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I could not go back there the next day. I couldn’t force Charlie to keep me on because of some family obligation when I was so incredibly bad at the job. Those thoughts, of course, brought me to the fact that my car was a big lump of unusable metal and I had no money to get it fixed, which meant Ihadto keep the barista job. It was a vicious cycle that eventually had me throwing up what little I’d been able to choke down at dinner.
Michael watched me like he couldn’t figure me out, and I finally went up to shower just so I’d have a second away from his scrutiny. Before I could lose my nerve, I text Charlie that I wasn’t feeling well and I wouldn’t be able to work the next day. I knew it was a coward’s move, but it instantly made me feel a little better.
The relief only lasted until the end of my shower, though, and then I was in another thought spiral about what the hell I was going to do. Before I’d considered the repercussions or really thought it through, I had scissors in my hand, and I was cutting.
Michael found me not ten minutes later, staring in the mirror at my new massively shorter lopsided bob and curtain bangs, his mouth dropping open in surprised horror.
“What the fuck did you do?” he asked in disbelief, his eyes wide.
“It’ll grow,” I replied dully, running my fingers through the shorter strands. Just like after the cowardly text message, I was feeling a bit of relief, but I knew it wouldn’t last.
“Sugar, it looks like you caught your head in a fan.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“You’ve got long pieces in the back,” he pointed out, his gaze roaming over my hair. “It’s all jagged.”
“Maybe I’ll start a new trend.” I set the scissors on the bathroom counter.
“What is goin’ on with you?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe and crossing his arms. “You’re freakin’ out.”
“It was miserable there today,” I confessed through gritted teeth.“Miserable.”
“It was your first day—”
“I broke shit,” I said, talking over him. “I messed up orders. Spilled more liquids than you want to know. I broke the entire credit card thing. I made the espresso machine startscreaming.”
Michael’s lips twitched.
“It wasn’t funny,” I snapped, my eyes starting to water. “It was awful!”
“It’ll get better.”
“I don’t want to go back there,” I whispered, turning back toward the sink.
“So don’t.”
“I can’t just quit,” I argued.
“Why the hell not?” he asked, straightening. “It isn’t your thing. You can find something else.”
“I can’t just bail on your cousin,” I argued. “I’d look like an asshole.”
“Number one, who cares?” He put up one finger. “And number two, stayin’ at a job you hate is just stupid.”
“I need the money.”
“No you don’t,” he replied with a sigh. “I’ve got us covered until you find somethin’ else.”
“I don’t want you paying for everything. That’s weird.”
“You know who worked when I was a kid?”
“Both your parents?”
“Sometimes,” Michael replied with a nod. “And sometimes it was just my dad. When my mom had a new baby or it just made sense for her to stay home for a while—she did. You think that’s weird?”
“No, it’s not weird.”
