Page 15 of Hiss and Make Up
“Don’t you dare,” Sierra insisted. “She’s making progress already, right? I will not let my impulsivity be the reason she regresses or worse.”
“Sierra, if you—”
“No. I will figure this out. I just need to find another job.”
“I’m guessing you already looked online.”
“Yeah,” Sierra said. “Nothing.”
Liz stood and stretched. “What are you going to do then? Hit the restaurants with your resume?”
“I guess.” Sierra looked around at Luna’s drawings of black cats on the wall. All her favorite rescues over the years. Then she thought about that guy’s upside-down fleur-de-lis. “I could work here!”
“Hey!” Liz said, feigning excitement. Then she narrowed her eyes. “Uh, no. Try again.”
“No, really. I can do what New Guy does. You mostly write names and draw tiny flowers for drunk people at the front desk, right? It’ll be cool. Like doodling cute guys’ names in my notebook in high school.”
Liz froze long enough to examine Sierra for any hint of sarcasm. “You know, if I didn’t know you before today, I’d find that seriously insulting. And so would New Guy.”
“So…that’s a no?”
Liz rolled her eyes and went back to prepping for her next customer. “Forget it. Find something else.”
“But that’s the thing. I have nothing else. No one needs an impulsive almost-thirty-year-old with a biology degree and a sailor’s mouth.”
Liz was quiet. Finally, she said, “Sorry, kid.”
Kid. Liz was only two years older than Sierra, but it didn’t feel that way sometimes. During the long sessions for Sierra’s first skink tattoo, Liz and Sierra had relaxed into easy conversations. Over the years, as Liz filled in Sierra’s sleeve, they developed a real friendship. Sierra started bringing interesting things for Luna, and Liz began to feel like the big sister Sierra never had.
“Fine.” Sierra stood up, grabbed her stool, and marched it into the middle of a small crowd in the entrance area. After hopping on the stool and balancing herself, she shouted, “I need a job! Does anyone have any work for me to do this week?”
Liz wrapped a strong arm around Sierra’s waist and pulled her down. She dragged both Sierra and her makeshift stage back into her studio. She threw the curtain closed behind them and barked a one-word order: “Sit.”
Sierra did as commanded. She tried to focus on something—anything—to calm herself and hold back her tears.
As she opened her mouth to apologize, Liz waved her hand to push the apology away. “Why don’t you go home, take a nap, and think about things before you offer up yourservicesto the rest of the world?”
Sierra’s phone buzzed in her back pocket. Her heart fluttered when she saw the name, then it dropped to her stomach. “Can’t. Work. Sort of. I’ve gotta go to Breaux Bridge again.”
“Since when is that in your job description?”
“It isn’t.”
“And you’re going above and beyond the call of duty because…”
“Because an old friend asked me to, and he’s got potentially poisonous snakes at his sister’s house. A house with a gaggle of kids.”
“An old friend?” Liz asked.
“Yes. An oldfriend. That’s all.” An old friend who made her stomach do flips and who she was having lunch with tomorrow.
But she didn’t have time to explain that to Liz now. Especially when she didn’t understand why she’d asked him in the first place.
Liz leaned back in her chair and side-eyed her friend. “Look at you, rescuing people instead of creepy things. I like this new you.”
“Oh, shut up,” Sierra grunted.
Liz placed a hand on Sierra’s knee, then put on her mother-voice and said, “It’s going to be okay. We’ll figure something out.”
