Colby: I’ll miss you.
Me: I’ll miss you too, Colby.
Colby: We’ll still hang out. You’ll visit your grandma and I’ll make a trip up there. It’ll be fun to get away and visit.
Me: Yeah. That would be fun.
Though I didn’t want to end our conversation, I’d be late if I didn’t.
Me: Well, I’m heading into work now.
Colby: Okay. Have a good day.
Me: Thanks.
I stared at the phone for a few seconds more, not really waiting for anything in particular but hoping for a little more of something, just the same. Finally, with a sigh, I dropped my phone into my bag and started heading inside. Just as I reached the door, my phone chimed. I dug it out while my mouth tugged into a hopeful smile, only to quickly be smothered by a very unexpected message.
Luis: Coming to town for Grandma’s birthday.
I stared at the message. Then typed the only reply that came to mind.
Me: Why?
Luis: Don’t need a reason or your permission.
Me: Just wondered why considering you’ve missed the last three.
Luis: It’s her 70th.
While that was true, it didn’t mean any of the birthdays leading up to this one had been any less important. Nor Christmas nor Thanksgiving nor any other occasion he’d missed that he could’ve spent with Grandma…and with me.
Me: Okay, when will you be in town?
Luis: A few days before. Dad’s already made all the party arrangements so don’t worry about it.
My shoulders tensed and I stared at the message, the words getting blurry behind the rage filling me. How dare they think they could swoop in and plan a party for someone they’d ignored for years? The occasional phone call didn’t earn them the right to pretend they cared. And to top it off, they didn’t know her interests or her friends, or hell, anything about Port Lucia anymore.
Me: It’s two weeks away. When were you going to tell me? And Dad’s coming?
Luis: He’s traveling and won’t make it. And I’m telling you now.
Me: But I would’ve liked to help with the plans.
Luis: As you said, it’s two weeks away. If you haven’t made them yet, you weren’t intending to.
I stared at the phone, anger making it impossible to even formulate a decent response. Of course, I would have made plans; they just would’ve included a nice dinner with friends. Nothing that took months of preparations.
But before I could even attempt a coherent response, my phone buzzed again.
Luis: It’s taken care of. More details to follow.
Luis: And please don’t go into one of your childish fits.
My steam dissipated as I reined in my emotions, now embarrassed like a reprimanded child. He’d called me out and like always, it had silenced me. What Colby referred to as feisty, Luis referred to as childish. With nothing left to say, I typed a one-word response: Okay.
What more could I say? Dad had made plans. Luis intended to oversee them. And if I complained, I’d be reminded that I was the baby of the family. Hotheaded, impulsive, and the source of our family’s problems…as Luis liked to remind me.
Luis wouldn’t have more to say, and though I had a ton of questions about the party details, I didn’t ask. Like Dad, he enjoyed controlling things and I knew he’d tell me what I needed to know when he felt like it. There was no point in asking now.
And here I’d thought my Colby-drama was actually worth stressing over. Leave it to my family to swoop in and really flip things on their head, which was the absolute last thing I needed to happen before work today. I was filling in for a server on vacation, but when it came down to it playing hostess was the only place I flourished.
Most of my coworkers felt as if I’d only been hired for two reasons: my best friend gave a recommendation for me, and Eddie thought I looked good greeting diners. Thanks to those not-so-quietly-whispered rumors, it never failed that when I had to cover for someone on the floor, I screwed up. It was almost like I’d set myself up for failure, trying to prove them wrong and probably just ultimately overdoing it. I’d spend half my shift apologizing for something I’d screwed up.
It only took an hour into my work shift to know that today was no different. God forbid I made it through one shift as a server without living up to the “all looks and no brains” stereotype. Which was just that, a stereotype, because not only did I have the G.P.A. to prove otherwise, I was also the only one here working and going to school, which was no easy task.
“Hey, Eddie,” I called to him as he passed with a tray of drinking glasses effortlessly balanced on one hand, a skill I couldn’t even pretend to have. “I’m sure you’re getting complaints, and— well, I’m sorry.” I mean what more could I say? I didn’t have a good excuse, so all I could do was offer an apology. Wasn’t like I would or could blame stress, considering this was pretty much how every shift as server went for me.