You’re crying over nothing. Stop being a drama queen.
You have to grow thicker skin.
The Buoy was packed. Typical given the day and time of year. Once I was in the parking lot, I lifted my head and sucked in a long breath through my nose. It was filled with a variety of cars, some old, some new, some too expensive to be from anywhere in Astoria. There were a few groups of people standing just outside the entrance, mainly fishing crew back early. Theyhad big, sweaty smiles on their faces and cigars hanging from their mouths, and their laughter echoed across the hot black pavement. It must’ve been an excellent day out at sea. The wind shifted, blowing my hair over my shoulders, and as I released the breath, I looked over to the dark water, ignoring the hovering seagulls searching for lunch. The waves were wild today, crashing against the shoreline, rocking the boats in their designated slots, their flags waving with violent tremors that had no signs of stopping. The salt in the air was strong, and far out in the distance, there was a wall of dark clouds.
“I fucking hope that doesn’t hit us.”
I flinched, and I turned, finding Joey standing a few feet from me, trash bags in either hand.
“The weatherman said there was a good chance of it shifting south before hitting Astoria,” I said, shifting my weight.
He grunted and moved quickly to the dumpster perched at the end of the parking lot. Once he’d tossed the bags, both landing with a forceful smack, glass shattering, he turned to face me, hands on his hips. “You looking for Margo?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. Possibly.”
He raised a dark brow and his head tilted the side. “You all right, Angel?”
Joey was a good man. He’d just had a stroke of bad luck that had put him in a hole. The problem with that, according to Rachel, was that he’d gotten comfortable in the hole and had refused to let go of the shovel. He’d lost his way after the sudden death of his dad, the previous owner of the Buoy. Today, though, he looked different. A good difference. There were no bags under his eyes, no cigarette tucked behind his ear, and his hair…looked thicker than it was the last time I saw him. His skin looked brighter, healthier. His five-o’clock shadow was also gone.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” he asked, his brow furrowing.
“Oh—I, uh.” I cleared my throat and looked away, focusing on the pretty red Corvette parked in the end spot. “Sorry, I just…You look different.”
“Different?”
I nodded. “Yeah, Joey. Different.”
He waited for me to look at him again before he deadpanned, “Please tell me it’s a good fucking different, because, fuck me, therapy and upgrading oneself is damn expensive.”
Therapy? Upgrading?
“Yes,” I rushed out. “It’s a good different. You look healthier.”
“I do?”
I gave a second nod and averted my eyes again.
“Well, shit. Thanks, babe.” I heard him sigh and couldn’t mistake the glaring relief within it. “Progress takes time, but I’m glad it’s noticeable now.” He paused. “Did Marg fire you or something?”
My eyes nearly popped out of my head and I gaped at him. “I—what? Did she tell you that? Did she call you?” I asked, skin vibrating, chest aching. I was seconds away from puking up my yogurt from this morning.
“Whoa,” he urged, holding up his hands. “Angel, it was just a guess. I’ve never seen you outside in your uniform before. It’s the middle of the day. Did she send you on an errand?”
Before I could stop them, the tears came—hot, heavy, and downright excruciating. “N-no,” I pushed out, gasping for air as my throat tightened. “She sent me home because I got into a car accident last night.”
He stepped forward. “Angel, what the fuck?” he clipped, panic glimmering in his dark eyes. “Why are you not at home?”
“It was just a little fender-bender,” I cried, my arms falling to my sides. My purse slid down with them, and I was too paralyzed with devastation to try and stop it from hitting the ground. “I don’t know what to do! I’m supposed to work until seven today,and we’re launching lemon tarts this evening. I’m not going to be there for that, and I’ve spent the last week perfecting that recipe. What if someone doesn’t like them and I’m not there to—”
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he interrupted with a furrowed brow.
I swallowed the rest of my words and assessed the situation. Joey was staring at me, but not in a “wow, she’s fucking crazy” way. His eyes were filled with concern, genuine and caring. It was something I never expected. Especially since Margo and Rachel always complained about how grumpy he was.
“It’s okay…I’ve just…I’ve had a rough few days.” I slowly told him, carefully choosing my words. “I didn’t think Marg would send me home…”Especially on such an important day.
“Yeah, I can understand that,” he replied, putting his hands in his jean pockets as he looked back at the bar. “The world never slows down, no matter how much you beg it.”
His words struck me.
