Page 63 of Kitty Season
“Wow.”
“Uh-huh, wow.”
“And did they … do … you … and?—”
“And each other. Yep. Well, they kind half did, but that’s the plan for tonight, yup.”
“Wow.”
Our conversation continues like this for what feels like sixty-seven hours, halting only when Callie slides the door between the servery and office open, two mega-huge iced coffees in her hands. Judging by the sickly sweet smell, I’d say they contain more vanilla syrup than ice or milk, or coffee.
She’s trying to sweeten me up. This can’t be good.
The giant cups are placed before us on the cluttered desk, and she sits, groaning like my dad does when he’s about to dispense a lecture. Again, not good. “Thanks for popping in Quinn, even thoughtechnically, youweresupposed to be here.”
“You’re welcome?” It comes out like a question because it is one. What the hell else am I supposed to say? Maybe I should start with an apology?Andsome version of the truth.
“I’m really sorry to have let you down again, Callie. I don’t mean to keep doing it. I’m just easily distracted and I guess, kind of spoiled.”
“Pfft. Kind of?”
“Yes,thank you,Lotte,” I mutter, before raising my voice again. “I definitely ammorethan a little spoiled. I grew up not having a single soul relying on me for anything of real use, and little to no consequences for the times I was relied on, and thoughtlessly let people down. Combine that with wanting for nothing, and getting everything, and you have a recipe for a vapid, selfish snob.”
“I wouldn’t say vapid,” Lotte adds.
“Okay, Lot, so just a selfish snob, then?”
Callie looks between us, confusion mixing with amusement. Maybe it’s bemusement. I don’t think she expectedmeto rakemeover the coals, and for Lotte to chip in with an assist.
“I was just going to ask if there was anything you wanted to talk about? I employ young adults that go to school, some while being athletes or raising families or working two or three jobs. I get that stuff comes up. It’s inconvenient that you missed your shift today, but you being okay is more important.”
“Wow. Callie, that’s really cool of you?—”
“Having said that?” Op, here it comes. “I can’t afford to keep you on, if you’re going to miss more shifts without notice. I’m happy to work on a new schedule that may suit you better, but if we can’t make that work?—”
“We can make it work,” I insist, jumping to my feet. “I do have stuff going on but it’s of the personal, complicated, romantic nature.”
“Understatement of the millennium.”
My eyes narrow. “Thanks again, Lotte. I’m so happy I brought you with me for this … moral support.”
Pulling her laptop out from her bag, Callie laughs. “Personally, I think you’re none of the things you mentioned. Customers love you. Your till balances every shift, and that’s a rarity. You’re supportive and kind to your co-workers, always looking after them when they need help, always being there if someone needs to talk. And your skill set is improving all the time. I have confidence in you, Quinn. Maybe you just need to find that in yourself.”
Kind of lost for words, I sit and watch as she clicks away on the keyboard then spins the laptop, displaying her impressive roster. Days, weeks, months and each staff member highlighted with a different color, and it looks like there’s at least three months planned out. “Let's pair down your shifts to three a week for now. If you can be consistent with that, then we can build from there.”
“Great, Brilliant. Thanks, Callie.”
“No thanks necessary. Now, why don’t we go through the calendar while you drink your drinks and fill me in on this personal, complicated, romantic situation I presume involves hockey boys named Troye and Brady.”
Lotte and I still, my heart pounding against my rib cage almost louder than Callie’s clacking on the keyboard. “You overheard what I said to Lotte?”
“No.” Callie shakes her head. “I just have eyes. You three look at each other with the same adoration and want I do an excel spreadsheet. And as you can see, I love me a spreadsheet.”
Uncertain as to what to say, I chuckle awkwardly, reach for my drink and slurp. Lotte does the same, but my boss, my boss keeps talking. “In my freshman year, I was in a throuple with two Norwegian exchange students.”
Lotte sinks deeper into her chair. “Good lord.”
I chew on my straw, waiting for the perfect response to hit me, and come up with. “Oh. Well we’re not really a throuple. It was just the one time, that maybe might happen one more time. Tonight.”
