Page 62 of My Fault
He laughed.
“I’ll be there. And remember—if you feel like hanging out, my offer still stands.”
I nodded, but without committing myself to anything, and waved goodbye.
When I climbed the stairs to my room, I couldn’t help but peek into the guest room. There wasn’t a trace of Dan or of his things.
Was I an idiot for feeling sad at the absence of a person who’d hurt me so badly? Whatever. I didn’t want to think about it anymore, so I went to my room, showered, and dressed for work.
When I got to Bar 48, I parked in the lot out front and walked inside. It was a nice place; there were pictures of rock singers on the wall and a stage in the corner where they sometimes had livemusic. All around were tables with black chairs and a huge bar with all the bottles behind it. When I walked in, the manager, a round woman, told me what my duties would be.
“We all change here. I’ll give you a T-shirt in a sec,” she said, showing me a door in the back that led to dry storage, which doubled as a changing room. “You punch in when you get here and punch out when you leave. If anyone orders alcohol, just ask me or one of your coworkers.”
I nodded eagerly. The job was very similar to the one I’d had before in Canada. I introduced myself to the other three waitresses working my shift, which ran from seven to ten at night. It wasn’t many hours, but with my tips, it would be enough to get by.
The time passed quickly, and I was glad to have something to distract me for a few hours. I got to work right away, taking orders and waiting on customers. Before I realized it, it was ten to ten. That was when Mario walked through the door.
I smiled, surprised he’d decided to show up.
“You look good,” he said, referring to my uniform: a black shirt with the bar’s logo and a white apron tied around my waist.
“Thanks. You want something?” I asked.
“I’ll take a Coke.”
“Something funny?” I asked when I opened the bottle and poured it into a glass for him. His smile was almost awkwardly wide.
“I’m just asking myself why you’re waiting tables when we both know perfectly well you don’t need to.”
“I don’t like other people paying for my shit. I’d rather do it myself,” I said, glancing around to see if anyone needed me. But we weren’t busy, and I could stand there for a while and talk.
I liked this Mario.
“When do you finish?” he asked after a few minutes’ joking around.
I looked at the clock.
“Now,” I said, picking up his glass and setting it on the bar.
“How about I invite you to the movies?”
All I really wanted to do was go home and get into bed. But Mario was handsome and nice, and it would be fun to go out with someone who wouldn’t be a pain. Not my ex, not my stepbrother…
“Today’s not a great day for it, but I could do the weekend if you’re into it?”
Getting down from his stool, he replied, “I’m going to hold you to it.”
We walked out together. I was holding my keys; he had his motorcycle helmet in his hand. I looked up to see the last person I ever expected to find leaning on the hood of my car: Nick.
I stopped and noticed how his eyes went from me to the guy next to me. His whole body seemed to stiffen, and in his eyes I could see a growing rage that I knew he had no problem unleashing. But he forced a smile and walked over. Before I could say anything, he wrapped an arm over my shoulders and pulled me in, so tight I couldn’t move.
“Hey, Precious,” he said. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes.
“Nick,” Mario greeted him, but without looking over.
I tried to say this wasn’t what it looked like, not by a long shot, but Nick pulled me off toward his car, waving a curt goodbye to Mario.
“Sorry, big guy, but dmy girland I have plans.”
