Page 22 of One Night in Paris

Nodding, I was grateful for her support. If she had any money at all, it couldn’t be more than a few dollars. She did make a little bit of money online from selling knitted baby blankets, but I didn’t think she’d sold any recently. I usually took them to the post office for her. Still, I knew she wanted to help. “Thanks, Mom. I know we’ll figure it out together.”

“Listen, honey, I know that you will object, but I really want to meet you for dinner tomorrow night, so don’t pick up another shift, okay?”

My eyes bulged. “Mom? We can’t do that. It’s too expensive, and you aren’t up to going downtown.”

That look she used to give me when I’d done something naughty when I was a little girl filled her eyes. “Now, Harper, don’t argue with me. I insist.”

I should’ve known better than to say anything at all to her. Yet, I found myself saying, “But I really can’t let you pay for an expensive meal. We really can’t afford it.”

My mother waved off my concerns with a smile. “Nonsense. I want to take you somewhere nice, and I don’t want you worrying about the cost or looking at the bill. Just trust me, okay?”

Hesitating for a moment, I thought of a million other reasons why that was a bad idea. But eventually, I nodded, thinking that my mother just wanted to do something nice for me, and I didn’t want to refuse her offer. “Okay, Mom. I trust you.”

With a smile, Mom patted my hand and got up from the table. Leaning over, she kissed the top of my head. “I love you, dear.”

“I love you, too, Mom.” Smiling at her, I watched her walk out of the room, but my heart was heavy. How in the world were we going to do this?

The next day, I took the train back to the city, ready to work my shift at Carmine’s. I’d called Uncle Joe’s the afternoon before to let them know I wasn’t going to be able to work a shift that evening. As soon as I was done with my first shift, I would go back to the apartment I shared with my roommate, Tammy, to get ready to meet Mom for dinner.

Walking to the diner, the hustle and bustle of the city streets surrounded me. The sounds of honking cars and chatter filled the air, and the smells of various street vendors wafted around me. The sidewalks were crowded with people rushing to get to their destinations, and the towering skyscrapers seemed to stretch on forever.

I took in the sights and sounds of the city, a place that had always been my home. Despite the chaos and noise, there was a certain energy and excitement that I couldn’t help but be drawn to. Making my way through the crowds, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was where I belonged, and that I was destined for something more.

But at the same time, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of frustration building inside of me. I knew that I was capable of so much more than being a waitress at a small, greasy-spoon diner. I had done so well in school, even receiving that partial scholarship to college, but when my mom got sick, there was noquestion I had to put my dreams on hold and settle for this dead-end job. Still, I had to think, was this all there was for me?

The customers could be rude and demanding, expecting exceptional service but not bothering to leave a decent tip. And the management, especially Dotty, expected us to go above and beyond, without any additional compensation or appreciation. It was demoralizing, and I often found myself feeling like I was wasting all of my potential.

The familiar neon lights came into view ahead of me. Walking inside, I heard the door chime above me and tried not to let out a loud sigh. Clocking in, I tied on my apron, reminding myself that I was doing what I had to do to make ends meet and support my family. Still, it was hard not to feel a twinge of resentment as I forced a smile and greeted the first customer of the day.

The place was busy, but thankfully, Molly was also working this shift. I smiled at my friend and headed out to a table of teenage girls. While single guys were often the worst because they were so raunchy, girls like these, the type that clearly thought they were better than me and the rest of the world, were also no fun to wait on.

Fishing my pad and pencil out of my apron, I found myself momentarily fumbling for that wadded-up piece of paper with Logan’s phone number on it, but it was still not there. Thinking of him, picturing his handsome face, the memory of his hands on my body lingered. Had I made a huge mistake in not calling him when I had the chance? Mom and Kylee both seemed to think it was fate that we’d been reunited, but if that was the case, fate was going to have to intervene again because—like most things in my life—I’d managed to fuck it up.

Pulling my thoughts back to the present, I pressed a smile to my face, hoping it wasn’t too fake, and asked, “Hey, ladies. What can I get you to drink?”

“Like, I don’t know,” a girl with long, curly blonde hair said, twirling it around her finger. “Something that doesn’t smell like a goat’s ass!”

The rest of the girls laughed. Another one, with fake eyelashes and glittery pink lips, said, “Everything in this joint smells like a goat’s ass!”

I started to tell them I would give them another minute when Dotty walked by shouting, “Hurry it up, Princess Juliet. We’re slammed tonight!”

“Princess Juliet?” One of the other girls, a redhead with fifteen different shades of eyeshadow on, asked, grinning at me. “What a fucking stupid name!”

“That is the stupidest fucking name I’ve ever heard!” the blonde agreed.

Oh, so it was going to be one of those nights.

“My name is actually Harper,” I said quietly, but they were too busy laughing at my nickname. I could’ve left and come back a few hours later, and they probably would’ve still been there. Finally, I raised my voice. “Hey, what’s it gonna be? May I suggest a round ofDietCokes?”

That shut them all up, each of them glancing down at her own body to see why I would say such a thing. It was evil, but they deserved it. The girls agreed, and I left to go fetch four diet sodas.

As soon as I’d finished dropping off their drinks, Dotty came storming over to me, her graying hair billowing out behind her as she stomped.

“Harper, table six is waiting for you to take their order!” she barked at me. “What are you standing around for? Get over there and take care of them!”

I flinched at her harsh words, feeling my cheeks flush with embarrassment and anger. “Sorry, Dotty,” I mumbled, quicklyrushing over to table six, which I hadn’t even realized was my table.

The customers were a group of businessmen, all looking annoyed and impatient. “We’ve been waiting forever for service,” one of them complained.

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