Chapter 4
Monday morning arrives entirely too fast. I’m not even close to being mentally or physically ready to work at a store on the freaking strip this summer, though I’m not sure if there would ever be a time where I am.
The strip is what they call the boardwalk of Blue Beach, a beach that doesnotget its name from the color of the water. Here in Texas, the water is a mixture between brown and gross, but it’s still a beach so I’m always grateful to have it, even if I don’t go there much. There’s something cool about living close to the coast, instead of in some land locked state. It’s like maybe the possibility of escaping one day is a little bit easier near the water.
I don’t mind the job, I really don’t. I’m a hard worker and I’m happy to help out one of Grandma’s friends. It’s just the location of the job that really sucks.
Although the strip is a bunch of beach front stores and restaurants, it doesn’t have one of those “no shirt, no shoes, no service” policies. That’s because nearly all of the customers are bikini-clad and spending the day on the beach.
That’s the part I don’t like. I’m Bessie the cow and I have absolutely nothing to wear to the beach.
Tears sting my eyes as I stand in my closet, the string from the light bulb swaying back and forth. I don’t have a single thing to wear. Reaching up, I touch the first thing in my closet, and then start flipping through until I’m at the other end. Nothing. Nothing at all.
All of my clothes are stupid and they all make me look like a fat cow.
“Bess?” Grandma calls out from the other room. “You need to leave in about five minutes or you’ll be late for work!”
“I’ll be out in a minute,” I call back, blinking until my vision stops being blurry from unshed tears.
I grab a pair of jean capris that are nice and stretchy, and pull them on. Then, I find a pink tank top that’s flowy along the bottom so it doesn’t hug to my stupid fat stomach. Sandals complete the look, and I don’t even bother looking in the mirror on my way out, because what would be the point?
Grandma stops me in the living room on my way outside. She’s wearing her pajamas still, but her red lipstick is in place as usual. “You have fun now, okay?”
She pulls me into a hug, squeezing me tightly as if I’m going off to war instead of work. Which, at the beach, I might be. At least, I’m in a war with myself.
“See you later,” I say, putting on a smile so she thinks I’m okay. But once I’m in my car, my stomach twists into knots and I don’t know how I’m going to get through this day.
There’s something to be said for self-destruction. I don’t even know what takes over when I pull into the donut shop on the way to work. Next thing I know, I’m in the drive thru line getting a donut with chocolate icing and a large vanilla iced coffee that has God knows how many calories. I am a failure and a fat ass and I deserve every single bad thought that goes through my mind.
My new job is at a place called Aiden Jane, a name which doesn’t even make sense to me, but whatever. I park at the far end of the parking lot and make my way toward the strip, even as trepidation fills my veins. I haven’t been to the beach in years. Not since that girl’s beach birthday party in seventh grade where I was told it would be girls only. It wasnotgirls only. Boys from school showed up and I was mocked for wearing a two-piece bathing suit around all of my skinny friends.
I shudder at the memory and make my way along the boardwalk section of the beach. There are surf shops and food places and clothing stores. Typical tourist stuff. I walk past a pizza stand where the scent of melty cheese makes my mouth water, and that’s when I realize I totally forgot to pack healthy snacks for the day. Ugh.
Aiden Jane is a narrow store jammed between a Texas themed souvenir shop and a smoothie place. It smells overwhelmingly like those melted wax scent warmers, which are placed all over. There’s tables and shelves and an insane amount of merchandise everywhere. Racks of clothes, buckets of cozies, toys for kids, and flip flops with rhinestones on them. The walls have every inch of space filled with canvases or framed artwork that’s also for sale. There’s a lot of quotes around here, stuff like little inspirational sayings super imposed over a photo of a beach.
Julie appears from the back of the shop, her eyes lighting up when she sees me. Though she’s my grandma’s age, she keeps fit and tan and looks like one of those celebrities who no one can believe is so old when they look so young. She’s wearing a pink bikini with a black lacey swim dress over it and it leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. Her flip flops sparkle as much as her eyeliner and she wraps me in a big hug. Julie’s long white-blond hair is piled loosely on top of her head. She smells like cinnamon, and for some reason that makes me hungry again.
Though she wears skimpy beach wear every day, Julie doesn’t mention my regular clothing. I’m grateful, and really, I wouldn’t expect her to ask me to wear the same type of clothes to work. That would surely scare all the customers away.
Julie shows me around the store and teaches me how to use the register. It’s pretty straightforward, since the entire register is just an iPad attached to a cash drawer.
“Okay, I think that’s about it,” Julie says after an hour of showing me around. “It’s pretty simple. You just hang out and ring people up. Also try to encourage people to sign up for our mailing list that way they can get coupons and sales emailed to them once a month, okay?”
I nod. “Sounds good.”
Julie bursts into a smile. “Great! Well, I’m off to get my hair done. Call me if you need anything.”
“Wait, you’re leaving?” I ask, my voice rising to freak out levels of squeakiness.
She laughs. “Just for a couple of hours, Bess. You’ll be fine.”
And then she’s gone, and I’m all alone. It’s still early morning, so there’s no one around. I walk through the shop, looking at all of the items we sell here. Some of it is kind of cool, actually. There are handbags and magnets and decorative crosses. All kinds of things catch my eye.
A little while later, the door opens and two guys walk in. Julie hadn’t given me any customer protocol, but I feel compelled to say something. “Hi,” I say, offering them a smile. “Welcome.”
They both nod toward me and then look around the store. After a few seconds, one of them walks up me. He looks like he’s in college, with muscular arms and a chiseled jaw.
“Hey, so,” he says, not really looking at me as he talks. “Can you help me shop for my girlfriend?”
