Page 1 of The Disputed Legacy
1
WILLOW
Despite all the construction that clogged up the midtown streets nearby, Tiny’s diner had steady business. Dust and debris from the excavators should’ve discouraged any customers from finishing their trek to this little establishment, but to my surprise, we had more people stopping in than ever before.
“You know what?” Irene, a fellow waitress, said, smiling slyly as she picked up her tip from a table filthy, burly construction men had just vacated, “I’m going to miss all that work going on out there.”
I huffed a little laugh, bussing and clearing off my own table. While I enjoyed the steady tips, I would be glad for those big machines to be gone. The constant loud drilling, jackhammering, and hammering were getting old.
“Well, it’s about time for the holiday season,” I reminded her. “We won’t hit a lull yet.”
And I should know. After three years of waitressing here, I felt like I had the Tiny’s schedule down now. Every business had its ups and downs. All restaurants were tested. The owners had worried that the almost year-long construction project would’veruined the diner, but the opposite had held true. This little place was a true hole in the wall, but with honest and good food delivered hot, fast, and cheap, it was proof that not everything in the big city had to be fancy and snazzy to sell.
“I don’t want any lull,” Irene replied, flicking the end of her ponytail back. The long, black tail swished and showed more of her pretty face. “I’m overdue for touch-ups.” As she held her chin up high, she led the way back to the counter.
But you’re already so beautiful.
I’d never understand how others could pay so much for the sake of vanity.
Margo, the grizzled old dishwasher, arched her brows as we brought our dishes. She’d clearly overheard, but she didn’t comment until Irene had sauntered away again.
“She spends all that money getting crap filled in her lips and cheeks when all she’d need to do is actually eat something once in a while and get the same result,” Margo grumped sarcastically.
I furrowed my brow at her and motioned for her to shush. It had always seemed like a waste of time to me to worry about judging others. Weren’t we all just trying to survive each and every day in our own way? Being catty like that served no purpose. Yet, I understood what she meant. Irene was throwing her money away, but I supposed it was her money to do with as she pleased.
I was also enjoying all the business we were getting. Tips had never been higher, and it convinced me that I’d be able to buy my son, Oscar, a couple of higher-quality gifts at the end of the year. So long as I balanced our budget well and no emergencies popped up, I might be able to get him that bike he’d been wishing for so badly for the last two Christmases.
But to put my money toward cosmetic procedures? Or even to buy more makeup?
Not on my budget.
“I just don’t understand how she thinks she needs any of it,” I told Margo, confident that Irene wouldn’t overhear us. And that Oscar wouldn’t overhear me gossiping, either. He sat at the other end of the counter, doing his homework and not paying attention to me at all.
“She’s a natural beauty. So young.” Margo snorted and glanced at me. “Like you.”
I rolled my eyes, peeking at my reflection in the long pane of glass that was anchored behind us. Tiny’s was a hidden gem of a diner, consistently branded as a retro place that stood out and stayed the same no matter the year. From our sixties-style uniforms, the chrome at the counter where customers could choose stools, and the jukebox décor on all the Formica tabletops, it was like walking back in time.
In that mirror, I saw nothing that could compare me to Irene’s beauty. She was twenty-three to my twenty-nine. She had an hourglass figure and big boobs, unlike my kind of pudgy shape and saggy breasts after having Oscar and breastfeeding. Her sleek, dark hair was smooth and perfectly tied up, unlike my frizzy red hair that escaped the bun I’d whipped it up into hours ago. Her face was smooth and flawless, showing not a single blemish like the many freckles over my nose and cheeks.
“I don’t know about the young part,” I quipped, smiling at Margo.
“Bah. You hush now.” She dismissed me with a wave, shooing me out of her area where she’d continue to sort out the dishes to take back to the dishwasher. “You come complain about being old when you hit your fifties like me.”
I smiled as she left, assuming she’d tease me like that. But I wasn’t lying. Some days, I really did feel my age. Or that I was living a life with too much experience and maturity to ever claim a youthful spirit. Being a single mother had a way of wearing ona soul, and with only me here to care for Oscar and keep him safe, yeah, I did feel older than I should have.
Whatever.My age wasn’t something I had control over. My life wasn’t something I could change up anytime soon, either. My work schedule had become predictable and reliable, a gauge where I could guess how much I’d be bringing home in tips, but my life was just as predictable.
The same old.
Day in and out of being on my feet and praying I’d get good tips.
Each and every night of putting Oscar to bed and standing there with the worry that I wasn’t a good enough mother for him or that I wasn’t giving him the best life that he could have.
Mom guilt never left me, and that was why I got right back to clearing off tables and counting down the time until the end of my shift. There was no downtime for me to compare my looks to Margo or Irene. There was no opportunity to dwell on what I could afford with today’s tips while ignoring how seldom I ever did anything for myself, like Irene and her face lifts and touch-ups.
There was no point to it, either.
I’d never gain anything from comparing my life to anyone else’s. Because all the decisions I’d made that had gotten me to this point were the ones I’d make all over again.
