Page 44 of Life of the Party

Eagerly I unscrewed the lid and scooped up the white powder, inhaling deeply until I could feel the sweet burn hit my sinuses. I sniffed loudly and did another. It wasn’t long before the racking pain and anger faded, but still, it did not cease. I felt better though, like I could handle it now. I felt confident. In control. Like maybe I didn’t need Grey, like maybe I didn’t even care.

Then I turned the corner at the waitress station, and I saw him. Grey. He was there, working; I could see his handsome face behind the line.

Panicked, I gasped, hiding behind the wall so he couldn’t see me. “Charlie!” I whisper-hissed at my friend. “What the hell is he doing here? He’s not supposed to be working today.”

She glanced at Grey. “He’s covering for Riley now, remember?”

“Oh shit, that’s right.” I groaned. “I totally forgot.”

“I know it sucks, Mac. Just ignore him. Just do your job and ignore him, okay?” Charlie looked towards the entrance at an incoming couple. “You can start now. Go seat that table.” She handed me two menus and gave me a reassuring pat. “We’ll get through this, Mac. Just ignore him.”

That turned out to be easier than expected. By the time I sat the first table, another four had taken their place at the entry. Charlie, Sophie and I were slammed within minutes; in half an hour, every seat was full, and a lineup had begun at the door. This was unexpected for a Monday night, and we were nearly run off our feet.

Luckily, I was kept busy enough I couldn’t worry about Grey except when I needed an order. We didn’t say one word to each other; he kept his head down most of the time anyway—the kitchen staff were hard-pressed to keep up with the rush. Dishes piled up in the pit, the salad dressings were out, and we ran out of soup before seven o’clock. Orders kept coming in; there were tables to wipe, coffees to refill, plates to clear. We could barely hear ourselves over the general restaurant din and the clamour of the busy kitchen.

That’s when I first met Roger. I was in the waitress station, multitasking, refilling Pepsi and getting a piece of pie out of the fridge when the door to the kitchen opened and a tall, heavy, older man emerged. He was balding, with thin white hair; his face deeply wrinkled, his thick lips revealing perfect white teeth. He wore a collared shirt and dress pants and smelled like expensive aftershave.

I looked up at him curiously. “Hello.”

“Hello.” He greeted me politely, but his eyes worked me over, from the top of my head down to the toes of my shoes, then up again. His eyebrows rose. I wondered what that meant, but was too busy to really care. I squeezed some whipped cream onto the pie and placed a fork on its dish.

“You must be Mackenzie.” He was staring at me.

“Yes.” I was trying to be polite, but I couldn’t remember if I’d taken table thirteen ketchup or not. I grabbed a bottle anyway, just in case.

“I’m Roger.” He introduced, holding out his hand. Surprised, I looked up at him, suddenly realizing this man was my boss.

“Oh, hi.” I floundered, setting down the ketchup so I could shake his hand. “I’m sorry, we’ve just been really busy. I didn’t realize…”

“Please, go ahead; I just wanted to introduce myself.”

I smiled at him, whizzing by, my hands full—Sophie’s number one rule of efficient waitressing. There was always something to grab and take or clean and refill, and Ibustled around the restaurant doing exactly that.

By the time I made it back to the waitress area, Roger was gone.

The supper rush didn’t last all night, but it remained steady. We spent the rest of the evening trying to get caught up. Charlie and I each took a turn in the bathroom with her little silver vial, a little pick-me-up, to help us keep going.

About an hour from close, a table of ten came in without a reservation. We grumbled, pushing tables together for them. There was nothing worse than a big table so late after such a busy night. I made Charlie break the news to the kitchen; I wasn’t in the mood to get sworn at.

To make matters worse, I had to wait on the table, and all of them were guys from my school. The majority of them were from my grade. They were cowboys. Farm boys. All of them. I knew our parking lot would be full of their diesel trucks, large and loud, ATVs strapped in the box, mud-splattered along the sides. The talk around the table was all ranch-hand work stories and rodeo cabarets.

Awkwardly, I handed out their menus, exchanged polite hellos, refilled their cokes with alarming regularity and served them all greasy cheeseburgers and french fries.

When they were done, I placed the black check holder in the middle of their table. One of the boys, Brad, looked up at me and smiled cleverly.

“Uh, we didn’t order that.” He quipped, pointing at the check.

“Oh? It comes free with every meal.” I smiled sweetly at him. His friends around the table cracked up at my little joke, and Brad laughed in surprise. He was still grinning at me when I left the table, trouncing over to shut the OPEN sign off. The one and only plus to waiting on a big group was the chance of a big tip, but I wasn’t going to get my hopes up. These were high school boys, after all.

Brad personally brought me the check holder when they were ready to go. I shoved the folder into the front pocket of my apron. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Brad smiled, his face soft as he looked me over. “So, tell me, Mackenzie, why don’t we hang out more?” He broached.

I laughed at him. “…Are you serious?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh…” I cleared my throat, trying to be polite. “I guess it’s just ‘cause we…hang in different crowds.” I shrugged.

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