I frown. “Okay.”
He unties his apron, still not looking at me. “I resign. Effective immediately.”
Relief floods me as I laugh. “Seriously, Sanjay, you scared me.”
He snaps his eyes to me, his expression pained. My smile disappears, and the earlier unknown feeling gripping my stomach returns. “You’re not joking?”
He shakes his head and looks down again.
“What happened? Earlier this week you were full of enthusiasm to help out more around here. Is it about money? You know I can’t offer you more at the moment, but—”
“I got another job. I’m sorry, Cora. I-I hope you understand.”
I sigh. “No, Sanjay, I don’t understand at all. I really don’t, but I guess you made up your mind. Is there any way Ican—”
“Please, Cora, just let me go.”
His plea is so desperate, I can practically feel his anguish in my stomach. “You want to leave right away?”
“Yes, I have vacation time I’m owed.” He moves toward the back door. “You don’t have to pay me. The job is closer to my sister. She got sick, so I really have to go.” He slips into the prep room, and before I can gather my wits and follow him, he returns with his backpack.
He nods, giving me a curt, guilty glance, and leaves. Just like that, after being here almost every day in the past few months, he just walks out.
What has just happened? Shit.
I don’t know how long I stare at the glass entrance, a part of me waiting for him to return and finally confirm it was just a prank. A cruel one, but still a joke.
“Can we pay?” A customer snaps me back to my new reality.
I look at him, still stunned, trying to remember how to run a register I’m perfectly familiar with under normal circumstances.
I finally manage to settle their bill. “Was everything okay?”
The elderly lady and her husband are regulars here. She smiles at me. “Yes, as always. We’ve been coming here for years.”
Smiling, I walk them to the door, but I can barely see them. It’s like I’m suspended in a different dimension, just watching myself going through the motions. The lady says something I miss, but they finally leave.
I should call the temp agency. And prep for lunch.
Instead, I flip the open sign to closed and lock the door. My legs carry me back to the counter. I check the register for the open orders and then glance at the tables.
Only three of them are currently occupied, and none of the patrons is waiting for anything. The ingrained instinct is sending me toward the tables to check if they want something else, to clean the dishes, to schmooze.
Instead, I’m standing rooted in place. If I thought I was tired before, the level of weary fatigue that hugs my nerves is so deep, I don’t think I can ever move again.
You never deserved any of this.
I don’t know what to do with Dad’s statement. Or with my current situation. So I stand there, waiting for everyone to finally fuck off.
When I lock the door after the last customer leaves at eleven in the morning, I get to the back room, grip the handle of my largest chef’s knife, and stab the wooden cutting board repeatedly.
And then I scream. At the top of my lungs until my throat hurts.
It helps only marginally. The fog in my mind clears slightly, but I’m still just tired of it all, with no drive to look for solutions. I just don’t have the energy to keep this boat afloat.
Don’t be fucking dramatic, Cora.And now I speak to myself, sounding like my sister. Great.
Okay, this is not the first time I’m left without help. I get my phone to dial the temp agency when a bang on the front glass draws my attention.
