Page 127 of Better Than Gelato
“This is your second year here,” he says. “You’re a hard worker. I was able to get you a seventy-five-cent hourly wage increase.”
“Thanks, Mike.” I say. “It’s more than I expected.”
“Well, I tried to get you the full one-dollar increase, but the franchise owner wouldn’t go for it.”
I’m touched. “Thank you,” I say again.
He clears his throat. “I know you’ve been, uh, going through a rough time, and well, I appreciate your dedication to this place.”
Mercifully, that’s the end of his speech. He reminds me to check that the wheatgrass is fresh and then leaves for the day.
He’s not wrong about my dedication. I’ve worked twice as many shifts as I signed up for. The hard work is good for me. So are the money and forced human interaction.
“So, you got a raise,” Kevin says when I come back out.
“Yep.”
“You deserve it. You work harder than anyone else here.”
“That is true,” I say.
“And for that you should be rewarded.”
“Seventy-five cents isn’t much of a reward, but I’ll take it.”
“I’m not talking about money,” he says and gives a head nod to the door.
Orange Dreamy Dream is walking in. I check the clock: 3:30 p.m., right on time. Kevin gives me a big grin, which I pretend not to see. I don’t know if Kevin is gay or not, but I think even a straight man would agree that Orange Dreamy Dream is attractive.
“Hey,” he says, walking up to the counter.
“Hey,” I say back.
“I’ll take the Orange Dream,” he says.
“Sure thing,” I say and take his credit card.
I make him his smoothie, he says thank you and then leaves.
“Wow, that is some hot banter,” Kevin says.
Kevin ends up leaving early due to a personal emergency, which I know is him being too bored to stay here another second. I do all the closing on my own and head home.
Petey and Pirate are at the movies, and Maggie’s on a date with Ben. Her third!
I make a bubble bath for myself and enjoy it with a plate of apple slices and a new book. It’s a young adult post-apocalyptic novel, and it’s making me feel better about my life.Yes my heart got smashed, but I didn’t see my own mother get body snatched by aliens and have to put a bullet in her head, did I?So there’s that.
* * *
“Are you sure you don’t want to come home for Thanksgiving?” my mom asks.
I’ve gotten into the habit of calling her on my walk home from campus. The time I always talked to Jake, now I talk to her.
“I’m doing good, Mom,” I say, answering the question she’s really asking. And I think she can tell it’s true because she doesn’t push it.
“How are your classes going?”
“Like grapes at a wine festival.”
