"Goddamn piece of shit!" Mabel snaps and rubs her face with her hands.
Snickering at her language, I gently rap on the door, and she glances up, brows knitting together when she sees that it's me.
Clearing my throat, I put on my best smile as I reach my hand out for her to shake. She looks confused but grabs my own hand, playing along.
"Hello, my name is Gwendolyn Durant. Everyone calls me Wendy. I would like to apply for a job here."
Mabel blinks, her lips twitching as she glances around the room. "Is this a joke? One of them internet pranks?"
"Hire me," I say, dropping the act.
"...hire you?"
"You're looking for someone to work," I say, gesturing out front to where the sign is. "It just so happens that I'm looking for a job."
Mabel frowns.
"It's just a customer service position, Wendy. Stocking shelves, ringing people out, sweeping the floors, wrangling the carts—"
"And I'll do it," I say immediately, resisting the urge to fold my hands over my chest and beg. "I'll do whatever you need... so long as I can be done by 3:30 for school pickup?"
Mabel's face softens, as if reading my desperation. She sits forward in her chair, her dark brown eyes so kind and open as she gentles her voice. "Is everything okay, Wendy? At home? Do you guys need money? I can—"
God, and she would.She would hand over money to anyone who needed it.
"No, Mabel, I... I need ajob.I need to make my own money. Ineed an income..." is all I tell her, because it's the truth. It's all anyone needs to know right now.
“You know I ran the ice cream shop when I was sixteen, managing the front and doing the books for Mr. Sanderson. I did the books for the garage before I had Liam. I'm good at quick math, and I'm a mom, so you know I'm used to cleaning up messes. I want to work here. Hire me... please."
Mabel stares at me for a long moment before standing up from her desk, and walking to the closet. It takes a minute of searching in there before she turns back to me and tosses me a scrap of green fabric.
When I see that it's aMabel's Marketvest, I smile broadly.
"8:00 start time good?"
School drop-off for the middle school is at 7:30; the elementary school is right at 7:50 and it’s right down the road.
"Yes!"
"Good," Mabel grins, crossing her arms. "Be here tomorrow morning."
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” I rush over to Mabel and hug her, feeling her chuckle and pat my back in return. When I walk out of the grocery store for the second time in fifteen minutes, I wave to a still confused Tyler.
"See you tomorrow!" I chirp happily, practically floating out of the grocery store.
Okay, employment—check.
Next, a bank account.
Chapter Four
Wendy
When I get home, I'm still buzzing as I get to work unloading all the groceries, organizing carrots and cut up fruit, and snack bags for lunches and after-school snacks.
I slot everything into the boys' lunchboxes—Liam's red, Noah's green—then label the gallon bags of marinating meat with a Sharpie:Mon—BBQ, Wed—Lemon Herb, Fri—Teriyaki.
The rest of the haul goes neatly in the pantry, and my hands move mostly on their own, used to this routine by now.
