Page 30 of I Won't Be In On Monday

“I don't have any fruit. Aren't kids meant to eat fruit for breakfast? Isn't that what's healthy?” I know I’m making mountains out of molehills, but I can’t stop myself. “Plus, my kidtried to get a hundred dollars out of me. I think she might be playing me, and it freaks me out.”

“If you want, I can go to the grocery store in the morning and bring some stuff over for you,” she offers, and my heart thuds.

“Would you?” I ask quickly, not knowing why the offer makes me feel so settled.

“I mean, if you really want me to and think it would help.”

“That would be really amazing, Juniper,” I say, gratefully. “Just bring some fruit and maybe some chocolate chips if you get some pancake ingredients. You can stay for breakfast, as well.”

“I mean, that wasn't what I had planned.” She pauses. “But, I suppose, I'll be more than happy to help you.” She lets out a low sigh. “Is there anything else you need before I hop in the shower?”

“No, that is all. You have a good shower, and I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you, Mr. Parker. I guess I’ll be seeing you in the morning, then.”

“Night, Juniper,” I say and hang up and turn off my light. I realize that I'm feeling more at ease now. Maybe it's because I know that Juniper will be there in the morning to help me. I don't know why that makes me feel better, but it just does. Juniper is calm, peaceful, and always has a helping hand. I appreciate her more than she knows, and I am once again reminded how lucky I am to have her in my employ. I have to ensure I never do anything to mess that up. I’m not sure what I would do if I didn’t have her in my life.

Chapter Nine

Juniper

"I'll just get some of the strawberries, please." I nod towards the small crates on the countertop in the bodega as I reach for my credit card. The man grabs one and puts it in the plastic bag, along with the blueberries, eggs, bread, milk, bacon, and butter. "Oh, and let me grab some orange juice, as well," I say and hurry over to the fridges and grab a large container. I rush back to the front and hand it to the man.

"Is that all?" he asks in a faint accent that I don't recognize before he puts the orange juice into the plastic bag.

"I think so." I'm not really sure what seven-year-old girls like to eat now. And to be honest, I'm still not really sure how I got roped into bringing groceries for Remington and his kid. There’s a light throbbing in my head, likely from the copious amounts of alcohol I’d had the night before, and I know I'm ready for my own breakfast.

"That'll be $62.87," he says as he takes the credit card from my hand and swipes it through the machine.

"Sixty-two dollars?" I repeat, in slight shock. I hadn't even gotten many items. I felt like I was getting ripped off, but I knew these corner stores were often more expensive. I wasn't going tosweat it or argue because I knew that Remington would pay me back. He had plenty of money. Sixty bucks was most probably what he spent on a cheap lunch.

"You want to add a tip?" the man asks in an audacious tone, and it takes everything in me to keep my lips together. I shake my head, and he sighs while giving me a dirty look. I want to tell him that I feel like the tipping culture has gotten out of control. What is he expecting a tip for? His surly attitude while ringing up the groceries I had gathered from around the small, cramped store, which held a musty smell of aromatic spices that didn't quite go together?

I reach my hand out to grab the credit card back from him, but he drops it onto the counter, like I'm not worthy of him actually handing it back to me. I am not in the mood. I grab it wordlessly and then take the plastic bag he hands me. I can feel the weight of the items in the flimsy bag and sigh as my fingers grip the handle. I don't think the bag is strong enough to carry all these groceries, but I do not want to ask him for another bag, not after I denied him the tip he didn't deserve.

I head out of the bodega, grateful that I’m only two blocks away from Remington's apartment. My phone rings as I make my way to the crosswalk, and I pull it out of my handbag, expecting to see my dad's name. I'm slightly surprised to see Remy's name on the screen.

"Hello." I answer the phone breathlessly as I run across the street to the other side. "I'm nearly there, no need to panic."

"I'm not panicking," he says smugly as if he hadn't been on my phone the night before and begged me to help him out this morning. How quickly men forget! ”I was just calling to?—"

"Fuck!" I shout as I feel the bag give way and watch items fall to the ground.

"No, I wasn't calling you for that." He chortles. "I didn't know it was on the table."

"It's not," I shout in anger as a mom and son walk past, and the little boy kicks the block of butter like it's a rock. "Hey, watch it," I call out after him, but both he and his tight yoga pants-wearing momma ignore me.

"You okay, Juniper?" Remington's tone changes. "What happened?"

"The stupid cheap-ass plastic bag just broke, and all the groceries are on the ground, and I have no way to carry them, and... ugh."

"Where are you? I'll come down with some bags and help."

"It's fine."

"No, it's not. Where are you exactly? I'll bring Canyon with me, and we can help."

"Come out of your building and make a right. I'm two blocks away."

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