That’s when I see Stella rushing out the door, alone. No Emett in sight, and my fingers start to drum against the steering wheel.
I get out of the car, pushing the door to Blade’s open. I fucking hate that she’s twisting me up like that. What the fuck happened to simply making sure they’re fine and leaving, hmm?
I guess it’s never going to be enough…
12
Getting out of line
Aurora
Haveyoueverheardthe saying:when it rains, it pours? Well, it’s been pretty damp in my life from the get-go, but the last five years have flooded me, leaving rust and soggy walls in their wake.
But a good thing about soggy walls? They can be replaced with new beams and drywall, or better yet, bricks. And the rust? Well, baking soda, white vinegar, and all the rest of the remedies to your rescue as they come to mind, because every morning when I wake up, I polish my armor and go to war.
Today, I had to don on a few extra layers after receiving a letter from Dad’s insurance that they are sorry to inform him, his new medications will not be covered.
Yeah, they’re sorry…so freaking sorry.
I was planning to use the money I had saved up to take Emett to Boston, to see some professional trainers, but now that idea will have to be pushed to the back burner.
I take a deep breath, willing the tears gathering behind my lids to disappear.
It’d be easy to succumb to the rain.So easyto crumble in the puddle of my never-ending problems. And I want to. Some days I so desperately want to just fall, crumble, and let the current take me. But I won’t let it. I have someone to live for. And I’ll be damned if I let my son get all flooded too, or even damp.
Not on my watch.
“Your order is up, Rory,” Jensen hollers from the kitchen window as I finish putting in another order into the system. My fingers are flying over the screen while my feet are already moving toward the dishes, and my mind is adding up which tables need what drinks.
It’s always busy during dinnertime at Blade’s, as it is during every other time of the day, but I mostly work evening shifts here, and honestly, the busier the better. It’s killing two birds with one stone, and all that.
A, the tips are usually more than enough to make up for running ragged. However, it’s B that continues to make me happy because B is being too busy to allow my mind to think about the million and one problems I have to deal with outside these doors…like where to find an extra dollar to fix the leak in the roof when we’re already in the negative. Or figuring out who paid for our window repair because it wasn’t Stella or Electra, I checked.
It’s too busy to drown in guilt and feelings of failure and participate in my favorite Olympic sport of self-doubt and shame or plague me with thoughts like,I’m not good enough. I don’t spend enough time with my kid. And more along the same lines.
It’s the time when I can just be the nice waitress who will give the tourists all the good recommendations and places they need to visit.
And for the past week, it’s the perfect distraction to not think about the most beautiful yet haunting golden eyes attached to acomplete asshole. Fine, he might not be an asshole but I’d like to stick to that idea.
Just the mere thought of him sends a rush of wind down my spine.
Stupid, stupid, Aurora.
Hastily, and now annoyed with myself, I click in all the orders and head for the window.
“Thank you,” I call back, grabbing four plates in my arms and storming off to the corner table, setting each dish in front of the guests.
“Here’s your order. Enjoy and let me know if I can get you anything else.” I shoot them a sweet smile that everyone buys as genuine when it’s nothing more than years of practice pulling my muscles around my lips up. I’ve gotten so good at it even I believe it most days.
“This looks amazing, thank you,” one of the guys says with a nod before digging in.
I wander away, strolling through my section, refilling drinks when needed, cleaning up spills, grabbing extra napkins, straws or “that one special sauce you had that one time.”
I still have a few hours left in my shift, but mentally, I’m already home, taking a hot shower, and cuddling with my baby.
It’s as if I’ve conjured him up from my mind, I hear that sweet voice calling out, “Mommy!” as he runs through the bar.
“Hey, you.” I bend down to catch him and twirl him around in a hug. “What are you doing here?” I ask, planting a smooch on his cheek.
