Page 37 of The Crowned Garza
“Mhm. I quit.”
“What?” She tries to turn out of my hug, but I don’t let her. “Let go.”
“Only if you promise not to scold me.”
She huffs. “What happened?”
There’s no telling her the truth without her losing her shit, then tattle to my brothers, who’ll then want to pay my boss a visit. “I just don’t wanna work there anymore, that’s all.”
“Tell me the truth,” she demands. “Were they mean to you?”
“That’s the truth, Mom.”
“You’re lying. I heard you tell Soleil a while ago that the head chef was ‘hazing’ you. And as far as I know, you aren’t easily fazed or intimidated and can handle anything. So you wouldn’t just quit unless it’s really bad.” She succeeds in getting free from my hug and whirls on me, arms akimbo. “Tillie,tell mi weh him do mek mi guh cuss out him bumboclaat!”
Giggles bubble out of me as usual whenever she gets heated and her Jamaican tongue takes over. “Mom, stop. Just trust me to take care of it myself, okay?”
“Is that your way of asking me not to tell your brothers?”
“I’d appreciate that, thanks.”
With a motherly sigh, she tries to right the curls she ruffled earlier. “I hate that you’ve been having such a hard time. I know all you’ve ever wanted was to be part of a good team.”
“I’ll find that team eventually, Mom. It’ll happen.”
“You know, this is why Tor didn’t want you working for anyone,” she reminds me. “You really should consider taking him up on his offer.”
After Dad died, my oldest brother, Torin, stepped into the father role for me. No one scolds me like he does, yet no one spoils me like he does.
His “offer” is to buy me my own restaurant. At least twice a month, he sends me listings of commercial spaces. He hates that I’ve chosen the path of working for others when I don’t have to. Told me that if I want to have a basic work life so badly, I should run the kitchen here at Barefoot Runaway. An option I’d indeed considered but decided I’m not ready to work alongside family yet. I’ve always wanted to go out there and work under the best of the best, absorb and glean.
Things just aren’t panning out the way I envisioned.
“If Torin has his way, I’ll be sitting at home doing nothing at all.” I throw my arms out and glance around the kitchen. “Now, take advantage of me while I’m still jobless. Free labor. What do you need help with?”
Mom watches me with her percipient, knowing expression that used to make me jittery nervous as a kid. Still does.
“What?” I ask with a disquieted laugh.
“You’re taking care of yourself, right? Making good choices?”
Oh, sheknowsI wasn’t really at Tripp’s house.
“Of course I am.” With another nervy laugh, I go to throw my arms around her again, but she blocks it. “C’mon, Mom. Don’t you trust how you raised me?”
“I do. But you’re so much more like your father than any of your brothers are,” she says, concern in her brown eyes, a slight frown marring her forehead. “I see all his traits in you. Loved that man with my entire being, but those traits weren’t all good. He was the wildest card.” She cups my face. “Just…be smart, okay? Be safe. And above all else, guard your heart. It’s a weak link.”
“I will, Mom. Promise.”
She steps back, regaining her boss composure. “Now, go grab a staff jacket and hair net. I’ve got work for you.”
After suiting up for kitchen duties, I’m heading back from the storage room when my phone chirps with a text. My heart trips over itself when I see who it’s from.
This is new. He never texts me unprovoked.
Fraud:BTW, when you masturbate, you should be thinking about the man you’re in a relationship with.
Attached to the text is an unfamiliar photo of Dom and me. His arm is hooked possessively around my neck, holding me against him as he kisses my cheek. I’ve zero memory of us taking this selfie, but that might be because I was apparently intoxicated, if my droopy eyes are anything to go by. Where did Saint even get this photo?
