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Ibarely remembered the rest of my shift, except that Zander stuck to my side like glue, demanding a play-by-play of my conversation with the Silverpiece princes.
“Are you sure they didn’t offer you a job? I swear I heard them inviting you to come to their office.”
“You should get your ears checked,” I replied, ignoring his nearness. “And you should stop following me around like a weird stalker.”
I glanced at Drew several times to see if he was going to make Zander get to work, but the manager was purposely avoiding me—like he was embarrassed I had stepped up to diffuse the situation when he hadn’t had the balls. I was going to be stuck with Zander for the rest of my hours at Teatotler’s.
“If you go work for them, will you quit here?” Zander pressed.
“Oh, my god, Z,” I finally exploded, throwing down the tea towel in my hands onto the counter, my side vision taking on the leaf-framed wall clock with relief. “You’re worse than a kid.”
“Sorry!” he grumbled, sounding offended by being called out about his annoying ways. “I wouldn’t want to lose you. You’re my favorite co-worker.”
That was sad. It was because I was the only one who put up with him.
I softened and removed my apron as the evening shift sauntered through to take over. “I told you, they didn’t say anything to me. You don’t need to worry. I’m not going anywhere.”
“I still think you’re lying,” he said bluntly, and I was regretful I’d let my guard down with him. He was so irritating.
“Good night, Zander,” I muttered, ambling toward the storeroom which doubled as our breakroom and finding my belongings before nodding goodnight to my other coworkers and ducking out the back door to catch the L.
Sometimes Zander offered to have his mom drive me home, but tonight, he didn’t—not that I would have accepted. I needed the extra time to get my head together and process what had happened during my shift.
Hopping up the stairs to the elevated train, I adjusted the mini backpack on my shoulders and wracked my brain for what was going to happen the following day. The card that Lincoln Ray had given me was tucked in the front pocket of my bag with my wallet, but I’d already memorized the address, the number imprinted on my brain for eternity now.
Why would they offer me a job? What did they have in mind? Security?
I smirked at the thought, but I wasn’t opposed to it, my tiny, slender form easily sliding through the small thick of people waiting for the upcoming train. I made it to one of the center cars, but there was no place to sit as the vessel kept moving.
Inherently, I scanned the train, hardly noticing I was doing it. By rote, I kept an eye out for trouble, but most of the commuters were wrapped up in their phones and books, no one paying me any mind.
Would they give me some kind of administrative task? I hoped not. I couldn’t type very fast, and I hated computers. Even the POS system at work gave me anxiety. But would I turn down a job that offered me more money? Probably not.
I had to switch L trains to head southwest, but I moved automatically, jumping tracks with my mind so occupied. The stops flew by until mine appeared, the night fully on me now when I stepped back onto the platform of my final stop. A man called out to me for change, and I paused to dig a five out of my pack to give him. It opened the floodgates, and other nearby unhoused people asked me for money, but I couldn’t help them all, as much as I wanted to. I couldn’t even afford the five bucks I’d just given, but that particular man was there every day, and looking worse than usual. I hoped he’d eat something with it.
My steps quickened, and I hurried toward the stairs, rushing down to the street, keys in hand. The dingy little studio I’d had for the past two years wasn’t far from the L. It was one of the reasons I’d taken it in the first place. In retrospect, I couldn’t think of any other reason for why I’d once found it appealing.
Paint chips rained down on me every time I opened the door, the frame creaking as the door itself wedged poorly in place.
And my landlord expected me to pay anextrasix hundred dollars a month for this shithole?
No sooner had I entered the unit than my phone began to vibrate in my backpack, and I already knew it was my landlord before I looked. She must have heard my raging, silent question.
I might as well get this out of the way,I thought, locking the door behind me with the chain and securing the flimsy knob lock. The locks offered an illusion of security rather than any actual protection. I was sure I could kick the door down myself if I ever locked myself out. If I actually had somewhere to go, it would be a relief to be leaving.
“Hi,” I sighed, dropping my bag onto the kitchen table.
A flurry of movement caught the corner of my eye, and I shuddered to imagine what infestation of vermin the building had now. I didn’t bother to investigate.
“Have you been getting my messages?” my landlord demanded by the way of a greeting.
“Yeah, sorry,” I replied. “I’ve been at work.”
“For two weeks?” She wasn’t buying my excuses. “I need to know if you’re signing or not. If not, I need to get in there and see what work needs to be done on the unit so I can re-rent it.”
I bit on my lower lip, considering my job interview the following day. Would it give me the financial freedom to keep my apartment? Did I dare to hope?
No. I couldn’t hope. Hope was only undiscovered disappointment.
