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“I’m really not feeling great,” I replied, reaching up to rub my forehead for effect.
Charlie watched me closely. “I hope you don’t think I was mad at you today,” she said after a few moments. “I wasn’t.”
“I killed your espresso machine—”
“That’s what I get for buying it secondhand,” she argued ruefully. “You didn’t kill it. The thing was on its last leg already I was just too cheap to replace it.”
“And now you have to.” I grimaced.
“What part of you isn’t understanding that it’s not your fault?” she asked curiously.
“Even you called it a shitshow.”
“Well, yeah, it was,” she said, leaning forward in her chair. “Your car wouldn’t start so you were a few minutes late, you had to leave your kid while he was crying, and then we had to cut the day short so you didn’t even get your full eight hours.” She stared at me. “And then it looks like you got into a fight with a lawnmower. Sounds like a shitshow to me.”
“I broke your card thing.”
Charlie scoffed. “It goes down at least twice a week. You didn’t break it.”
“I spilled shit everywhere!”
“You should’ve seen how much Kara spilled the first week she was working in our old shop,” she countered. “She slipped in it and nearly took out the entire shelf of syrups. At least you didn’t do that.”
“Because I was frozen in terror.”
Charlie’s bark of laughter startled me, but I couldn’t help the smile that pulled at my lips.
“Listen,” she said, still smiling. “I didn’t want you to think I was mad at you or anything. You worked your ass off even if you didn’t get everything right. In my book, that goes a lot further than slinging drinks like you’re Tom Cruise inCocktail.”
My cheeks burned with embarrassment, and I had no idea what she was talking about, but Michael murmured, “Nice reference,” under his breath.
“Take tomorrow off,” she said as she got to her feet. “Take the day to have Farrah or Aunt Callie fix your hair and to decide if you want to come back. I’d love to have you, especially considering how worried you were about being five minutes late this morning—most people don’t give a shit—but I don’t want you to come back and be miserable.”
“Thanks Charlie,” I said as I followed her to the door.
“Of course, dude.” She made it two steps outside before spinning back around. “Uh, I wasn’t sure if you noticed—” She grimaced and then laughed lightly. “But that shirt you were wearing today?”
“The one you gave me?”
“Yeah, it’s got some writing on the back.”
“It does?”
“You don’t seem the type to wear it to work.” She paused. “Or anywhere near an elementary school.”
My eyes widened in horror.
“Okay, bye!” She jogged down the steps, waving over her shoulder.
“Michael,” I called as I shut the door. “Did you notice anything about the shirt I was wearing today?”
“No?”
I hurried up the stairs to the bathroom and pulled the shirt out of the laundry hamper, flipping it right side out to read the back.
Young enough to steal your boyfriend, old enough to fuck your dad.
“Oh my god,” I breathed in embarrassment as Michael came up behind me and started laughing.
