He owesmethis.
And he agreed, but with demands of his own. We traded terms back and forth like lawyers, not like blood relatives trying to mend fences. In the end, he agreed to my two non-negotiables: Mom in rehab and our rent paid for the next three months. He made all the arrangements. Now I have to leave. Tonight.
Glancing around the room, Doug pulls his not-so-secret pack of cigarettes from beneath the counter and lights up, taking a deep drag before blowing out the smoke. “You sure you’re not getting scammed?”
“By who? Peter?” Probably, but I’m scamming him, too. “Nah, he needs me this time.”
“Well, just take care of yourself. You came in last in the parent lottery.” Doug’s opinion of my parents isn’t the best, and I get why. “I always wanted something better for you, Billie. Leaving is probably best, you know? As long as you don’t end up somewhere worse than here.”
“Don’t worry about me.” My smile is weak. “I’ve got this. I’ll be fine.”
“Uh-huh.” He pulls out his ashtray and taps the cigarette against the edge, sullying the chipped white dish with a streak of ash. “Just—be careful, Billie. Feels like no one is watching out for you.”
No one is, I want to tell him, but instead I offer a shallow nod and reach around to untie the black apron I wear when I’m working. “I have to go.”
“You give me notice and then leave immediately?” Thehurt in his voice almost undoes me. Doug doesn’t do feelings—he does sarcasm and bar tabs. He looks like he wants to say more but can’t figure out how.
I reach up, twist the thin silver hoop in my nose, and pretend not to notice. Pretending helps us both. “Not like you’re swamped.” I wave a hand at the near-empty bar, then head for the back and grab my bag, tossing my apron in the laundry bin for the last time. I nearly miss, and it hangs over the edge like I feel—half in, half out, not sure where I belong.
A minute later, Doug pushes his way through the swinging door.
“I need to pay you,” he says, voice gruff. He heads over to the small safe he keeps next to the rickety old desk and taps at the keypad, opening it with aclick. Within seconds he’s standing in front of me, a fistful of cash clutched between his fingers.
“That looks like too much,” I start, but he shoves it in front of my face, cutting me off.
“Take it, Billie. Not like I’ve got anywhere to spend it.”
“Maybe on rent?” The temptation to grab the cash and run out of the building is strong. It’s definitely more than I’ve earned in the last week.
“I’ve got that covered. Just take the damn money. You’re the closest thing I’ve got to a kid, and—” There’s an odd shine in Doug’s eyes. “I just want you to be okay.” Before things get too deep, which will make both of us want to crawl out of our skin, I grab the money and stuff the wad in my backpack.
“Thank you.” I check my phone, and my chest tightens. I need to leave. “I gotta go. See ya around, Doug.”
For a second, we just stand there—both of us knowing thisgoodbye is more than it seems. I half-lift my hand, not sure if I should hug him or wave. He just nods, a quiet agreement that it’s better to keep it simple, and turns back to the safe.
I take the out, push through the swinging door, and don’t look back.
I make my way between the tables and chairs, pausing just long enough to scoop up the soggy dollars those jerks left as my tip. Only when I’m outside do I feel like I can breathe again, and I release a shuddery exhale, hating the dread settling over my skin like a heavy coat.
Then I remember I’m getting out of here, and the tiniest flicker of hope sparks to life in my chest. This is my chance to get away. To change my life for the better. That’s what I have to hold on to. A fresh start. Sounds like a cliché, but my life has been one long sequence of bad clichés: Child of a single mom too busy drinking her sorrows away to do much parenting. Absentee dad thriving with his new family an ocean away. Smart enough to go places, according to all my teachers, but too broke to travel. I’ve survived through all of this mess so far, because that’s what I do. That’s what I am.
A survivor.
I’ll probably never see Doug again, I think as I make my way down the sidewalk, headed toward my apartment building. There’s an uncomfortable pressure behind my eyes at the thought, and I decide to send him a text when I’m settled again. Just to let him know I’m okay. Nothing too mushy.
I sidestep a broken-open Styrofoam container spilling greasy noodles over the street as I take a left off Seventh Avenue. Wrinkling my nose at the scent of rancid garbage and piss, I wonder if other cities smell like wilted hot trash andbodily functions, or if it’s unique to this part of New York. It’s disgusting, but I know we’re lucky to have this apartment at all. We’re close to Penn Station, which on the plus side means I can sometimes hear strains of music from concerts at Madison Square Garden. On the minus side? Pretty much everything else.
It’s not glamorous, and it’s not fun, and it’s not even especially tolerable most days, but thisismy life.
Or it was.
Until a certain someone came crashing back into my world and demanded I come see him. Help him. He must’ve been downright desperate to ask formyhelp. I wish I could take some pleasure in his pain, but even I’m not jaded enough for that. Not when his reason for reaching out ripped both our hearts in two.
I’m halfway down the block when one of my neighbors on the front stoop across the street shouts at me. “Hey yo, Billie! How much will it cost me for a smile today?”
“Oh I don’t know, Sammy,” I yell back, pretending to root around in my front pocket. “Can you make change for this?” I hold up my middle finger like it’s a five-dollar bill I just found. I’m barely able to contain the smile that wants to stretch across my lips. This is our love language, slinging insults at each other.
He just laughs, calling, “Aw, next time, Billie, next time! Get home safe, girl.”
