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Tina

“H ere.” Mr. Lassiter, my former boss as of ten minutes ago, hands me a to-go bag. I peek inside and nearly fall to my knees in gratitude when I see my absolute favorite thing on the menu—meatloaf and mashed potatoes. “A little birdie said you needed some comfort food.”

I haven’t eaten since this morning and my stomach makes a sound like cats are having a turf war in there. I’m mortified, but Mr. Lassiter just laughs. “Sounds like she was right.”

My gaze connects with Birdie’s—she’s the other long-timer at the restaurant and the only person I confided in about my meeting at Lemmy Sporting Goods two days ago. She sat me down in the back and we shared work horror stories over a bowl of ice cream. Mocha fudge. My favorite—a splurge that doesn’t make the shopping list these days.

Her wave now is wistful but accepting. She’ll die on this hill (her words, not mine) and, although she’s happy I won’t meet the same fate, I know she wonders what her life would be like away from the food service industry. I can say this, no one has demanded a blow job at this job, so she’s got that going for her.

I wave back before returning my focus to Mr. Lassiter. He’s so approachable and understanding. With his kind gray eyes and chubby cheeks, I always thought of him as an uncle. Not once in the nine years I’ve worked here have I crossed the boss/employee line, but if anything is deserving of a hug, it’s meatloaf and potatoes. I circle one of my arms around Mr. Lassiter’s middle, the bag dangling between us. “You’re the best boss ever.”

It gets me thinking… what type of boss will Dustin be, with his cold brown eyes and sharp tongue? Crude words aside, I wasn’t prepared for the visceral reaction I had at hearing his voice for the first time in years. That’s the only excuse I have for standing mute as he stormed out of the office, leaving me alone with Christian and his secretary Ben. Minutes passed before any of us said a word.

“Welcome to the family, sunshine.” Ben breezed out of the office and I left with Christian’s assurance he would handle the situation.

Mr. Lassiter holds his arms out to his sides for a second before giving my back a few awkward pats. He steps away and clears his throat. “If this fancy new job doesn’t work out, you always have a place to come back to.”

Before two days ago, having a backup plan didn’t seem necessary. But after witnessing Dustin’s less-than-enthusiastic response to the news that I’ll be his new assistant, it’s good to know I won’t have to crawl back if I need to. “Thanks again, Mr. Lassiter.”

During the bus ride home, I succumb to the exhaustion of being on my feet all day. I ease my head back on the headrest and close my eyes. The one good thing about my car being unreliable is this chauffeured ride home. It’s nice to be taken care of once in a while.

I’m drifting off, daydreaming of gorging on the meatloaf, when Dustin’s angry face appears behind my eyelids. It’s no less shocking than the first time. It was a look I’d never seen on him before. Back in high school, he had nothing but smiles for me. He welcomed me into his group the second I started dating his best friend. Soon after, the three of us were inseparable. A package deal.

Then Connor’s death along with Dustin’s parents’ changed everything. One minute we were all planning our futures and the next I was sitting at my boyfriend’s funeral, unable to process it all. Looking back, I can admit things between me and Connor weren’t great. My love alone wasn’t enough for the both of us anymore. But I never got a chance to talk to him about it, and now all the unanswered questions are like roadblocks, keeping me from moving forward.

It hurt to be on the receiving end of Dustin’s hate. I deserve it, I suppose. I shouldn’t have shut him out all those years ago. I should’ve been a better friend, but I was so wrapped up in my own trauma, before I knew it, I’d lost Dustin too. When Christian’s job offer came, it seemed like the perfect way to mend fences, but it was foolish of me to think Dustin would forgive and forget so easily.

It’s an easy ten-minute walk to my house from the bus stop on a good day, but with sore feet, it feels like a marathon across hot coals. Each step shoots pain into my arches. Before I know it, I’m sitting at the kitchen table, soaking my feet in a tub of ice water.

I’ve just taken a bite of my dinner when Gramps strolls in. I glance up to say goodbye, but the words get stuck in my throat when I come face to face with Dustin. Well, an image of the man’s face printed on Gramps’ T-shirt, but still, it’s a little jarring and makes my heart thump harder.

Gramps slides a ticket across the table towards me. I eye the slip of paper, slightly bigger than a piece of gum, like it’s poisonous. My head is shaking before he even opens his mouth. “I got you a ticket for the fight tonight so you can join me.”

And there goes my appetite.

I sigh to myself when Gramps settles into the chair across from me. “Now, Fanny, don’t you think it’s a good idea to show your new boss support?”

Gramps is fully in the dark about my run-in with Dustin and I plan to keep it that way. He’s Dustin’s biggest fan and I don’t have the heart to ruin it by telling him about the sexual favors Dustin demanded from his beloved granddaughter.

I take my plate to the sink, watching the rest of the food go down the drain along with my hopes of a quiet night. Usually, when Gramps asks me to join him, I say no. End of subject. I’m not interested in watching men beat on each other. Not wanting to be there has nothing to do with Dustin being one of the fighters. That’s the story I’m sticking with anyway.

I turn, wringing the dishtowel between my hands, picturing Dustin’s neck. “I doubt Dustin will be thrilled with my sudden show of support.”

Gramps brushes my words away with a sweep of his hand. “The place is usually so packed with people that he won’t even notice you.” I open my mouth to point out that if Dustin doesn’t know I’m there, how is that showing support? But I close it again when I’m met with Gramps’ hopeful stare. Looks like I’m going to watch my very first fight. Goodie.

For the next thirty minutes, I stare into my closet, agonizing over what to wear. Gramps paces back and forth in the hall, checking his watch every so often. Patience wearing thin, he takes matters into his own hands, tossing a T-shirt at me that matches the one he’s wearing. Nope. Absolutely not.

I hold the shirt up to my chest, aiming my displeasure at Gramps. “A bit overkill, don’t you think?”

“Nonsense.” He takes the shirt and shoves it over my head, matting my hair. Slip a pair of glasses on me and I’d look like Cousin Itt from The Addams Family . “Now hurry up, we’re already late.”

In the end, I just can’t bring myself to show that much support, so I choose a flowy skirt and a baggy sweater instead, pulling my long hair back into a ponytail.