“I’ll go to him right now,” I tell him as I put on my apron. I walk into the dining room, and there he is, Marco. I walk up to him with my notepad, and I don’t know why I carry this fucking thing because he always orders the same thing.
“What can I get you, Marco?”
“The same as always, and somethingsweet.” The way he sayssweetmakes my skin crawl. I try to smile, and I do, because I need this job, but my patience is wearing thin. How much do I have to endure before I get what I want?
“How about a slice of apple pie?” I suggest to him.
“That sounds good. Thank you, Osmanovic.” My pen freezes, and my eyes are glued to my notepad. I look at him, and his expression has turned deadly.
What the fuck is happening here?
“Marco, that’s not my name.” My past self is starting to emerge, and I don’t plan on keeping her around. I sit down opposite him. Other customers will have to wait.
“It sure is. Now, where is your lovely boss?” He is trying to bait me, and I’m not falling for it.
“He died. Isn’t that quite unfortunate?”
“I quite liked him. Did you know that he knew about your father?” I put my hands on the table, trying to steady myself. My hands are too still while his smile is too knowing.
“Did he now? And how do you know about my father?”
“Let’s just say that a third party got interested. And he is very eager to meet you.”
“What’s the name of this third party?” I ask him. Marco leans back into his chair and doesn’t blink.
“A man who could have been close to you had his son not been a prick.”
No. Fucking. Way.
The awful clock on the wall ticks too loudly, and my coworkers’ footsteps sound distant, useless. The air feels heavy, dangerous—like the moment before a match is struck.
He leans back, relaxed, as if he’s enjoying a private joke.
My mask slips for just a second, but I recover quickly by crossing my legs and putting my hands on my knees.
“Tell him that I’m not interested.”
“I’ll do that. And this diner is quite lovely, I have to admit.” I get up and smile sweetly at him.
“I’ll bring you your apple pie and the rest of your order, Marco Jasarevic.” Before he can say anything, I bolt to the kitchen and hope that is one of the last orders I have to put in. I have to fucking quit in a couple of days.
This place has become toxic and dangerous, and I need to get out of here.
***
The rest of my shift went by smoothly, and Marco left quickly after that. After my shift, I asked Emin to meet me in the parking lot near our work so I could talk to someone who understands what the diner is about.
I’m leaning against my car, and I’m replaying everything.
Marco.
The diner.
M.
Belmin.
My piece-of-shit boss’s last words really stayed with me.
