by M. E. Carter
I smile politely at the staff member I’m approaching. I’m sure working in community service is draining. There’s an element of customer service that goes with it, just like my job. I’d rather not be the customer that makes her day more difficult.
“Hi, I have an appointment.” She doesn’t look up from her computer, clicking away on the keys.
“Name?”
“Kiersten Willoughby.”
“Child’s name?”
“Carson. Same last name.”
It takes her only a few seconds to pull up my information and finally make eye contact, although she still appears really bored. I feel bad for her. It’s still morning and the workday isn’t even halfway over. Things are not going to go well if it’s already this draining on her mood.
“I need a utility bill, proof of income, and your child’s shot record,” she finally says and I hand over what I have, which isn’t much.
“Um, my boss couldn’t give me any paycheck stubs because he does it all online.” I hate that I can hear the embarrassment in my voice, but she’s not giving me good vibes. “Is there a way I can email them to you to print? I’m sorry,” I tack on quickly, feeling bad that I didn’t stop to think long enough during my conversation with Paul to get what I need at work.
She sighs and hands me a business card with the email address on it. “Have a seat and just come back up when you’re done.”
I thank her and sit down in the closest chair, making quick work of screenshotting my proof and emailing it to her, while she checks in someone else who actually brought the right paperwork. Getting back in line, I try to stop mentally berating myself for my lack of preparation but it’s hard. Very little sleep, a humiliating conversation, and humbling myself to get food for my son isn’t a good combination.
When I get back to the front of the line, I smile again. She gives me no reaction, except to look at her monitor. I wait patiently, hoping she’s looking for my email and not just ignoring me.
“You only have two paycheck stubs.”
I furrow my brow. “That’s all the paper said I needed.”
“It’s better to have three.”
“Do you need me to send you another one?”
She sighs and rolls her eyes as if I’m causing her tremendous grief. “We’ll make do.”
An idea hits me that will hopefully make this process easier. “Um, will last year’s tax return help?”
“Probably. Let’s see it.” I hand it over to her, grateful I had the foresight to have it with me, until she huffs her frustration again. “Where’s the rest of it?”
“What do you mean? That’s it.”
She holds it up to show me, like I don’t know what I just handed her. “This is just the first two pages.”
“That’s what the WIC paper said I needed to bring.”
“No. We need your adjusted gross income.”
“It’s right there.” I point out the line that is clearly labeled “adjusted gross income.”
“Well, that’s not what we need.”
Feeling frazzled and confused, I don’t want to argue with her, but this isn’t the first time I’ve done this. It’s also not the first time someone has tried to make me feel like shit for being here. “The first two pages is exactly what the office we used to go to has taken every year for the last two years.”
She turns to her co-worker who has obviously been listening but stayed silent for this whole exchange. “Can you pull up her previous account?” I wait quietly, biting my lip to keep the tears at bay. Standing behind the co-worker, she finally points at the monitor. “See that’s what we need. Open it up.” She suddenly looks confused. “Why don’t they have the rest of it? That’s just the first two pages. I hate when people don’t know what they’re doing.”
I blink a few times, trying hard not to cry. People are staring at me and she’s talking about my lack of income in front of all these people. I haven’t felt this humiliated since Spence’s mother paid me off to go away. Like we’re unimportant and not worth being treated like human beings.
She turns to another woman who I assume is a manager, although why she hasn’t gotten involved yet is a bit baffling. “Can you look at this? She’s saying this is all she needs but there should be more pages.”
On top of my humiliation, I’m starting to get angry as well. This isn’t right. I’ve followed all the instructions. I’ve brought everything they said they needed. They’re even looking in my previous account to prove I’m not trying to scam the system and she’s still treating me like I’m a criminal for forty dollars in food.
“Have a seat,” she says over her shoulder. “We’ll call you in a minute.”
I turn away quickly, fuming and shocked and ashamed to be in this situation. The worst part is I know it’s not my fault. I’m just trying to do what’s right for my child whose father died. But even knowing I have no reason to feel this way doesn’t make it better when someone is outright treating me like I’m garbage.
“Just ignore her.”
I look up to see a woman sitting across from me. She’s dressed impeccably and her makeup is spotless. She doesn’t fit in this room. Maybe she’s here for a job interview.
“I’m sorry?”
She flashes me a soft smile. “I said to just ignore her. She’s like that every time I come in. I think she just likes to fight with people for fun.”
I glance back over at the workers who are still loudly discussing my case. “And they let her get away with it?”
The woman across from me, who I guess is actually a customer like me, shrugs. “What are they gonna do? Social workers get paid terrible wages across the board to work in an office with screaming kids coming in and out all day. I’m sure the resumé pool isn’t all that impressive.”
A little girl I didn’t notice before who is about Carson’s age approaches and lays her head on the woman’s lap. I smile at the gentle way she strokes the little girl’s hair and I can’t help but wonder about her story. She’s obviously older than me by a lot, but we have a child the same age. By the way she’s dressed, if I saw her on the street, I’d assume she was a business professional of some sort or maybe even a PTA mom.
“Still.” I pull in a breath to calm the thoughts in my head. “It sucks to be treated like I’m trying to get away with something.” I look over at my sweet boy who is still playing quietly. “His dad died in a car accident. I didn’t have anything to do with that.”
“Oh honey, you don’t have to convince me. I’m right there with you. My ex-husband left me with three kids. My oldest is twelve and has brain damage from oxygen deprivation at birth. There is no daycare for a kiddo like him and he can’t be left alone so I can’t work outside my house. Especially not during holidays and summer break when there isn’t even school. But people forget that part. They just assume we’re out partying and popping out babies for fun, then coming in here for help cleaning up our mess.”
Wow. As hard as my situation is, I can’t imagine trying to provide for more than one. Even more impressive is how she can still have a decent attitude about it. “Do you ever get used to it?”
“Being treated like dirt?” I nod. “No. But you stop trying to change people’s minds. My focus is on my kids, not anyone else. They all have their own crosses to bear. If I wallowed every time they tried to add to mine, I’d never get anything done.”
I look at Carson again just as he glances up from the dirty toy table that probably has never been disinfected. He smiles at me like I’m his whole world, which I am. And he’s mine.
If it was just me, I’d walk right out of this office and never look back. But it’s not. For him, I’ll suffer the humiliation. For him, I’ll deal with women that have no business working in social services if they don’t have an ounce of compassion in them.
“You are young and he is precious,” my new friend adds. “Keep making good choices and keep putting one foot in front of the other. This is just a season in your life. I prom
ise.”
“I could say the same back to you.”
She laughs. It’s hearty and joyful. I hope I run into her every time I have to come in. “I wish I could believe you but it’s a different animal when you have a child that’s in and out of the hospital. Especially being an older mom. But it’s okay. I’m strong. I’m healthy. And my prayer life has increased a million-fold since I started doing this by myself. I’ll be fine. And in the meantime, I’ll pretend like I’ve been put here to help lift people back up when someone,” she glares at the lady at the front counter, “tries to bring them down.”
A door opens up behind me and someone calls out, “Carson.”
“That’s us. Carson, come on baby.”
“See? If they’re taking you back it means you were right. They just had to get their thumbs out of their butts.”
I pick Carson up and turn to my new friend, hoping to express the gratitude I feel. “Thank you. Truly.”
“You’re very welcome. Maybe we’ll see each other next time.”
I give a small wave and we follow yet another person into the back offices. The appointment is quick and relatively painless. Carson would disagree since he is the one whose finger got stuck for a quick iron test. But all in all, the appointment isn’t terrible. And the whole time, I think about the woman in the lobby and everything she said.
She’s right. This is just a season in my life. It’s a really hard season with lots of work and not lots to show for it. But I’m grateful for amazing friends, an amazing boss, and amazing strangers who can put things back into perspective.
I can choose how I respond to the boulders that drop in my way and I want to be as gracious and content as the woman I met. That means no more wallowing in the past. No more anger over Spence’s betrayal or his mother’s horrific treatment. No more jumping to conclusions when a nice man tries to let me down easy. All of that is over and done with. From here on out, it’s a choice to be grateful for what I’ve been given, including a loaded WIC card to go buy some milk.
After I buckle Carson into his seat and me into mine, I take a deep breath. “Are you ready, buddy? Let’s move on with our lives.”
“Yeah, mama!” he yells having absolutely no idea what I’m talking about. It doesn’t matter anyway. Just knowing he’s with me in my fresh take on life is enough.
As I put the car in drive, my phone rings. I glance down and see it’s Nicole. Quickly I connect my Bluetooth to answer.
“Hey sis. How’s it going?”
“K…Ki…Kiersten?” Her voice breaks when she says my name and I can tell she’s bawling. My body runs cold. I know, I know what she’s going to say, even though I’m praying I’m wrong. “I need your help.”
“I’m on my way, baby sister. Just hold on.”
Pressing on the gas, I race home. My season may be hard, but nothing is going to stop me from helping my sister through hers.
TWENTY-THREE
Paul
It’s been four days since I’ve seen Kiersten and the guilt gets worse every minute that passes. I’m the one who drove her away. I crossed a line that never should have been crossed and consequently the exact issue I was trying to avoid happened. Kiersten was hurt in the worst way.
I’m trying not to let my emotions bleed over into the business, but I was wounded, too. I wasn’t hurt in the same way she was, but it all still stings. Knowing I had one night with her, but that’s all I’ll ever have. Knowing I fell hard for her and can’t do anything about it makes my heart feel like it’s in a shredder.
“Alright, Mr. Moody.” Tammy drops her tray on the counter and unloads some dirty glasses into the bucket. I ignore her nickname, too irritated to address it. “I need a house IPA, a margarita on the rocks, and an apple pie for our favorite pool shark.”
I raise my eyebrows in surprise as I fill a mug with beer, careful to not make it too frothy. “Dwayne’s drinking something other than water? What happened to keeping his skills sharp?”
“He said something about not having any worthy opponents tonight so he might as well booze it up instead.”
I snicker. “He needs to pay more attention to the monitors up here.” I gesture to the televisions hanging on the wall behind me. “The game ended a couple of hours ago. Heath already texted to let me know they’re headed this way soon.”
“Well shit.” Tammy pauses and looks around with shifty eyes before leaning in. “Do you think I should let Dwayne know before he ends up three sheets to the wind?”
“Nah. Let people have a shot at winning their money back from him for once.”
“With anyone else, I would, but I’m pretty sure this is his only form of income.”
That comment should amuse me but for some reason, I find it irritating. “Maybe I need to put up a no soliciting sign,” I grumble. “Last thing we need is a bunch of pissed off paying customers because he cons them out of their money.”
“Well, that wasn’t very kind of you. Those boys love the competition just as much as he does. And he pays his tab every night and you know it.”
She’s right to put me in my place. I put the glass of beer on her tray then begin pulling out the margarita mix. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”
“Wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain dark-haired beauty that’s called in sick for the last three days now would it?”
“It’s been four days,” I correct. “And why would my mood have anything to do with her?”
I’m a liar and we both know it.
“Since it’s suddenly important to you to keep an accurate track of the calendar, maybe because you called me in five days ago so you could babysit her kid. Suddenly the next day she’s taking time off.” One of Tammy’s eyebrows quirks up in challenge.
I accept that challenge and scoff. “Coincidence.”
“I may be old, boss, but I have eyes. You wanna know my take on it?”
“No.”
“Too bad.” She settles against the counter and I know I may be here a while. “You and that girl have been dancing around each other for months. Finally, the one night you give in and let your feelings do the talking, suddenly she ditches work and you’re in a piss poor mood for days. That’s not coincidence. That’s fact.”
She saunters away to her customers, leaving me to chew on her words. I knew I was doing a shit job of hiding my feelings, but I didn’t know I was that transparent. Or maybe I was tricking myself into believing I was keeping things to myself. Either way, I don’t like that Tammy knows something happened between Kiersten and me. It’s none of her business. This is the exact kind of mess I was trying to avoid. Now we’re having conversations about my love life while paying customers are waiting for drinks.
“One more thing.”
I finish making the margarita and roll my shoulders at the sound of her voice, trying to ward off the stress her prodding is inducing.
“Tammy,” I warn as I grab the apple pie and pop the top off. “You know I don’t play the boss card very often, but we have customers. Now isn’t the time for this conversation.”
“Our customers are completely happy right now and like you said, we have more coming, so I better say my piece before they get here.”
I want to shut her down, but the problem with Tammy is it won’t work. She’ll just hold onto her lecture until another time. Normally I respect that. She gives no fucks about how I might take things, so she always gives it to me straight. Tonight, though, I just want to get it over with and move on.
Sighing, I rest my hands on the counter and look her in the eyes, an unspoken request to say what she has to say so I can continue with my night.
“That girl is into you, too.”
I don’t respond. I was inside Kiersten just days ago. I already know how she feels. But just because Kiersten is into me doesn’t mean we’re supposed to do anything about it.
“I know you have this no fraternization policy you think is important or whatever. But frankl
y, you are missing out on something wonderful because you’re worried I’m going to be jealous if you give her a little bit of nepotism? Thinking I’m going to quit if she gets a better shift than me? That girl is a hard worker and a wonderful person and any little leg up she gets, I will happily let her have. And you, my friend, are going to miss out on getting to know her better because of your misguided fear that you’re going to fail me, fail her, and fail that little boy. Why do you automatically assume things are gonna go south? From what I can see, you’re more likely to have a successful and satisfying relationship because you’ll work for it. Failure is not an option and all that shit.”
Failure is not an option.
Unexpectedly, those words hit their target.
I’m flooded with memories of my dad before he left us. Lecturing us at the dinner table about success being the only important thing in life. In my face after getting a bad grade on a test, screaming about failure not being an option. His parting words of how we’ve all disappointed him by being failures as people.
I suck in a breath as I have what feels like a massive breakthrough I didn’t even know was coming.
All the hesitation I’ve had about getting involved with Kiersten. Being hyper-focused on making sure this business is successful, no matter what the sacrifice. Stressing over how to find customers and keep them happy. Working myself to the bone to be a premier location that people want to be at, to relax, and enjoy. Shoving aside relationships to keep drama out of my business and my life.
Terrified I’m going to fail.
Failure is not an option.
I hear the words in my mind again, only this time I’m not the one saying them. My father is.
It was him. It was always him in the back of my mind that has created a fear of failure. And for what? To please a man I haven’t seen in decades? Who died with not one penny to his own name because he was such a great example of practicing what he preached?
I feel like I’ve been hit in the head by a sledgehammer as everything shifts inside me. I don’t have to please him. I can fail if I want and he’ll never even know. Wouldn’t matter if he did anyway. It’s not his life. It’s mine. If I want to take a chance on a woman who makes me happy and keeps me smiling, I can. And if it doesn’t work out, at least I can say I tried.