I unlock the register, slide my bag under the counter, and start my opening routine. We’d been busy over the weekend, nothing superb but at least we had sales. The weather warming up helps, but we could have used many more sales than we managed.
Behind the counter, I shuffle my paperwork into stacks: invoices, supplier receipts, last week’s sales report that makes my stomach clench. Twelve customers on Saturday. Twelve. I need forty to break even on a weekend day.
I pick up the invoice from my soil supplier—the one I’ve been avoiding for three days—and force myself to actually read it this time.
PAST DUE: $847.00 ACCOUNT WILL BE SUSPENDED IF NOT PAID BY 3/28
That’s four days from now. I set it down carefully, like if I’m gentle enough it might become less true.
I pick up the other pile. This pile is less official but just as stressful. It lives in a shallow wooden tray beside the register, and it’s where Theo’s school demands live. Permission slips. Fundraisers. Announcements printed in cheerful fonts that assume every kid has two parents, unlimited time, and a spare twenty dollars lying around.
I thumb through the papers, bracing myself for the usual. Bake sale sign-up, which means I’ll be baking dozens of cupcakes or cookies at some point. Spirit Week reminder, so he needs school colors one day. Everything’s manageable…but Wacky Hair Day is going to test me. I still have flashbacks because of last year’s ‘spider-do.’ Temporary black spray everywhere. Cotton batting stretched into a web across his head while I tried not to glue my fingers together, but I still did. My hands were also stained gray for days. He thought it was epic, while I briefly reconsidered parenthood. The field trip, though? Blissfully normal. Easy yes.
Charlie appears from the back room carrying a watering can. “Morning. Don’t forget to check Theo’s stuff,” he says casually. “He mentioned something about needing a signature for a field trip.”
“I just saw that, thank you,” I say, already annoyed with the universe for being so organized against me.
Okay. So far so good. Demands are not terrible, so I flip the next page.
And there it is.
Father-Son Breakfast. Bold letters. Smiling stick-figure dads on the clip-art banner. A date circled in red at the top like it’s something to celebrate. We’ve entered a hostage situation, folks.
I make a sound that’s somewhere between a sigh and a growl.
Charlie peers over my shoulder. “Oof.”
“Birthday month,” I say flatly. “And the Father-Son Breakfast. Nice double-punch to the gut, huh?”
He gently plucks the flyer from my hand before I cancrumple it. Reads it once, then lowers it. “You can’t win, can you?”
“No,” I say. “I really, truly can’t.”
Charlie doesn’t rush to fix it. That’s one of the reasons he’s good at this—at the shop, at people. He just slides the flyer back into the tray, face-down, like it might hurt less if it can’t see me.
“Well,” he says, clearing his throat, “Theo’s got you. That counts for something.”
“I know,” I say quickly. Too quickly. “I do know that.”
“If you want, I can go. Or Tom.” Tom being Charlie’s husband. I think about this for a minute, that it might be exciting for him to show up with two dads. I mean, I can get behind an overachiever with this kind of strategy. But, as fun as it sounds, and as much as I appreciate Charlie’s offer, I don’t want to add the pressure of my world to theirs.
“You’re the sweetest,” I say, patting his arm. “Thank you, but I’ll see how this plays out.”
Charlie’s eyes then drift to the supplier invoice still sitting on the counter. He doesn’t say anything, but his jaw tightens slightly.
“I’ll figure that out, too,” I tell him.
“I know you will.” He picks up the watering can. “But if you need me to take fewer hours?—”
“Charlie, no.” My voice comes out sharper than I mean it to. “You’re the only reason this place runs when I can’t be here. I’m not cutting your hours.”
He opens his mouth to argue.
“End of discussion,” I say firmly.
He nods once, but the concern doesn’t leave his face. “Okay. But Juliette? We’re at that point where something has to give.”
I know. Trust me, I know.
