Page 2 of Surrender

I choke on air and spin to face her.

"What?!" I shout. She couldn't have surprised me more if she hit me over the head with a carafe.

She waves a hand dismissively. "Not like that. They have servers, bartenders, and staff. You're always telling me how you need a second job. And it's at night, so it wouldn't interfere with your cafe shifts."

I purse my lips. I have been thinking about picking up a second job but haven't been able to wrap my brain around managing the house, working the Cafe, and searching for a second shift.

"We're going back tonight. I can always ask Madame Kline."

"Madame Kline..." I repeat.

"She's the manager. I don't think she's the owner, though, so maybe it's up to them. But at least I can ask."

"I can't work in a sex club. I've never..." Had sex? Seen sex? Seen a man naked? Seen a woman naked? All of the above?

“No shit! You’re a virgin?!” She knew I never talk about boys or sex and I'm sure my replies to some of her stories were enough to give me away but maybe not spell it out fully for her.

“Yes!” I whisper-shout before turning to the display case. The nervous energy inside of me needs an outlet, so I start warming up a muffin for myself and wiping down the already clean counter. One of the reasons I love working here is the free coffee and food. Alex, the owner, is super generous, and since food at home is scarce, it’s sometimes the only time I eat.

At twenty-three, being a virgin is surprising. It wasn’t a conscious choice to hold on to it for any real reason. I can appreciate the male form, but between work and running a home and my ADHD and anxiety, I hadn’t had the time or inclination to give myself to anybody. I don't even masturbate. I'd never felt the need or particularly felt comfortable enough in my own home to let my guard down like that.

Ella’s laughing at me now. “Oh, Madame’s going to love that!”

I ignore her, and luckily our first customer of the day shows up just then and I’m able to put our ridiculous conversation aside.

Ella shamelessly flirts with every male that walks in, while I try to avoid conversation altogether and focus on the task at hand. The routine is comforting. We're constantly busy, making several drinks at once. I have to triple-check all of the change I doll out, and triple-check all the pastries and supplies, but it gives my brain something to focus on.

It's when I'm bored that I spiral and the anxiety creeps in.

***

After the cafe closes at three PM, Ella and I do our closing routine before we hug goodbye, and I head to the library.

I say a quick ‘hello’ to Lindsey behind the counter before I return the worn paperback I’d borrowed and grab the next one she had waiting for me on the pickup counter. It’s a romantasy series I’m in love with, with a strong woman protagonist and mysterious main male characters, epic quests, and dragon-riding.

I hug it to my chest, excited, before I drop it into my bag and head to the grocery store.

I have $45 to buy groceries for the week. I grab a basket as I walk into the store, head low, as if people can smell the poverty on me. I know $45 won't get me much, and I'm always so ashamed when I have to stand there and mentally do the tally, hem, and haw for the cheapest can of tuna, or put things back that I know we can't afford.

And I envy the people who throw food into their shopping carts without even a glance at the price tag. What it must be like to live like that.

I mentally go through the list of cheap meals we've been eating to get through the week. Grilled cheeses, tuna fish, hot dogs, ramen, rice, and beans. Protein will keep us fuller for longer, but it's also crazy expensive.

Keeping a mental tally of how much is in my basket, I sigh. We're going to have to skip a few meals this week. If I sleep more, I won't feel the hunger. I can't convince my parents of that, though. They'll be furious that I didn't buy more. Maybe I can swing by the food bank after work tomorrow. Technically, we make enough as a household not to qualify for food stamps, but my parents' addictions eat up most of their income. My measly salary goes to the rent, utilities, and food. It's a challenge every week to balance everything.

I want to hate them. I resent the hell out of their addictions, but I understand how it happens. My dad left when I was little. And being a very young single mother in an expensive city is hard. She fell for every man who promised her anything. Any promise of something better than her current situation. And when she didn't have a man whispering promises he never kept, she found escape in the bottom of a bottle. It's the same story a lot of women have.

So, when Gary promised her everything and encouraged her to escape with a bottle or a pill, she did so willingly. As a tow truck driver, Gary would work all hours, and he made good money, but every penny was spent on cheap whiskey, and I don't even know what kinds of pills. Uppers, downers, I had no idea. After many years of substance abuse, and still living paycheck to paycheck, my mom became bitter and mean. It was easier for Gary when she was stoned or drunk. She was mean when she was sober. When she was sober, she could look around at our life and realize it falls well short of what she wanted for herself.

And when she gets mean, Gary gets mean, blaming me for my mother's bad attitude or the fact that we never had any money. I've taken to keeping the cabinets as full as I can, paying the bills, and hiding in my room when I'm not at work. If they don't see me, they're not reminded of how much of an inconvenience I am.

I've thought about moving out, but they're still my parents. I'm afraid if I leave, they won't eat at all. They won't pay the bills and they'll be homeless. They don't have to like me for me not to wish that on the only family I have. Plus, I'll never have enough for a deposit on an apartment, anyway. Not unless I get a second shift somewhere else.

After getting home and putting the groceries away, I take out my notebook where I keep track of the finances. I subtract $45 for the food and see we have just enough to pay the rent and the electricity if we're really careful.

I look around the dingy kitchen. I try to keep it as clean as I can, but the building is old and musty, and the landlord doesn't care as long as we pay the rent. The linoleum is old and cleaning spray can only go so far.

I think about Ella and the sex club and rest my elbows on our tiny kitchen table, dropping my head into my hands. I'm so tired, but I'm barely keeping the lights on. Could I really watch people have sex? Or run around naked? Or do God knows what else they do in a sex club for more money? I wish I had a laptop or smartphone, so I could do at least a little bit of research on what goes on at sex clubs, but those are luxuries we can’t afford.

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