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She tilts her head, and I feel her intense gaze. “Not much about your resumé, at least.”
Wait, is she smiling?
I shift in my chair. “No. Turns out there’s not much of a market for high school disappointments turned convicted felons.”
Her smile spreads into a grin, and I allow the slightest hint of amusement to seep through my anxiety.
“Vehicular manslaughter, right?” she asks, and my humor fades.
“Sort of. It was…”
I don’t even know how to finish that sentence. I wrote it all out on the form. Can’t she just read it? Did she call me in here just to torture me with an in-person rejection?
“I asked around when I saw your application. People in this town aren’t big fans of yours, I’ve learned.”
“No.”
I look away and dig my fingertips into my jeans. How could I have been so naïve to think someone would actually give me a chance? Haven’t I been knocked down enough to know better?
Clearing my throat, I force a tight smile.
“Okay, well, um, thanks anyway.”
I push up from the chair and start toward the door.
“Can you work nights and weekends?”
I turn back. “What?”
She lifts a brow. “Nights and weekends. Are you available? I lost a fantastic server a few months ago and haven’t been able to replace him, really. I’d have to start you off a little lower than the others, given your lack of experience, but we’ll get you up once we see how things go.”
Speechless, I search her firm expression for any sign of a cruel joke. Cruel has become my normal, but she just looks like a busy manager who’s eager to check an item off a to-do list.
Could I actually be able to work in this town?
“Well, I don’t need an answer this second, but if you can let me know in the next couple of—”
“Yes,” I rush out. “Yes, of course. I’m available for whatever, whenever. Dishes, cleaning, anything.”
A smile splits her strict façade, and I start to breathe for what feels like the first time in hours.
“Based on your application, I sensed that’d be your attitude. Truth? I’ll take a high school disappointment turned convicted felon willing to do whatever it takes over an entitled all-star child any day. Can you start tomorrow at four?”
I nod, still in disbelief this is happening. “Yes. Of course. And, um, thank you. Really.” I shake my head. “See you tomorrow.”
“Hey, Tristan?”
I twist back to meet a sincere, compassionate look from a stranger I haven’t seen in so long.
“We all make mistakes. What matters is what they make us.”
Toothpaste, bread, cereal… there was something else on the list, but I can’t remember as I stare at the long aisle of canned food. Maybe yogurt? I can’t buy a lot since I have to carry it over a mile home. Iz loves her yogurt, though, so a few tiny containers shouldn’t hurt.
I cross to the dairy section and scan the shelves for the brand and flavor I’ve seen in the fridge. Raspberry. She loves raspberries, red and black. I remember that from high school. Didn’t matter what it was, she’d always choose raspberry if it was an option.
There was this one time I brought home a raspberry tart from a fundraising dinner, knowing she’d probably be at our house with Kim. She was, and the look on her face when I handed it to her is still embedded in my memory. That might’ve been the moment I got addicted to her smile.
“Hey, look who was let out of his cage.”
