“And salmon cakes for you, sir.” I placed the second plate in front of one of the suits.
“Is this fresh?” Vivica’s voice cut through the air, sharp and cold.
I paused, the last plate still in my hand. “Yes, ma’am. Everything’s made fresh daily.”
She finally looked up at me, her dark eyes sweeping over me in a way that made me feel small. Like I was something stuck to the bottom of her designer shoe.
“Fresh,” she repeated, her tone dripping with skepticism. She picked up her fork and poked at the fish like it might bite back. “This doesn’t look fresh.”
One of the suits shifted uncomfortably. The other pretended not to hear.
“I can have the kitchen remake it if you’d like,” I offered, keeping my voice steady even as my jaw tightened. I was trying my best. I couldn’t afford to lose anymore hours.
“I’d like competent service,” Vivica said, setting her fork down with a delicate clink. “But I suppose that’s too much to ask these days.”
I felt heat crawl up my neck, but I forced a smile. “I apologize, ma’am. Would you like something else from the menu?”
She waved a dismissive hand. “Just bring me sweet tea. And make sure it’s actually sweet this time.”
“Of course.” I set the last plate down in front of the second suit, who at least had the decency to mumble a thank you.
As I turned to leave, I heard Vivica say to one of the men, “This is what happens when standards drop. You get service that matches.”
I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood and kept walking.
Back at the server station, Asia gave me a sympathetic look. “She get to you?”
“I’m fine.”
“Girl, you don’t look fine. You look like you want to throw that sweet tea in her face.”
The thought was tempting. So tempting. But I couldn’t afford to lose this job, no matter how much Larry disgusted me or how rude the customers were. Yusef’s music camp. The deposit on a commercial kitchen for Sweet Zin. My dreams of getting out from under all this.
I couldn’t risk it. Not even for the satisfaction of telling Vivica Banks exactly what I thought of her.
“I just need to get through today,” I said quietly, filling a glass with sweet tea from the pitcher.
“Mmm-hmm.” Asia didn’t look convinced. “You’ve been off all week. Something going on?”
“Just life.”
“Well get it together, girl,” she replied.
I carried the sweet tea back to Vivica’s table, set it down without a word, and walked away before she could find something else to complain about.
Three more hours. I just had to make it three more hours without snapping at a customer, without thinking about Saturday, without remembering the heat of Prime’s body or the threat in his voice.
By the time Larry flipped the “CLOSED” sign at 9 PM, my feet were screaming and my face hurt from forcing smiles at customers who treated me like I was invisible. I was in the back, counting my tips, when Cookie called me into the kitchen.
“Zahara, come here for a second.”
I walked in to find her leaning against the prep counter, wiping down her hands with a towel. Cookie was in her late fifties, had been cooking at Grits since before Larry took over, and didn’t take shit from anybody. She was also one of the few people here who treated me like a human being.
“What’s up, Cookie?”
She reached under the counter and pulled out a small container. Inside was one of my red velvet Zinnamon rolls, the cream cheese glaze still glistening.
My heart stopped. “Where did you get that?”
