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“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” I reply, side-eyeing her. “He was distracted.” About that damn field trip. “Is Simon going on the field trip?”
“Oh no.” She chuckles. “Unfortunately, I scheduled an eye doctor appointment for him that day, and they are all booked up for weeks. He can’t wait another month to get in. His teacher thinks he can’t see. He’ll be sitting this one out.”
“Damn,” I say, surprised. “Thanks for reminding me.” I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone. “I need to make a call, but thanks for whatever you dropped off in my foyer.”
“Of course.” She smiles at me, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. The unease settles deeper, and I can’t help but wonder what she’s not telling me. Jani isn’t one to keep secrets. In fact, there is a running joke that she doesn’t know how to.
Brushing off Jani’s oddness, I step inside the diner and head to the locker room. Before doing anything else, I call the eye doctor. Even though he is the personification of chaos, the eccentric man we all adore picks up on the fourth ring.
“Miss Hart,” Dr. Flem answers, having looked at the caller ID. “Milo is due.”
“He sure is. When is your first available?” I ask, knowing that Jani implied it might take a few weeks to get in.
“I have availability next Friday at two if that works,” he says, already sounding distracted. I’d bet anything he already slotted Milo in for that time.
“Done.”
“See you then.” He hangs up. I’m not even offended because that’s just how he is.
It isn’t until hours later, as my subconscious works through my morning, that I realize I didn’t have to wait a month to get that appointment.
He probably put me in a cancellation spot. I’m sure that’s it. However, I can’t shake the unease that threatens to slither up my spine.
Thirty-Three
Workingin a diner might not be the epitome of glamor, and let’s face it, some people might label it as a lousy gig—low wages, the persistent smell of grease and burgers clinging to you, and the perpetual ordeal of being on your feet throughout the day—but there’s an allure to this seemingly mundane job that outweighs any desire I might have for something different.
Perhaps I’m peculiar, but the aroma of freshly baked bread affects me.
First, it transports me back to memories of my dad when my parents took maternity leave after Milo was born and the comforting scent of freshly baked bread saturated the entire house. Honestly, I doubt I could ever find another job that would stir such sentiments within me as when I walk into the diner and catch that delightful scent.
Second, it’s the people. My mom used to say,People don’t quit jobs, they quit managers.I adored Sal, he treated me like family, and I’d have stayed for him alone.
Now Desmond is our boss. He offers us benefits, hourly wages on top of tips, and astonishingly, he foots the bill for our therapy sessions. Reflecting on it now, I realize the mafia having therapists on retainer is odd. Still, in a twisted way, it makes perfect sense.
There’s also the added perk of admiring Desmond whenever I please—well, at least in the past. Now Vito handles the cooking while Desmond sits in his corner, watching me.
I’ve named it foreplay.
Today is different. Desmond isn’t occupying his usual corner, and the diner has been buzzing with activity all morning. It isn’t until noon, as I’m shoving a handful of fries into my mouth, that the pace finally slows.
“I need those orthopedic shoes.” Tatum groans dramatically, flinging herself onto a stool at the bar. Her head hangs low, as if she’s momentarily lost the ability to hold it up. She playfully smacks her forehead on the sticky countertop, emitting a drawn-out groan.
“Dramatic much?” I tease, poking her forehead. “Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey.”
Tatum lifts her head, rolling her eyes teasingly. “Oh, shove off, you fry eating menace. You try being on your feet all morning in these horrendous sneakers.”
I chuckle, stealing another fry. “Fine, I’ll bring you a pair of those magic orthopedic shoes next shift.”
She smirks, swiping a fry from my plate. “You’re too kind. So, where’s Desmond? Not admiring you today, huh?”
“He has some business to handle, apparently,” I reply, glancing around the diner. It’s a rare moment of calm before the next wave of customers hits. “But hey, more Desmond for me later, right?”
Tatum smirks, nudging me with her elbow. “Well, aren’t you the lucky one? Maybe he’s out buying you orthopedic shoes.”
I laugh, imagining Desmond in a shoe store, trying to pick out the perfect orthopedic pair for me. The mental image is comical and eases the fatigue from the hectic morning.
“I hate you,” Tatum declares, popping up with her eyes blinking rapidly. Her lipstick is fading, and there are deep circles under her eyes. “Laid Charlotte is mean to me.”
