Page 86 of The Sidekick

Did she read a manual about how to make me feel two inches tall? She’s really good at this, and I’m not prepared. I can feel the panic attack trying to flare back up and go back to Old Faithful. Acting like Shade and doing my count 5 breaths. I can multitask.

“Was she whining about what I did?” One of the younger girls asks with her hand on a cocked hip. She’s frowning at me as if I’m the bad guy here, and I’m feeling outnumbered.

“Probably,” Emily flicks her long hair over her shoulder with a disgusted look.

“You attacked our boss and expected us not to have a problem with it when you show up here like you still belong? News flash, you don’t,” I suddenly recognize her as the rude waitress who gave me the nachos the last time I was here.

Holy cannoli, did she hit me with a plate of nachos? That plate really hurt. And I threw it in Satan’s face. Now, I’m standing about one inch tall.

I really don’t belong here anymore. She’s right about that. This whole place is just toxic now. Every time I’m here, something happens that shakes me up. Maybe it’s always been this way, and I’ve just glossed over it. That doesn’t mean I have to let it happen anymore.

“Ok,” I try to raise my chin even though my hands are shaking, and my back is now coated in sweat and nacho cheese.

“Throwing the plate, I get it. That’s ok, I guess. It hurt a lot more than I thought it would.” I shrug helplessly, unsure of what’s coming out of my mouth right now, but I can’t stop the flow of unfiltered thoughts.

“And no, I don’t want to belong in a super toxic environment filled with piranhas, so you can have that one, too. I’m not any better than anyone else, and I really don’t want any of your attention. Especially if this is what it’s like when I get it. Why can’t you guys just show up on time?Or try to do your jobs without making people miserable?Or let two people be happy in their relationship for five freaking seconds after a long and crappy night? I guess what I’m trying to say in a stupid monologue is, get over yourselves.”

They all gape at me like I’m crazy. Even Diana and Pat are frozen behind the bar, paused in whatever cleanup they were in the middle of.

“N-not you guys,” I rush to assure them as they blink at me.

It's time to put my pep talk to work and walk away. It isn’t running if I choose to remove myself from an uncomfortable situation. I feel really bad about saying all of that, and moving around might keep me from apologizing.

Plan set, I force myself to calmly walk into the kitchen to grab my purse and take off the apron. There’s cheese on the strings, and I cringe as my fingers hit the congealed mess. I don’t think I’m going to be eating that any time soon. Should I take this with me and wash it?

Ugh! No, Tera. Stop being weird.

I take out all of the pens and pads of paper, tearing off a sheet to leave a note apologizing to the owner about the mess. Then, I fold the stiff fabric neatly and set it on the bench just inside the doorway.

Now I just have to walk out of here with my head held high while the school of piranha watches me. I think about using the door by Satan’s office. Does that mean I’m running? Or not. That’s a conundrum. Couldn’t that be considered a strategic retreat?

Still undecided, I walk into the hallway, turning towards the bar on autopilot, when my feet stick to the floor in surprise.

Satan is standing a few feet away, leaning on the wall with his arms crossed like he’s waiting for me. When he glances in my direction, my eyes drop to the floor, studying the swirling pattern of the linoleum. Wait, that’s new. Totally worth a thorough examination.

My heart starts thumping harder in a painful jarring. I hope it isn’t visible. I say the first thing that comes to mind in a high-pitched, panicked voice.

“You can’t fire me. I don’t work here.”

He doesn’t say anything at first, standing up straight as his arms fall to his sides.

“I would never fire someone for standing up for themselves,” he assures me in a gentle tone that makes the thrashing of my heart even more painful. Don’t believe that tone, heart. It’s a pit of lies over there, and we’ve already fallen in once.

I nod, struggling to put the mask on and chewing myself out for being unable to look directly at him.

He clears his throat, and I can see him shift from foot to foot like he’s uncomfortable. Maybe I’m blocking his way to the office? I slide to the side awkwardly, leaving him plenty of room to pass, but he doesn’t move.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry,” he says and then goes quiet again.

I nod again, confused. Which part is he sorry for exactly? For making me think he’s a nice guy, like some kind of serial killer? For giving in to Max’s demands? For ripping my heart out and running it over with a mulcher? None of the above?

“The things I said to you were a lie.”

Not believing that for one second. Unless he’s talking about all the nice things he’s said. Those were definitely false advertising.

“I have a habit of trying to push away people who are good for me.”

Should I give him Dr. Robinson’s number? Maybe Max told him about her, and he’s angling for a way to reach her.

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