by Riley Jean
“Just doing my job,” I shrugged and took a sip of hot chocolate.
He paused a few beats then added, “I think we make a good team.”
Fumbling, my mug slipped out of my hands and fell on the table with a clatter and a splash. I dove for it, but it was too late. Half the liquid spilled all over the table and the remains of Vance’s pancakes.
“Sorry!” I said, turning a mortified shade of pink and scrambling for the napkins.
Vance just chuckled. “No worries. I was finished anyway. Although, I wonder…” he cut a piece with his fork, put it in his mouth, and chewed thoughtfully. His eyebrows rose as if it were a pleasant surprise. “Mmm. Cocoa pancakes. Not too shabby,” he exclaimed and took another bite.
“You don’t have to, um—I’m so sorry,” I apologized again.
He put his fork down and smiled at my awkwardness. “It’s no big deal, Rosie. Really. Just let me get a wet towel from the hostess.”
I stayed put and did my best to contain the mess with napkins. Luckily, it hadn’t gone anywhere except the tabletop and Vance’s plate. I internally berated myself for the slipup. What was wrong with me? I wasn’t usually so clumsy.
Too preoccupied to rush back with the towel, Vance had the hostess giggling away. By the looks of his animated hands, he was relaying the story of my little accident. I shook my head. It was like he couldn’t help himself.
The table was practically clean by the time I noticed he was bent over the counter… signing.
That goober had paid!
“Vance!” I grabbed my purse and stormed towards him just as he was handing over the receipt. He smiled mischievously, exhibiting no shame in getting caught.
“How much was my half?” I demanded, pulling out a handful of bills.
“It’s on me,” he said, reaching over to close my wallet, “As a thank you for working so hard tonight.”
I glared at him. “But we agreed.”
“No worries,” he waved me off and turned to leave. “You can pay next time.”
He walked out without a backward glance, and I stewed a bit before plodding after him with one thought in my mind.
Next time?
Chapter 6
Choices
“Face Down” by The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus
“You don’t have to be so contentious, James,” she said. “I’m only trying to help you.”
“Well I never asked for your help. You know what he called me? Spawn of Satan. Guess now I’m indebted to the fucking devil.”
“Don’t say that about your father. You’re up to date on all your payments now. Please. Just cut up the credit card.”
“Geez, ma! Will you mind your own damn business for once and get off my back!”
Ah. The money argument.
This fight was common among James and my parents, both together and separately. Between school loans and credit card bills, he was constantly in over his head in terms of money. James recently graduated with a degree in Computer Science from UCLA, which was not a cheap school by any means. But how was he supposed to make a dent in his mountain of debt when he could barely hold onto a frontline technical support job?
He insisted that his unstable employment was due to the economy. He did not consider the possibility that it had to do with his foul attitude and inability to work well with others. So each month that went by, he dug himself further into the red.
Enter: The money argument.
Look. I get that debt is stressful. I get that sometimes life happens, be it a medical emergency or an unexpected job loss, and we get ourselves stuck in a pit. But I had little sympathy for James. He was given every opportunity to succeed, and yet he failed over and over again because he was too stubborn to learn from his own mistakes. Then he just stomped his foot and demanded to be treated like an adult.
I’m not denying my brother was smart, but he walked the fine line between brilliance and delusional.
My mama had bailed him out more than once, which I suspected my father knew nothing about. I didn’t doubt her intentions were good. All she wanted was for James to learn his lesson and do better with a second chance. Or third. Or fourth. Maybe show a little gratitude.
James never learned. And he was never grateful.
Here’s the irony… According to James, I had always been the spoiled one in the family. The favorite child. Why? Perhaps because when we were growing up I never complained about all the things I didn’t have, or because I rarely got in trouble. But what he failed to see was all the extra demands I had on my shoulders, too.
Up until college, the pressure for me to succeed was enormous. My father expected perfection at school, perfection in working for his business, perfection in following the rules. Meanwhile, all they expected from James was that he’d try and quit leaving cigarette burns in the furniture.
In fact, there might have been a direct correlation between how much James screwed up, and how strict they were with me.
My father was born and raised in New York. My mama, in Texas. They met when he was stationed in Dallas, in the Marines. And there they married, had two kids, and lived until moving here to Southern California when James was nine and I was six.
Even though we lived in a beautiful home in the hills of San Dimas, my father did everything in his power not to spoil us. He grew up with four brothers in The Bronx, and they sure as hell weren’t raised to expect free handouts back then. He was determined to raise his kids the same.
Our parents taught us the value of a dollar since the very beginning. I worked hard for my allowance, including cooking, cleaning, washing dishes and doing laundry ever since I was young. When I was a preteen my father taught me how to collect accounts payable for his business, and later how to reconcile the books. He paid me fairly for my time. The older I got, the more he taught me, and the harder I worked. Everything I ever owned was bought with my own hard-earned money.
I didn’t love numbers and business like I loved words. But I could balance the books with a near flawless accuracy. And that was nearly good enough for my father.
Hey, we can’t all be so lucky to love our first jobs!
* * *
This little kid had to be the cutest thing I’d seen in a long time.
He was decked out in his full white uniform, headband and belt, jumping around the shop doing energetic punches and other karate moves while repeatedly yelling “hi-ya!”
His parents were in no rush and let him play. It was probably smart to let him exert some of that energy before reloading him up on sugar. Vance was also in the storefront wiping down the tables and took the opportunity to entertain the little boy, allowing himself to be used as the make-believe bad guy. Each time the boy landed a pretend hit, he would rear back and dramatically groan in pain.
After the boy’s parents called to him, Vance gave him a high five and he ran over in a burst of excitement to pick out his ice cream.
“I ate that one last time!” he shouted, pointing at the bright blue cotton candy flavor.
“You did?” I played along. “Was it yummy?”
“Uh-huh!” He nodded with exaggerated movements. “And it made my poop green!”
My eyes widened and I looked over to Vance. He pressed his lips together to keep from laughing and nodded in confirmation.
Ugh! Too much information.
“O-okay,” I said with forced breeziness. “How about this time we try something more natural… chocolate?”
It was the fourth time Gwen had called out sick and missed a shift at Mooshi. I was trying really hard to be sympathetic about her breakup, even though I thought Hunter the asshole wasn’t worth her tears. I understood heartbreak and all. But at some point a girl had to learn to separate her personal life from her responsibilities.
After my first breakup (with Nathan), I was never allowed to take a day off from school, or chores, or working for my dad. That would have been letting him down. I just had to suck it up and finish my duties. Then and only then could
I escape to my room alone, and let it all out.
My second breakup (with Miles) was a little different. I was starting college and had just moved to the beach. When I found out about the other girl, I went a little overboard on the parties and rebellion, but I never neglected my schoolwork or my job at the bank.
My third… well…
My recent heartbreak notwithstanding.
Huh. Maybe I was nothing but a big fat hypocrite.
Summer and Kiki had a point, though. There was always the chance they would get back together. Two years was a long time to throw away cold turkey. Couples fought. Gwen and Hunter fought. Perhaps it was only a matter of time before they’d make up again.
“Do you think Gwen and Hunter will pull through?”
Vance busied himself with cleaning the ice block, scraping off the remnants of his last order. He paused at my question, then went back to grinding off little flakes of ice. “How should I know?”
“This breakup had to be his idea,” I thought out loud, my tone solicitous. “Gwen would do anything for that guy. Her entire world revolves around him.”
He slid me a few candy bars. “Fill up the Heath Bar, would you?”
“I don’t mean to gossip,” I said quietly, crunching up the first chocolate bar into tiny chunks and then dumping them into the container. He did the same with Butterfinger bars. “It’s just, you’re the expert on this relationship stuff.”
The corners of his mouth curled upwards. “I’m not sure I qualify as an expert.”
“You’re good at reading people, at least,” I stated, repeating the crunching and pouring process with a new candy bar. “As someone who has already found his perfect love, do you think Gwen and Hunter are happily ever after material?”
He lifted his eyes to study mine for a split second before returning them to his task.
“Do you?” he asked delicately.
Gwen was my friend, of course I wanted her to be happy. And Hunter was what she wanted. Therefore I wanted them to be together… didn’t I?
On the other hand, was Hunter really the best thing for Gwen? Sure she claimed to be happy, but she had sacrificed all her best friends and future goals when Hunter came along. If he were to stay gone, would Gwen have the chance to get her life back? It might have been too late for that Harvard scholarship, but if she went to local colleges for her undergrad, maybe she could get back there eventually.
Was I a terrible friend that I wanted them to stay broken up? Or was that just the cynic in me talking?
I wanted Vance’s opinion because I felt unqualified to form my own. I wasn’t great at relationships or reading people, and even though I had known Gwen for a good chunk of my life, I never felt like we were quite on the same page. So in lieu of a response, I shrugged.
“Have you asked her why they broke up?” he inquired.
“I tried. She won’t return my calls. This isn’t just scientific curiosity. I’m getting worried.”
Had anyone even heard from Gwen since their breakup? It wasn’t uncommon for her to overlook other people and responsibilities for Hunter, but where had she disappeared to now that he was out of the picture? She wouldn’t have done something drastic… would she? It couldn’t have been serious; surely we would have heard something by now.
Although, who would have told us? Gwen no longer kept in touch with other friends, all she had was Hunter.
Well… Not anymore.
With a heavy sigh, Vance put down the ice scraper and turned to face me, arms folded. “Look, maybe it’s not my place to say anything… but apparently Summer and Kiki ran into Hunter at a party a couple weeks ago. They kinda said he wasn’t alone.”
At his words, a red haze blurred my vision. “A couple weeks ago? Was this before or after they broke up?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know… the same weekend, I guess?”
White hot sparks burst behind my eyes. And just like that, the rage lying in wait flared right up.
I had never been Hunter’s biggest fan, but the idea of him dumping Gwen to immediately go party made my blood boil. I hated him. I hated his ever-present trucker hat and his meticulously trimmed goatee and his swagger. I hated that my friend was alone and hurting because of him. I hated that she had sacrificed every hour, every friend, every dream for this loser, and still he left. I hated that he wasn’t worth it. In the end, it was never worth it.
Soul mates? Screw that. Screw him and screw her mucked up delusion of love.
Vance looked at me nervously. “You’re going to punch me in the face right now, aren’t you?”
“Eighty-seven,” I gritted out.
“Sorry?”
“Assholes: Eighty-seven; true love: Zero.”
“You keep score?” he teased.
I rolled my eyes. It was hard to stay mad when he kept smiling at me like that.
My jaw clenched with the last remnants of emotion. “I’m just so sick of it,” I ranted. “Is this the love that everyone’s raving about? Because if so I want nothing to do with it.”
He reached out a hand, but when I recoiled, he restricted it to his side where it balled into a fist.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said. “I just figured she could use a friend right now. And that’s what you do when your friend is hurting. You be there for them. You tell them it’s going to get better.”
I laughed. “And you think I’m well equipped for that task?” Who did he think I was? Understanding, consoling, hopeful? That wasn’t me. That was him.
“C’mon, Rosie. Surely beneath all that sarcasm, you have some words of wisdom to impart.”
I could picture it now: Is there life after love? Yes. But it sucks. Wah wah.
“Did you miss the part where I’ve already tried calling her? What exactly do you expect me to do when she won’t even pick up the phone?”
He shrugged. “Write her a letter.”
“Oh no. Bad idea. Then after she and Hunter get back together, there’ll be physical evidence of how much I hate his effing guts.”
“Maybe she won’t take him back.”
“Oh but she will. He’s just doing this because he knows he can get away with it. Gwen will take him back. And writing that letter would be like digging my own grave.”
“Then that’s her choice. All you can do is try.” As an alternative to conventional comfort, he slid his checkered shoe across the laminate floor until it touched mine. I was too mentally depleted to berate him for it.
“The cool thing about friendship is, you don’t have to agree on every single thing in order to be there for someone.”
I shook out my hands and let the anger seep from my fingertips, draining the rage drop by drop. “I don’t know, Vance. Girls are different. We take everything personally.”
“Eh.” He lifted a shoulder casually. “So you hate her crummy boyfriend? She’ll get over it.”
I laughed darkly. “You don’t know Gwen.” Just the memory of her jumping to his defense in the grocery store sealed my decision. “Come to think of it, I don’t even see the point. She doesn’t care what I have to say. Hunter trumps friends and common sense and all things good, every single time.”
He exhaled a slow breath. “People aren’t perfect, Rosie. We make bad choices. We mess up. You don’t give up on someone just because there’s a little bad mixed in with the good. Friends are supposed to love each other, flaws and all.”
His words meant more to me than I dared to admit. As someone who’d had nothing but screwed up experiences with friendship and love, his ideas resonated within me. Was it true? Did we still deserved to be loved even when we messed up?
Instead of delving further into my feelings, I stayed behind my reticent wall and played it off with a joke.
“Thanks for the heart-to-heart. Goober.”
A short silence followed. Then a sigh.
“Anytime, Rosie. Anytime.”
I lingered behind while he headed into the back, keeping myself busy b
y straightening our business cards and flyers and pens. It was in that moment I began to grasp the consequences of my emotional numbness. From behind this wall, I felt like a useless friend. Was I so determined to keep everyone out of my own life, that I’d miss an opportunity to help Gwen?
A sappy love song sounded from the back, which I recognized as Vance’s ringtone. It cut off quickly when he answered, his voice hushed for a private conversation.
“Hi princess. Were those beautiful ears of yours tingling? Because I was just thinking about you…”
I smiled a little to myself.
Assholes: Eighty-seven; true love: One.
* * *
[Past]
“Oh foof,” I cursed when I dropped my keys. I bent down to pick them up then fumbled with the lock, finally pushing the door open and stepping into the dorm room.
“Where the hell have you been?”
“Sorry, Lex,” I said, hanging up my coat and scarf. “I got here as fast as I could. I had to get someone to cover the rest of my shift at the bank. Then there was a really long line at the—”
“Did you get it?”
No sooner had I held up the brown paper sack than she snatched it from my hands.
“Thank fuck!” she shouted, running towards the bathroom in our hall. I set my purse aside and followed after. Somehow, we lucked out, it was empty.
Lexi stood by the counter clutching the little pink box in her hands. Her blond hair was flawlessly sleek, concealing the distress I knew she was experiencing. Her back was to me, but I could see in the mirror that she had tears in her eyes.
“Deep breaths,” I instructed, rubbing her back. “It’s going to be okay.”
“What the hell am I going to do if it’s positive?” she cried. “I can’t be pregnant! We’re supposed to go to nationals this year!”
“Don’t worry, Lex. I know this is hard, but—”
“The best things are,” she giggled through her tears.
I took a deep breath and tried a different tactic. “Try not to panic just yet,” I ran my fingers through her blond hair and spoke calmly. “This isn’t the first time you’ve had a scare, and it’s never been positive before.”