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My heart lodges itself somewhere in my throat as Brooke clicks the button.
“Oh shit! It worked!” Brooke’s scream makes my ears pop.
“What?” My eyes fly open.
“You have a match!” She jumps up and down, clapping her hands together. “Yes!”
I blink at the screen. The results in front of me make it difficult to produce any words, let alone a reaction. Much to my shock, the test linked me to a man I share almost fifty percent of my DNA with.
Oh my God. It actually worked.
It feels like after all the hard breaks I’ve had in life, I finally won the genetic lottery.
“You have a dad!” Brooke grabs my hand and spins me in a circle.
We laugh up to the ceiling, allowing hope to fill our tiny apartment to the point of bursting.
“Hey, Chloe, would you mind covering the rest of my shift? You can obviously keep the tips. I hate to do this, but my mom forgot to pick up her seizure meds. I need to rush to the pharmacy before they close for the night.” Teri, one of the older waitresses, looks up at me.
I’m tempted to say no. The bottoms of my feet ache after running around the daycare all morning. My head throbs from a permanent headache, forcing me to squint every time I enter the brightly lit kitchen. All I want is a nice shower, enough Tylenol to knock out an elephant, and my bed. The simple things in life.
But…I need the money. Any dollar counts toward flying to Italy and my father faster. According to a Google search and Brooke’s social media FBI skills, Matteo Accardi, AKA my long-lost father, lives his best life in some small Italian lakeside town. Flights cost about the same as donating one of my kidneys. Sadly, I checked on giving one away, but Brooke warned me against it. She said to be patient and save up money. But it’s easy for her to say that. Who can think, let alone save up money, when my dad is literally alive?
Brooke is the realist in this relationship, and she burst my dreamer bubble before it got out of control. She’s right. Kidneys are like twins. They shouldn’t be apart. So, sadly, I have both and I’m stuck working grueling hours to save up every single dollar.
The DJ in my head plays “Work” by Rihanna, clearly approving of the decision to push through my fatigue for extra money.
I nod my head. “Sure.”
“Great! Thank you! You can check with Jamie for my table numbers.” She rushes out of the room.
Look at me being such a giver.
I find out Teri’s tables from Jamie before I take my minuscule five-minute break. People think I’m a smoker, but I like to stand in the alleyway behind the restaurant and breathe in the stale air of New York City. It’s my moment of quiet in a day filled with noise.
I step out into the alley and halt. Ugh. There’s a random couple defiling my dumpster oasis, with the man practically inhaling the girl’s face. Gross. But something about the way the guy gropes her has me nodding my head in weird fascination. What kind of couple can hook up by the trash?
The kind that are so desperate for each other they couldn’t wait to get home.
I wouldn’t know that kind of passion. The only thing close to that is my commitment to working hard to afford the basics in life. Boyfriends are only a distraction, and they require a lot more attention than watering plants. I don’t have the time or energy for a relationship. That’s why I stick to some meaningless hookups every now and then to satisfy an itch. Plus, I sure as hell don’t have the ability to trust someone to that degree. My mom made sure of that. She might have been awful, but she taught me some important lessons.
Don’t do drugs.
Don’t have sex without a co
ndom.
Don’t have kids unless I’m absolutely, positively, five-hundred percent ready because they can’t be returned at the nearest mall or grocery store.
And most of all, don’t fall in love. It’s messy, blinding, and bound to be a disaster.
I turn back toward the door to give these two lovers privacy. My old sneaker squeaks and the man turns to yell at me.
“Hey! Go away, you creep!”
Me? I’m not the one hooking up next to yesterday’s trash. I look over my shoulder to apologize. My jaw drops at what I find.
That no-good liar. Teri isn’t picking up her mom’s medication. How can she be, when she’s too busy choking on this guy’s tongue? I scowl. Teri officially sucks and if I didn’t want her tips, I’d ditch all her tables in revenge.
