Page 10 of Play the Last Track
“What was the peak of your day, Katie?” my mother asks as she serves herself some vegetables.
I push a few peas around my plate. “Uh, I didn’t really have one. It was a boring day.” Untrue. This morning, I woke up to half a million subscribers on my YouTube channel.
Secret YouTube channel, that is.
“Oh, come on, pumpkin. Something good must have happened today,” Dad says.
“Uh—” Sometimes, I do wish I hadn’t chosen to keep the channel a complete secret. But it’s my outlet. My safe place. And besides, Mom has a big mouth and too much time on her hands these days. “Okay, well, when I picked up my coffee this morning, I was in one of those pay-it-forward chains. Someone had paid for my coffee, and sadly, but also kind of a peak moment, there was no one behind me. So, free coffee.”
My brother scoffs. “Tight ass.”
“Hey!” I stab a potato with my fork and point it at him. “Just wait until you have bills and rent you have to pay, then you’ll also get excited about free coffee.”
“I won’t have to worry. NFL money, baby.” Sammy dances a little in his seat, and it makes my dad chuckle. I simply shake my head but say nothing. Sammy is a great player. But an NFL-levelplayer? Who knows. He’s just turned fourteen and is on the reserve varsity squad. Which he only just made.
“Work hard, son, and you just might make it to the NFL,” Dad tells him. Mom moves on, asking Sam what his peak was for the day. He, of course, says something football-related and then dives immediately into a story about some kid called Samson and another called Stacey. I tune him out.
Oh, to be in high school again and free of worries. Sam’s lucky. He’s only just starting out. I feel like I’ve run the full marathon and came in last place.
“Katie, have you given any thought to applying for the full-time opening I sent you? The one at the high school for the music teacher?” Mom’s question pulls me out of my thoughts.
“Huh?”
“One of the music teachers at the high school is retiring. They’re going to advertise for a full-time position there starting after Christmas break.” Mom sets her knife and fork down, staring at me. “Did you not read the text I sent you yesterday? Katie, come on now. You’re supposed to be looking for a full-time teaching job.”
“Mary,” Dad warns her in a low tone.
“I never said anything about being a full-time teacher,” I correct her. I work hard to keep my voice calm and non-combative. I really, really do not have the energy to have a fight with her tonight. “I like working at the bar. I think, well, I could do that full-time. You know … manage it properly. Formally, I mean. For you.”
My mother’s mouth drops open. “The bar? You want to work full-time at the bar?”
“Maybe. I like it there. I enjoy the work. It’s different every day, and it’s fun. Keeps me on my toes.” I sit straighter in my chair. “And I’ve got heaps of ideas on how we can drum up more business for the summer months—”
“You should apply for the teaching job. You belong in a school,” Mom states. I sigh and back down. It’s not worth it.
Dad clears his throat. “We were, uh—we were thinking about hiring a full-time bar manager. Someone to be there on a regular basis and manage the day-to-day. Most of the evenings and such.”
My cutlery slips from my hands, clattering against my plate. “What?”
“We, your mother and I, just thought it would be a good idea to have someone there when we aren’t. We’re getting older. We have the means now to get help at the bar.” He reaches over and covers my hand with his. I stare at it as he keeps talking, anger beginning to bubble away in my chest.
“I’mthere most nights. I am the bar manager. You are literally getting someone to replace me,” I argue. I suck air through my teeth in an effort not to completely lose it. It feels as if my temper is at the end of its tether these days.
“You aren’t there, though. You come and go. Which is fine. I love that you have freedom, but Katie, you need to commit to something.” Dad nods and squeezes my hand. “If you decide you want to be there full-time, the job is yours.”
“I—”
“You should be teaching. You did all that work, to be teaching,” Mom exclaims from the other side of the table, glaring at Dad like he’s just said exactly what she asked him not to. He probably did.
“I don’t know what I want,” I say. “I just … I need time to figure it out. Please?”
Mom clicks her tongue but doesn’t say anything else. Dad squeezes my hand again, drawing my attention to focus solely onhim. “When you’ve made a choice, let me know. Until then, I have to do what I have to do to keep the business running, okay? The sooner you decide, the easier it will be, though.”
I can only nod. I fall silent at the table as the conversation turns back to my brother. He’s entertaining my parents with another story about his classmates.
I sink back into my chair, wishing I could disappear into my room and put on a record. Something loud and emotional, something to drown out all my confusing thoughts and replace them with those of the artists.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, over and over.
