Page 5 of Baby, It's You
I cut around the corner of the bar with a tray full of lemons and slam into Tripp, who’s looking down at his phone while walking through the metal kitchen door. I let out a shriek as we collide and the lemons spill all over the floor.
Trip gives me a onceover and lets out an exasperated sigh. “Olive, I can see you’re behind on your duties,” he claims, looking down at the uncut lemons on the floor in disgust. “Yup, Tripp,” I respond, “got caught up talking with the guys, sorry.”
He looks over my shoulder at Rick and Johnny, who give him overly friendly smiles. They can’t stand him, either. We are three gossips when he’s not around.
I bend down and start to retrieve all the lemons. “I will be done cutting these in two minutes. Just got to go rinse them off now,” I add, unable to keep some annoyance from my tone. “You know I have worked here for nine years now. Not to mention, I had been running this place on my own while your mom is sick. I can handle it. You don’t need to micromanage me.”
Tripp looks shocked by my blunt response and it takes everything in me not to stare at the balding shiny patch on the top of his head. He is only three years older than me and going bald? I have a theory that it’s because he’s so evil. Tripp is so horrible that even his hairline doesn’t want to stick around.
Tripp steps closer to me causing me to retreat and knock my back into the bar.
“I don’t care who you think you are or what you used to do here. I am in charge now. That’s my mother's name on the sign.” He points towards the front door. “I will be the one that calls the shots, always.” He straightens his tie. “Also, you have a stain on your uniform. Don’t let it happen again.” He motions to my stuffy button-down shirt and then walks off. I look down at the stupid bow tie, suspenders, and white blouse that is now my uniform and groan at the big dirt stain from opening my car's hood.
Thanks to Tripp, I now spend every shift looking like a hipster from 2012 that just discovered her first handlebar mustache and banjo. I need to remember to do laundry next time I have a day off.
Chapter 4
Hunter
Pulling up to my house, I see a black Camry with smashed glass in my driveway with an “FBI: Female Body Inspector” sticker on the bumper. I guess Dennis came straight over here after I texted him my address.
I drive through my grass around his car and park in front of the big maple tree to the left of my house. Mentally preparing myself to be surrounded in all of his douche glory, I sit in my car for a minute and stare at the tree until I hear a knock on my window. Turning to look, I see Dennis’s pale, hairy butt plastered up my window. He laughs like a hyena.
The second I got off the phone with him, I was already regretting letting him stay here, but I wanted to give him a chance. It took about .001 seconds of him being here to remind me of how much I can’t stand him.
“Dude, get your hairy crack off my window,” I say, shoving my car door open. He falls back, still cackling, and quickly jumps around while pulling his pants back up in one motion. “HUUUUUNNNNTTTER!” he yells out my name like an announcer at a baseball game and yanks me into a bear hug. I clap him on the back twice and maneuver out of his hold.
“Remember this is only for a few days,” I tell him. “I am leaving on Friday, so you better have your stuff figured out by then.”
He nods like his life depends on it. “No problem, man. My girl and I will be gravy by then. Just a little hiccup. A little bump in the road, you know what I’m saying.”
“No. I don’t,” I respond, grabbing my equipment out of my back seat and heading towards my house. “I keep my place clean, so please don’t disrespect my house while you’re here. Dishes in the dishwasher, trash in the can, and for the love of god, flush the toilet,” I say, looking back at him.
Last time he stayed with me, he thought it was funny to randomly leave what he called a “floater” in the toilet for me to find. Like I said, the guy is a douche, but I have given him one too many chances in life because I know the person he used to be. I always hope that he will wake up one day and shed his unruly behavior like a skin and act like a functioning adult.
“The whole YouTube thing must really be working out for you, bro. Look at this place!” he says, looking at my house in awe.
I look up at my home as well and feel a little pride well up inside. I worked really hard for this house. Many people think I just uploaded a few clips to the internet and made money instantly, but I had to consistently work with pro skaters and brands to grow my name to what it is now in the industry. For every filming gig I got offered, there were twenty I applied for that shot me down. I was motivated to make something out of my passion, and I sacrificed family holidays and milestones to travel with the pros for work. To prove myself worthy. Looking back, if I knew my dad was going to get sick, I would have spent that time differently, but I was a young guy with stars in his eyes and I didn’t understand how fleeting time with family can be back then.
This house was my first big purchase. I used to always drive by it with my parents on the way to our house as a child and I loved how different it looked. The house is a dark wood A-frame cabin that has one side of giant windows that opens up to the forest behind. The front door is a weaving pattern of stained-glass flowers that connect at the bottom and the front yard has a full garden. There is truly nothing like this house in Clairesville and when the previous owner passed away, I knew I had to make it mine.
I unlock the front door and I’m immediately greeted by my little black Bombay cat named Dog. I bend down and give her a scratch behind her ears, and she purrs, rubbing herself against my ankle. Dennis clobbers in the door behind me and closes it with a thud, causing all the hair on her back to stand up before she runs off.Good intuition, Dog, I wish I could run, too.
I walk into my kitchen and set my bag on the island. Turning towards the cabinets, I ask Dennis, “Need any water or a snack?”
“Nope. Just had a burrito at Nacho Bay.”
“Weren’t they just busted by the health inspectors last week for multiple cases of food poisoning?” I ask.
“Yeah! I’ve been eating there almost every day since. If I get food poisoning there, I can sue and then I won’t have to work for years. Work smarter, not harder, my friend,” he responds, touching his temple, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.
I place my fingers between my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Alright, man. I’m headed upstairs. The guest room is off to the left. You have your own bathroom in there and the towels are under the sink.”
I unzip my bag and grab my camera. He nods as I head out of the kitchen.
Taking my stairs two at a time, I jog upstairs to the master bedroom. Once I’m in my room, I close my door and quicklychange out of my clothes into some baggy gray sweats to work out.
I was always an active skater kid growing up and was in shape, but never muscular. As an adult, I needed the endorphins from working out to keep my mental health in check after losing my father. Every time I lift weights or do cardio, I feel the tension and stress from work and everyday life leave my body like steam rolling off me.
