Page 2 of The Unlucky Waitress

“Exactly where I’m supposed to be,” I repeat.

I’m only this unhappy because I believe I deserve more from life. I’ve never seen life for what it is. It’s always been the big dream I was chasing instead of living in the moment.

“What did you think?” Beth asks as we walk back into her apartment.

I don’t answer right away.

Something has changed in me, like the color is back in my world. I can see clearly, a weight lifted. It’s the biggest cliche, but it feels right.

“She was right,” I smile. “I’m right where I need to be.”

Cassidy stops rustling about the kitchen and comes back to see me sitting on the couch. “My couch?” she asks. “Is this where you need to be?”

“No,” I laugh. “Starting over, right at the bottom. I don’t need to be working my way back to having my own bakery. Maybe I don’t need the white picket fence, two and a half kids and a golden retriever. I can be happy right where I am,” I say.

I’m surprised by my own words, as if I’m realizing they’re true all over again.

With the wind still in my sails, I start applying for jobs. I’m not fussy, any job will do. It doesn’t have to be perfect, because neither am I.

One of my first interviews is at a gentlemen’s lounge called Suave–a dimly lit establishment that smells of wood and polish, where well-dressed men nurse drinks older than they are and speak in confident, even voices. No doubt making and losing more money than I have ever seen in my life.

“Waitressing?” Beth hands me the tape and I get to work sealing another box.

I sever the tape with my teeth and flatten the freshly secured section with a flat palm. “It’s better than nothing, Beth. And it’s how I finally get to move off your couch.”

“I told you that you don’t have to move out right away,” Beth pouts.

I can’t help but laugh softly. After all the not-so-subtle nudges to get my act together, now she wants to be sad about me leaving.

“If it’s any consolation,” I reply, pulling an empty box in front of me, “-my new apartment is a shitty one-bedroom that smells of damp. So I’ll be hanging out here most of the time anyway.”

Beth seems to ease up a bit on her pouting after this, and jumps in by helping me fold the last of my clothes.

“I’m planning on taking the first few weeks to clean the carpets, maybe a fresh paint job…”

“I liked the old plan better,” Beth says. “If it stays a dump, then you’ll be here more often.” She nudges me with her elbow. “I’m kidding.”

I laugh, flipping my hair out of my face. “You’re going to love having your couch back, you’ll see.”

Beth scoffs and takes me by the shoulders. “I don’t care about my stupid couch, Cas. I just want you to be okay.”

Her sincerity burrows into me and warms my chest. “I think I’m going to be,” I reply. “I can’t believe I almost lost myself along with everything else.”

“And I can’t believe it took the wise words of Cameron Robinson to get you back,” Beth laughs.

* * *

Cameron Robinson’swords become a mantra for me. Every time I start to hope for more, I remember her face shining with sweat under the stage lights and it stops me in my tracks.

This new appreciation for life has me practically skipping along the sidewalk as I go to my first day on the job. I smile at strangers who are hurrying past me and take it all in with a renewed sense of hope.

I pause at a newsstand a block from the club, the image of a beautiful bride smiling broadly on the cover of a magazine grabbing my attention. Smiling radiantly, her hair is as red as mine, offset perfectly by the field of sunflowers behind her. I run my finger over the delicate tiara perched on her head and can’t help but see myself in her.

Holding the magazine, I study every detail. The bride’s smile is definitely the piece de resistance. It isn’t the waxy smile a model might flash just for a photo. It looks so… real.

“She looks so happy,” I say out loud to no one in particular.

“Looks can be deceiving.” A man appears at my side out of nowhere and picks through a pile of newspapers.

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