I hope I find my thing, man,” Carlos says ruefully as he takes his pad and pen from the pocket on his apron. “Alright, what’re we having?” he asks with a smile.
Constance, who I glance at to order first because old ladies first and whatnot, is legit glaring at Carlos when she says, “I’ll have the micro greens salad,” she says with arrogance. How can a salad be ordered with arrogance? I don’t know, but it fuckin’ can. “Extra Kohlrabi if possible.” She smiles and hands him the menu. “The chef will know what that means.”
Carlos eyes me, but I give him a stoic expression. He clears his throat when taking the menu from Constance. “I know what Kohlrabi is. And it’s mixed with red cabbage, red Russian kale, and broccoli, so we can’t add extra.”
Refusing to acknowledge that she was just a massive bitch to this kid, Constance gives what I’m learning to be her signature nose wrinkle. “Just…ask.”
He smiles, and I can feel the tightness of his jaw as he maintains it.I know, kid, I know.
When he disappears, the real fun begins.
“So your end goal is mechanic, then?”
I take a sip of my water to cool my anger. Goldie keeps her hand on my knee, but I notice now her leg is no longer bouncing. “Well, Constance, I’m good at what I do, and I love doin’ it, so no, I’m not shootin’ to be a stockbroker in my late forties.”
She studies her cuticles. “Stocks are a good place to be.”
I lean over the table and coax her closer with my finger. “I’ll let you in on a secret. Stockbrokers drive to work, either in their car or on a train or in a taxi.” I drive my thumb into my chest. “I fix those things.” I lean back. “If that ain’t job security, I don’t know what is.”
“Don’t they have robots that repair vehicles now? Robots that do your job? Hmm?”
“Mom–”
I lift my hand and keep my focus on Constance. People like this want to rattle you. She knows what she’s doing. Yeah, she probably believes all the shit she’s hawking, but she knows she’s trying to get a reaction from me. To prove to Goldie I ain’t the guy.
Fuck that.
I’m the guy, goddamn it.
“I think they got robots that can do anything. Hell, they got tiny computers that can do the job of a stockbroker, too. They learn about a stock and use everything they know about other stocks to decide if you should buy, sell, or trade. And computers know more than stock brokers, so… I guess if I get replaced, the stockbrokers will have been replaced long before me since their job is easier to compute.”
I will not be fucked with by some pseudo-intellectual white-collar elitist with shit parenting skills and even shittier human skills.
She lost this round, so she sips her drink and turns her focus to Goldie.
“And how is human resources treating you?” she asks, saying those two words like she’s sayinghow’s hooking the streetsorhow is it turning tricks. I ain’t a big PDA guy because that shit is dumb as fuck, but I drop my hand to my leg and link my fingers together with Goldie’s. Because Goldie’s been battling this bitch alone her whole life.
Before she can respond, Constance adds, “you must miss public relations. That’s where the excitement is. That’s where your skillsreallyget put to use.”