by Jen Clarke
“It’s okay,” Bri says. “I may see if anyone I know is around.”
“Sure.” This isn’t what I wanted from Bri’s visit. Just how long is she staying again? “I have one more double tomorrow.”
“Another one?” Bri says, disconsolately.
“I did it that way so I could have Saturday free,” I start to explain. “So I have a free--shit! I never called my mother back about her party.”
“What kind of party?” There’s just a touch of sparkling interest in her voice, enough to make me take a quick breath in.
“Oh, it’s mostly just a few of her friends, but I promised I’d make an appearance,” I say, trying to be casual. “It’s pretty boring, unless you know people.” I couldn’t imagine springing Bri on a room with my mother and her friends.
“That’s too bad,” she says. For a moment I think she’s going to say something else, but then she just adds, “Maybe I’ll head back to my parents’ and finish cleaning my room.”
“That sounds good,” I agree. The words feel completely wrong, because the situation is wrong. I don’t want to go into work or to my mother’s party and I don’t want Bri to go back to her parents. But instead of saying all this, I find myself getting ready for work.
Chapter Nine
As I suspected from the phone call, Julie is in a particularly bad mood, which I attribute to the window. It gives me a good excuse to avoid the basement office. I’ll have to go down there tomorrow, no matter what—payroll needs to be worked on—but I won’t worry about that until tomorrow. I wander into the kitchen, where Jake’s cooking. He scowls at me as I walk in. A few days ago, I might have turned around and walked out again, but today I feel bold. I was going to make a piece of toast and if Jake wanted to glare, well, he could glare.
“Ellen, what’s this in the walk-in?” Jake asks, holding out a box.
Shit. “Mozzarella sticks,” I say. “From Lamb’s.”
“From that salesman the other day? Jesus, Ellen, why don’t you give away the store?”
“Jake, you tell me to go talk to the salesman, I’m going to talk to him.” I try not to shake as I speak. No one contradicted Jake and I knew Julie wouldn’t back me up. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Rick turn off the water and turn around. I surprise myself and add, “Can we make them up and see how they taste?”
For a minute, I think Jake is going to yell at me. Instead, he turns the box over in his hands, very much as Julie had done a couple of days ago. Jake considers himself to be as much the upholder of the Whale Tail’s traditions as Julie and he can be just as stubborn. He shrugs and starts laying them out on a baking sheet.
A few minutes later, we have a tasting committee, comprised of me, Jake, and Rick. Taking my first bite, I think the mozzarella sticks are good.
“These are pretty good,” Rick says, sounding vaguely surprised. He shoots a look in Jake’s direction and then looks at me and winks.
Jake shrugs. “Julie approve them?”
“Not yet,” I admit.
Jake takes another bite. “Well, if she hasn’t yet, she’s not going to.”
His confidence in Julie’s immovability annoys me. What I really want to say was, Fuck off. You are part of the problem.
“Oh boy,” says the bartender striding in. He has this enormous grin on his face. “That window guy was pissed. Ellen! Julie called from downstairs. She wants to talk to you! You want to take the mail down?”
“Yes please,” I say and glance at it quickly. A bill from Lamb’s, another reminder from the Chamber of Commerce to renew our membership. An offer for businesses from Comcast. A glossy catalog promising carpets and blinds to fit any budget.
“Take the mozzarella sticks with you,” Jake suggests. I think Rick looks a little mournful as I grab the plate and head downstairs. Of course, once I am down the stairs, I realize I don’t want to bring them into Julie’s office. Not with her mood the way it was. I leave them on top of some boxes and head in.
“Sit, Ellen,” Julie says curtly. She has an open photo album on the desk and shuts it as I sit down, then pushes it to one side. I notice her eyes are red.
“Went for a visit,” she says.
For a moment I’m not sure what she means. Then I figure it out. “I’m sorry.”
“I just wanted to go there today,” she says. “I took him some flowers.” She pauses. “Carnations. My dad always liked them.” She makes a brave smile. “He said they were a good value.”
“That sounds nice,” I respond, having no idea of what else to say.
“He was so proud of this place,” Julie says. “He did everything to keep it going when I was a kid.” She leans back in her seat and takes a sip of her soda. “Would you believe he tried a nouvelle cuisine menu during the eighties?”
“I can’t imagine it.” I’m being completely honest. In our dining room? I really can’t.
“It really hurt him. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t bring the restaurant back to what it had been,” she says. “It made him feel like he wasn’t the king anymore. My brother could never understand. He didn’t have the feeling for this place. Not like my dad had.”
I nod, and wonder if Julie is going to regret saying all this. I’ve never seen her talk about her father without tearing up or her brother without swearing.
To my relief, she pulls her keys out of her pocket and opens the small side desk drawer, the one for which I don’t even have a key. In goes the photo album and she firmly locks the drawer. I wait in silence as she leans forward and begins flipping through the mail. “What do you have in the hallway?”
“Oh that? Just my snack.”
“What is it? It smells good.”
“It’s the mozzarella sticks,” I say, cringing while I wait for the explosion.
“Mmm,” Julie says. She’s found the catalogue and is leafing through the pages. “Bring them in here and I’ll try one.”
Really? I bring her the plate. She looks at them and asks skeptically, “Shouldn’t they come with a sauce?”
“They’re usually served that way, but the package is just the sticks. We just wanted to give them a try. What do you think?” I ask.
I watch as she opens up the catalog. “Leave the plate in here when you go.”
I sit at the bar and order a White Russian. The bartender nods at me. I’m not friends with anyone the way I am with Denise, but there’s at least a casual acceptance of me now. People don’t assume I’m going to tattle to Julie or whatever it was they had thought when I first started. But I realized the cost for that acceptance. It was on their terms and I felt like I was disappearing, a little more of me going away each day. I’m not going to settle any longer, I decide to myself. I’m not even sure what that means yet, but the warm glow of my second White Russian gives me confidence that stays with me through the dinner shift.
I feel less certain driving home, the warm buzz and the courage it brought having long since worn off. It’s amazing how quiet my cottage seems. I open the fridge door, and my spirits instantly pick up. I forgot about the remaining soup. While that heats up, I investigate the Black Sheep bread. It’s already turning stale, so I turn it into garlic bread. The kind I grew up with: butter, garlic powder, and dried parsley. I add parmesan cheese from the green can. Perfect comfort food. I knew it was late, but I couldn’t resist blipping Bri. Trying to be casual, I write, Finishing tasty bread and soup that you brought. How is it going?
It’s going better. An old friend of mine is home too, and we’re catching up.
Friend from high school? I ask.
And CIGSYA. She’s probably ninety percent of why I came out when I did.
You were born out, I type back.
LOL.
No really, I’m the one whose mother is constantly telling her about “nice” boys she’s met.
Well. We’ll have to do something about that. Billboards? Skywriting?
Now I really am laughing out loud. I take a deep breath. I don’t want to stop cha
tting with Bri, but I can barely keep my eyes open. I have to sleep. I’m exhausted and working another double tomorrow.
Good night and sweet dreams. She adds a smile emoji at the end.
The next morning, I want to linger at home and wait for Bri to wake up and blip me on the phone, but payroll has to be reviewed. Fortunately, it’s an easy payroll and all my questions are resolved by talking to Galina. I head down to the basement office and no one interrupts me. Just when I’m done and ready for Julie to approve it, I hear her voice.
“Hi Julie,” I greet her, then I get a good look and hastily stand up. Her face tells me it’s time to go somewhere else.
“Are you done?” Julie asks curtly.
“Yes. Payroll’s ready for your final approval.”
“Do we need to send it today?” she asks.
“No, they need it by one tomorrow.”
“Good,” she says, sitting down. “Ellen, why don’t you go upstairs and see if they need any help with lunch?”
“Sure, that sounds good,” I say and try not to hurry or at least not look like I’m hurrying as I walk toward the door.
“Hey Ellen?” Julie calls.
I make myself turn around. “Yes?”
Julie’s eyes narrow. “If those assholes call, I want to talk to them.”
“Which…?” I let my words trail off. There are a lot of assholes in Julie’s world.
“The window people,” she says. “I put a call in.”
“I’ll let the bartender know,” I say and retreat up the stairs where I’m quickly caught up in the lunch shift. For once we are busy. I bus dishes and haul glassware and fold every napkin until they lie in white triangular stacks.
Finally as the rush settles down and we finish prepping the tables for dinner, I duck into the ladies’ room to check my phone. Bri has posted an old selfie of her and Emily at a CIGSYA event, followed by a selfie taken last night. They look like they are having fun. I sigh to myself and go out to the bar.
“Ellen! I wasn’t expecting to see you,” says Denise. She gives me a quick hug and settles next to me.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you either,” I say, returning the hug. “Your face looks great,” I add.
“Thanks. My sister did my makeup.” She turns her head, so I can see the facial gems on her cheek. “What are you having?”
“Irish coffee,” I say.
“Good choice. Irish coffee for me too,” she says to the bartender. “Isn’t it cold out?”
“Come August, we’ll miss it.” He peers at Denise. “Is there a circus in town?”
“Ha, very funny,” she replies.
“Just kidding. It looks good Denise,” he says before walking off.
“It needs to warm up,” I say, trying to make conversation. “It was freezing downstairs.”
“Julie down there?”
“Yes,” I start, then hesitate a moment before continuing. “She’s acting kind of…”
“Like a fucking bitch?” Denise asks bluntly.
I must look distressed because Denise shrugs. “So she is?”
“She’s really mad about the window,” I admit, taking a sip of my coffee. “She doesn’t like the job they did.”
Denise shrugs again as the bartender puts her drink down. “Thank you, it looks good,” she says to the bartender, and pays him with a twenty and puts two dollar bills down on the bar.
“Well, she does have a point.” I pause. “The trim looks sloppy.” Why should we have to put up with a sloppy looking window because the contractor fucked off that day?
“She should just get over herself and get someone to sand it down and paint it,” Denise suggests.
“Now here’s a question,” I say. “Would he have done such a crappy job if he was dealing with Julie’s father?”
“Probably not,” Denise answers. “I just wish she’d get off the fucking rag about it.”
“Hey!”
“Hey what?” Denise asks.
“Well…” I start. Then the words tumble out. “Okay, do you remember the other night you told Rick to hurry up and he asked if you had your period?” Bri’s presence was reminding me of when I used to speak up about these things.
From the look on Denise’s face, she doesn’t like it. “Ellen, it’s just a saying,” she says.
“I know, but…” I let it trail off. Which is the real me, the person who lived in the Valley and spoke out or the person who lives on Cape and lets things slide? Would people on Cape like the Valley me? Would Bri like the person who lived on Cape? “I don’t want to argue,” I say. “I just didn’t like it.”
She stirs her Irish coffee and takes a sip. For a moment, we both sit, not talking. “Meh,” Denise says. “You’re probably right.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. The last thing I want to do is fight with Denise. “So, any more word from your ex?” Asking about her former husband is safe, but it makes me wonder. Denise has never heard me talk about an ex; never even heard me mention being interested in someone. Did she know? She must know. Tell her, I could hear Bri’s voice echoing in my mind. Would we still be friends if I came out to her?
“Want a refill ladies?”
“Yes please,” I say.
“Ellen!”
I turn around to see the blue uniform. “Oh, hi Tom, how are you? This is my friend Denise.” I introduce her, almost glad to see him.
“Hi Tom, good to meet you,” Denise says. “Drinking on the job?”
Tom frowns at her.
She laughs. “Geez, I’m just kidding.”
“Well, it’s no laughing matter,” he says. “I’m in uniform.”
“Sorry,” Denise says with her best fake smile. It’s the same smile she uses when someone tells her she was a great waitress and tips five percent.
“Well, what’s life if you can’t take a joke?” Tom says and seats himself next to me. “Ellen, you hungry?”
What? “No, I can’t say I am.”
He puts a small paper bag on the bar. “I had this leftover from my lunch. Really good peanut butter cookies. Here, try.”
He’s trying to feed me his leftovers. “I’m sorry, I’m really not hungry,” I repeat.
“Why don’t you take it? For later,” he suggests eagerly.
I should have told him I was allergic. The last thing I want is his leftover peanut butter cookies, the paper bag still imprinted with his sweaty hand. “Sure Tom,” I say. “Maybe a snack later for my shift.”
“Oh, I was hoping you were getting off work soon.”
“Nope, I’m working pretty steadily all this week.”
“Oh,” he says, disappointment in his voice. “Well, I’ll probably see you when I stop by. See you around,” he says, standing up. “I hope you enjoy the cookies.”
Denise narrows her eyes at his back as he leaves. “That one needs to know when he’s wasting his time,” she says.
Wasting his time? “What do you mean?” I ask.
Denise sits back. “Well, clearly he likes you.”
“He likes me?” I squeak. “Why?”
“God only knows,” says Denise. “Cops are always weird.”
“Thanks Denise,” I say, half-sarcastic and half-joking.
“I just mean he clearly doesn’t stand a chance. Why doesn’t he sniff around someone else?”
“I suppose I haven’t actually told him I’m not interested, but he hasn’t actually told me either. He just keeps...” I paused. “Sniffing around.”
“He should have some fucking pride and ask you out,” Denise rambles on. “Get it over with. Then you’ll tell him ‘no’ and everyone will move on.”
I laugh. “He is kind of a jerk.”
Denise’s eyes narrow again. “Oh yeah, the way he turned into a dick when I joked with him? Yeah. Even if you wanted to date guys, you wouldn’t want to date him.”
I try not to show the double take I’m doing. Even if I wanted to date guys? Why did she say that?
“Ladies, you want a r
efill?”
“No thanks, it’s good though,” Denise says smiling. Her smile is real this time. The Whale’s Tail isn’t known for weak drinks.
“Please,” I say. “Refill for me.”
I down half of my second Irish coffee as soon as it arrives. Feeling the warmth spreading through my body, I gather up my courage and turn on the stool. “So Denise, why’d you say that?”
“Say what?” Denise asks, clearly confused.
Damn. I was going to have to remind her. “What you said about, um, me not dating guys.”
“Well, you don’t right?” Denise says, as if the question is ridiculous. “I mean, you like girls?”
“Holy shit,” I breathed hard. “Holy shit. You…know?”
“You mean you didn’t…” Denise begins laughing, then she looks at me for a moment, and starts laughing harder, so hard she almost falls off the barstool. “Jesus, Ellen, do you think I’m a fucking moron?”
“No,” I say. “I think you’re really smart.” My cheeks feel hot.
“Well, you must not have thought I was that smart,” she hiccups. “Ow, that hurt. I haven’t laughed so hard in ages.”
“How long have you known?” I ask.
Denise frowns. “Pretty much the first week I knew you. Then, I got really confused that you wanted to go along with me when I went out drinking.” She shrugs. “Then I just figured you’d talk about it when you were ready.”
“I’m so relieved. I thought you would…”
“Would what?” Denise frowns. “Not be your friend?”
“Yes,” I admit. “Oh, I’m so relieved.” No, I wasn’t just relieved. “I’m so happy!”
“Easy,” says Denise, laughing again. “Any louder and they’ll cut you off. Also,” she leans forward. “You have whipped cream all over your face. Here, there’s a napkin.”
“Thank you. I really can’t believe it.”
“Okay, can I ask you something now?” Denise says. “This friend staying with you, is she more than a friend?”
“Well…” I think for a moment. “I really liked her during college and I thought she might like me, but it never came to anything.”