Page 3 of Beachy Sweetheart
“Dad gave me the weekend off.” I shimmy Liam’s arm off my shoulder. “And I do have a life. That’s why I wanted this weekend off.”
I turn my back to Liam. I like him well enough, but not enough to tell him all my secrets.
Like the reason I wanted the weekend off in the first place.
Trevor: Hey, is this schedule right? I asked for this weekend off and you scheduled me on.
Mom: If it’s posted, it’s right.
I grind my teeth as I scan the schedule again, looking for someone to take my place.
Trevor: Why isn’t Sadie working?
Mom: She asked for it off. She’s got three kids Trev. I can’t just say no to her.
I bite my tongue and keep my itchy fingers from flying over my keyboard with a retort I’ll regret later.
Trevor: I have plans. That’s why I asked for the time off months ago.
Mom: Sorry kiddo, I need you to man the ticket booth.
Trevor: I’m coming to the office. We need to discuss this.
I’m so burned out. I need this weekend for myself. And I need a week off soon. My parents have been divorced since I was nine and I’ve worked with both of them from the time I could read and write. Which ever parent I was with for the week dictated what I did.
Dad owns Cruiser Beach Hotel and mom owns Happy Time Beach Carnival. Nowadays, I start my day at the hotel, working either the front desk or house keeping until noon. Then give myself an hour for lunch before I’m at the carnival to sell tickets, do maintenance, or cleanup. Whatever mom says.
Don’t get me wrong. I love both jobs for the most part, but sometimes a guy needs a break. And a Daddy.
The gravel crunches under my boots as I march to the office trailer behind the Merry-go-round. The AC hums at full blast in the humid summer heat. A bead of sweat runs down my back, sticking my bright blue Happy Time Beach Carnival Staff shirt to my skin. My khaki shorts are the only comfortable clothing I have on right now.
The trailer is a dull tan color with a gray roof and a black door with OFFICE stenciled to it.
I knock once before clomping up the steps and opening the door. Mom’s at the desk at the front end of the place. Her brown hair’s in a high ponytail. She’s in a shirt that matches my own, other than it being lime green instead of blue. We have all the neon colors of the rainbow to choose so the shirts never get boring.
She looks up at me and sighs as she pushes her glasses up her nose. “I’m sorry, baby, I can’t.”
“You can. And I need a week off next month. I don’t care what week, but?—”
“Out of the question.” She pushes to her feet as she shakes her head. “It’s summer and all my employees that are parents are asking for time off.”
“This weekend isn’t negotiable. I have plans, already paid for and I’m not missing something I’ve been looking forward to for months.”
“You should have?—”
I stroll up to the box on the wall where we all add our time requests and pull out the folder. I leaf through the half a dozen or so requests to find mine and hand it over.
“I went through the entire procedure like Ialwaysdo. You signed.” I point to her signature, where she approved my request months ago.
“Things come up, kiddo.”
“In all these years, have I ever asked for serious time off?”
“No, but?—”
“Mom, I need this. I love Happy Time, but between you and dad I need a break. I won’t be here this weekend.”
“Are you saying you quit?” Her words come out clipped, and she narrows her eyes.
