“Deal,” I say, pressing my lips to hers before we get ready for opening day.
It turns out her plan didn't work; luck isn't on our side today. That much becomes clear the second we step foot into Daytrip. Callie, the GM we hired two weeks ago, comes up to us, a frantic look on her face, as we walk past the small photo-op spot June created this week. She’s already made plans for a permanent mural on the side of the building along the sand, so both guests and tourists can take photos there, as well as one on the deck, exclusive to guests, but she wanted something fun for opening day.
“It’s not my best work,”she said two days ago when she showed it to me after spending most of the day working on it while Sutton packed prize bags for the first one hundred guests who come in. “But it will do.”
I didn’t bother to tell her that it was perfect, that I’d like to keep it and frame it once we’re done with it, because I knew shewouldn’t believe me, despite it being true. It’s phenomenal, a mosaic of painted seashells and summer icons in an arch shape, with “I took a Daytrip” painted across the top in bright blue letters. The entire thing is bright and colorful, lighting up the space, with the social media information in the bottom corner, but even spotting that sunshine-y piece of art isn’t enough to make me feel better about the look Callie is giving us.
“Jackson called out,” she says, and I don’t know who she’s talking about, but June seems to, her eyes going wide.
“Oh no! What happened?”
“I don’t know, but ten minutes later, Molly called in sick too. A stomach bug or something.”
“Fuck,” I say quick and sharp because I remember Molly to be the bartender. A handful were hired, but if I recall, Molly is the head bartender on today. Before I can say anything else, Callie’s phone rings again, and her face goes pale as she lifts it.
“Hey, Lynn, how’s—” She cuts off by someone speaking on the other end of the line, and her eyes close, a look of resignation coming over her face. “Oh no. Really? A stomach bug?” She pauses again. “Jackson and Molly are also sick.” She pauses and then groans loudly. “Food poisoning? Shit, sorry, Lynn. No, no, I understand, there’s nothing you can do.” I want to argue, to tell her that they have to fucking come in because now we’re three people down, but June tightens her hand in mine, bringing me back to reality. I can’t take my stress out on the staff, not if I want things to work long term. “Feel better.” She takes in a deep sigh before letting it out, and when she opens her eyes, desperation lies in the depths.
“So, that was Lynn,” she says.
“Manager,” June says in a stage whisper, leaning into my side.
“It seemed everyone went out to eat last night at Seawater Clams, and now everyone is sick.”
“Why the fuck would they go there?” June asks with a groan. “Everyone here knows that place is a health inspector’s nightmare.”
“No idea, but they did, and now they’re all sick.”
Callie goes pale when her phone rings yet again. June groans. My pulse picks up, that gagging nervous energy turning into something much, much purer. “Hey, Liam. Oh, no, you, too?” My mind is reeling as I watch her accept another sick employee’s excuses, and I barely notice June drop my hand, moving to her phone. When Callie hangs up, June is on a call.
“Call Trevor. I went to Molly’s socials to see who they were with last night—four others were there. I’m calling Quinn now, but we need to know who won’t be in today.” I may be panciking, but June is clearly in figure-it-out mode. I watch, feeling utterly helpless as June and Callie make calls.
By the time they’re done, seven of the nine employees they reach out to are sick and not coming in today. I’m beginning to spiral as Callie gets called off to something else, and June tells her we’ll be in the office making plans, panic and misplaced anger rushing through me.
“We’re fucked,” I say, slamming the door to my office and beginning to pace. Unlike me, June is strangely calm.
“No, we’re not,” June says, moving to my computer without even asking, logging in, and then beginning to type. I’m not sure when or how she got my password, but she’s friends with Sutton, and it seems they have nearly identical work styles.
“June, we have twenty people on today, and seven are sick, all of them higher up on the chain of command. We’re fucked.” She continues to type, biting her lip as she looks for something in her files before she grins, then stands. She reaches for me, stopping my pacing, and places a hand on each side of my face, and smiles at me. “We’ve got this, babe. We’ve got luck on our side.”
It’s times like these I realize my flaw in creating and faking her luck. She truly believes at this point that everything will work out in the end, while I’m much more based in reality.
“I think we’re going to need a bit more than luck, June,” I say, trying to be gentle despite the emotions bubbling inside me. I know this isn’t anyone’s fault, except for possibly a retaurant selling bad shellfish and still somehow in business.
“Well, good thing we also have friends,” she says, so much optimism in her words. I look at her, confused, but before I can ask, she steps away, grabs her phone, making a call.
“Hey, babe, sorry, I know it’s early for you, but is there any way you are off or could have Benny cover today?“ She pauses, looking at her feet while she listens to the phone. “No, no, there’s an emergency at Daytrip. Everyone is sick, and it’s opening day. We need a bartender.” Another moment of silence before her head lifts, her eyes locking on mine, a wide smile on her lips. “Oh, I could kiss you. You’re the best!” Something akin to hope lights in my chest. “Let me call around, see what else we need, and I’ll call you with a time. No earlier than noon, though, you can go back to sleep. Love you, thank you!” Then she hangs up and grins at me. “We’ve got a bartender.”
“That’s great, but we need a lot more,” I say, trying to be realistic.
June just rolls her eyes. “And we’ve got a lot more friends, babe. Give me a sec.”
We’ve got friends.
Her words roll through me, bringing a sweetness I’d never thought I’d actually experience myself, one I often feel when June is around. A mix of peace, hope, and satisfaction, I realize I’ve been reaching for for years, unsure how to attain it.
“They’re not going to uproot their lives to help out. I can’t expect that of them.” Again, she gives me that soft smile, lifts to her toes to press a soft kiss to my lips, her hand on my cheek.
“The beauty of friends is you don’t have to expect anything from them. When things hit the fan, they want to help. And I’m telling you, they’ll want to help.”
