Page 4 of Just a Distraction

“Thanks again for this,” I tell Eden. When my sister heard my lame ex scheduled me to work on my birthday, she offered to take Callum overnight. I think she’s hoping I’ll go out and have fun with friends after my shift.

I can’t remember the last time I went out. My idea of a fun time is reading parenting or medical books late into the night. And when I’m done with those, I like to indulge in reading fantasy books.

“How are you doing?” Eden asks me, her forehead lined.

I just give her a look and follow her out of the room.

She can read my expression. She knows I’m so done with this job. “Like I’ve said before, I can get you a position at the Days Inn,” she whispers. “You could probably even start on Monday.”

She’s been mentioning this for months, and I’ve never taken her seriously. Free childcare on the premises from my baby daddy’s mother has been too huge of a benefit to pass up. Just because Blaine waived his parental rights when Callum was born—a sticky and complex subject . . . don’t ask me how I feel about it—doesn’t mean his mom isn’t good with Callum.

Maybe the night I turn twenty-five is some symbolic turning point? Maybe I should saygood riddanceto the Scano family. Not that a housekeeping job is a move up or anything. But at least it’s a change.

After Eden leaves with Callum, I duck into the closet near the back door, the one I’ve commandeered for breastfeeding and pumping. It works as long as I push the cozy swivel chair to barricade the door for privacy. I pump these over-ripe watermelons until the pressure eases. Then, while I change out my breast pads for a new pair, I think through my plan.

Blaine has it coming to him for all he’s done. Still, a flit of nerves goes through me. This has been one of the only ways I’ve made it working here night after night, day after day: I’ve let my mind wander with possibilities of revenge.

I’ve contemplated slashing his tires. I even bought some thrift store glass dishes once and crashed them against the train tracks with my sisters, cursing my negligent baby daddy’s name.

Hey, it helped. Five out of five recommend!

But I’ve never had a customer that made me want to actually confront him in some mostly benign way. Except for tonight. I’m feeling all kinds of birthday luck—like it’s now or never. You can’t get anywhere in life by playing it safe, right?

I exit the bathroom and busy myself with my other customers, not daring to glance over at the handsome one. Back in the kitchen, I see his food is ready, and I snatch it out of Jordo’s hands right before he slides through the swinging door.

“I’ve got it,” I tell Jordo with a smile. He doesn’t know I have an agenda.

“So, you sure you want to help?” I say as I slide the plate onto table five in front of him, the steaming pile of creamy carbs flipping my stomach to hunger mode. Breastfeeding makes me ravenous.

Callum’s past the age that a lot of babies wean, but I cried yesterday when my mom and sisters agreed that he might just be weaning himself naturally.

“Which is a blessing,” my mom insisted. “It’s a lot harder when the mother has to make that decision.”

And I know she’s right. Still, I’ve loved breastfeeding Callum, feeling his precious cheeks pressed against my skin, hearing the soft lilt of his breathing and little swallows, taking in his bubbly, milky grins when he looks up at me and gets distracted from the task at hand.

If I keep thinking about my baby, I’ll have to change out the pads again before my shift is over, and I don’t have that kind of time.

“I was thinking we stage a disgruntled customer sort of a thing.” The guy at table five’s smile is dangerously interested. Again, it’s me and him against the world. I sort of feel like I already know him, since I’ve seen him here before. The other servers have mentioned in the past that he’s a good tipper.

“How good of an actor are you?” I ask.

He swallows. “I was Juror Number Seven in a play once, but full disclosure?” His tongue darts out of the corner of his mouth, and he leans forward.

I catch myself memorizing the way his pecs look under his Henley, and the way his top button, undone, showcases his strong, tanned throat.

“I started to laugh during an intense scene one of the nights and my fellow actors had to cover for me,” he continues and holds up a hand. “I wasn’t laughing outright. But I would say that’s my Achilles heel . . . the possibility that I might break character.”

“You can’t do that though.” My eyes widen, and I chide him. “This is serious. If you break character, he’ll know I put you up to it.”

He sobers. “How often does he yell at you like that?”

I ease in closer to him, lowering my voice even more. It’s highly unlikely Blaine will come out to the front of house at this point. I happen to know he’s working on payroll in his cramped office in the back. But still, I can’t let the other server on shifttonight, Nico, hear anything about this because I know he’d go rat me out. Nico and Blaine are cousins.

“Not too often,” I say. “But he tends to make my life miserable when he can.” The inside of my cheek smarts as I bite down on it. Miserable, like having to work on my birthday.

“Well, that’s not cool.” His lower jaw grates against his upper one. “Maybe you should quit and be rid of him.”

A flash of righteous anger flares up inside of me. It’s brief, but it’s like a phantom pain I can’t shake. I’ve heard that suggestion before.

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