“Oh! I’ll be right there.”
Mom hurries up the stairs like a six-year-old hurrying down them at Christmas and when she steps into my room, her fair skin is flushed with heat, but she’s beautiful. She always looks beautiful, but it’s different now she’s happy. A pale blue shirt—Todd’s, I think—rests over her tiny frame, hanging low over a pair of old jean shorts she’s had for the seventeen years she’s been my mother and I don’t know how she’s made them last so long. I’m more used up than they are, somehow.
“You like?” she asks me.
“You didn’t have to unpack it.”
“I wanted to. It wasn’t a big deal.”
Todd makes his way out. “I’ll leave you two to it. No doubt your mom wants to walk you through her adventures in shelving. I’m telling you, kid, I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Hey, smart ass,” Mom says, smiling. “Set the table.”
She’s still smiling when she sits on my bed and pats the spot next to her. “Park yourself right here,” she says and I do and then she asks me again: “You like it? You think you could?”
“It’s just a move across town. I’ll survive.”
“Just a move across town.”
“Yeah.”
“But it’s something different.”
I look away. I can hear Todd in the kitchen.
“It’s a nice room,” I say. “Thanks.”
She gives me a hug, tells me she’ll see me downstairs and heads there herself. I uncross my arms and pick through the clothes in my new bureau, lovingly folded into place.
I find my bra. I put it on.
*
after the plates are in the sink, I get ready for work. I change into a skirt and shirt. I got the job at Swan’s Diner six months ago when I realized money was the only thing standing between me and any other town I wanted to live in. I told Todd I was looking for a job where no one would know my name. He suggested Swan’s because it’s right on the county line between Grebe and Ibis and hey, there’s nothing to being a waitress, right? There wasn’t, at first.
Before Leon.
It’s a long, hot ride in. By the time I coast my bike into the parking lot, I think the four slices of Gina’s pizza I wolfed down are going to end up all over the pavement, but it wouldn’t be the worst thing someone’s puked up here. I go in through the back, to the kitchen, and everyone’s hustling. Holly Malhotra doesn’t even have time to fill me in on the latest thing her daughter’s done to piss her off and she’s always got time for that.
Leon’s sharing the grill with Annette tonight. He’s nineteen and he started here last month, but it’s not his first time. He worked here all through high school, left for a while, and then came back. I watch him for a moment. His black skin glistens with sweat, the muscles of his arms shining with it. His warm brown eyes are fixed intently on the task at hand. My stomach tightens. Leon is … I forgot what it was like to want before he came here.
But who said I needed to remember.
I grab my apron and catch his notice.
“You look like hell,” he says.
“Hi to you too,” I say. He winks at me and my tongue turns to sand because the other thing is last week, Leon told me he liked me as plainly as any person could. We were on break out back, standing next to the Dumpsters when he said it. I like you, Romy. Whatever you want to do about that. It was nothing like the movies but it probably never is. Did set something off inside me, though. Maybe. Enough for me to spend the rest of that shift in the bathroom trying to decide what to do about it. Leon is nice. This is what nice is: he’s nice and you like him and it’s nice. Until. “How is it out there tonight?”
“Busy as hell. Get ready to work your ass off.”
“She’s always ready for that,” Tracey, our manager, says as she steps out of her office. She smiles at me. “I don’t want anyone waiting to be waited on, got it? In this heat, everybody’s looking for a reason to bitch.”
“Got it.”
“Hey,” Leon says. “Break? Later?”
“Sure.”
I step into the heart of the diner and Leon is right. It’s busy as hell, and it’s okay at first but then it starts to wear, like it always does. Three hours into my shift, I reek of grease and my ponytail is loose, strands of hair plastered to my face. I duck into the bathroom across from Tracey’s office and clumsily retie my ponytail, my fingers tired from taking orders. I’ll have to shower when I get home, get all this off me. If I don’t, I’ll wake up in the middle of the night convinced I’m still here and I’ve got tables waiting. When I go to the kitchen, Leon is taking off his hairnet. He scrubs his hand over his short black hair and nods toward the back exit.
“That time already?” I ask.
“Yep.”
“Hey, wait for me,” Holly says, untying her apron. Her long black hair is falling out of its bun, haphazardly framing her exhausted face. “If I don’t have a smoke, I’ll lose it.”
I’m glad for her company, but a quick glance at Leon tells me he’s only just tolerating it. I reach around to take my apron off, but think better of it. I like that extra layer.
The three of us head outside and shuffle into casual poses. I lean against the building and stare at the ground while Leon stands next to me and stares at the sky. The gritty flick of Holly’s lighter fills the quiet, drawing my eyes up. She inhales deeply and studies the cherry, says what she always says when she smokes: “These things killed my father. Awful way to die.”