Katie
Monday Morning
Ialways liked the morning shifts.
Even though I owned the store and could work whatever shift I wanted, I much preferred working the morning to the evening. When you got into the flow of things, work went by quickly. If I had to cover the morning shift—even if it came on six or so hours of notice, sometimes even less—I just let coffee wake me up, push me through, and then, before I knew it, I’d only have two hours on my shift. Compared to the evening shift, when the countdown began two hours in.
But today, there wasn’t any shift that I could enjoy after the disastrous end that was last Friday night. It had seemed to go so well; I’d accepted that Connor would act a little standoffish, be a little distant, and I felt like I’d pushed through so many boundaries. When I’d taken his arm, he didn’t resist. In fact, he almost seemed to like it.
Almost, of course, was the keyword. Because when we got back to the car and I looked into his eyes, I thought I saw enough to suggest that I could kiss him. I never anticipated that he would make a move, not with everything he had going on, and I was a bold enough person that if I felt the need to, I could make the first move.
So I did. I kissed him.
On the cheek.
On the fucking cheek. What fucking guy did that? Who the fuck was single and looking got a kiss offer from a girl after a great date and turned his cheek? Shit, even if he didn’t want to see me again, just take the kiss and text me the next day!
It left me in a spiral. I’d watched him walk away, noticing that he never looked back, and I was left wondering just how much I had misread about him. I wasn’t going to cry, but that was just because I rarely cried when I got upset—instead, I was much more prone to anger.
And when I got home, let me tell you, I cursed more in texts to the Rogers girls and even to Justine than a raunchy standup comedian did. I held nothing back. I called bikers assholes and shitheads who only behaved for appearances. I called Connor a fucking idiot that would never find love. I called myself a fucking desperate moron who had no fucking smarts for believing she could pull off some shit like this.
Justine had agreed with everything I said, which was no surprise. She was almost too nice for her own good, and I knew that she’d hooked up with Brock before Tara wound up with him in what had, overall, not been a good experience for her. Tara and Elizabeth never responded, which was fair. My critiques burned their boyfriends as well as Connor.
I just fucking needed to get some shit off my chest. But it didn’t help. I slept and dreamed that I was getting toyed with by Connor, played along and strung along that mercilessly mocked before a crowd. Even if it was only a dream, it was still fucking affecting me in reality.
And so now, at the store, I was feeling particularly snappy.
“What do you mean, your slushy machine is broken?” a portly man driving a truck in a John Deere baseball cap said to me.
“I mean, the goddamn slushy machine is broken!” I said, trying to keep my voice low with very poor results. “You’re welcome to lick the handles off if you’re that desperate for slushy. Otherwise, find something else that works in this store. I’m not going to repair the slushy machine just for you.”
“This is fucking bullshit,” the man snapped. “Some customer service you provide.”
“Kiss my ass.”
Yeah, when I got feisty, I did not give a single fuck about Yelp reviews or anything like that. People who were regulars here loved me for my attitude, and they understood that when I was not in a good mood, that attitude manifested as bitchiness.
The man looked at me, too stunned to respond, and walked off. I heard the door close behind him and went back to doing some accounting work.
The door swung open again, and I looked up. Wouldn’t you fucking know it.
It was the little teenage punkass that Connor had taken care of earlier in the week.
I’d already forgotten the little shithead’s name. I had too many people whose names I had to recall and people I had to keep track of to really give a shit. I remembered Damian and that it was his brother, but only because Damian was the one who had the balls to brandish a gun in my store. Otherwise, some teenager trying to giggle about stealing candy and causing trouble wasn’t anyone I was going to remember.
That didn’t mean, though, I was going to just let him shop.
“Hey!” I snapped.
The kid turned with a cocky smile. The smile faded when he saw me.
“Don’t try anything stupid today.”
He opened his mouth, tried to say something, but came up with nothing.
“You heard me.”
The kid bowed his head, cursing to himself as he went shopping. He came back a couple minutes later with some candy.
