Page 34 of Brittle Heart

“It means he loves me, and I love him. He’ll soon ask me to be exclusive,” she says matter-of-factly.

I furrow my brow. “Do you even know what that means?”

“Of course, I know, I’m not a damn baby anymore, Lina, and if you actually talked to me, you would know,” she says sharply.

Ouch, that one stung.

“Okay, I see. Do we need to have ‘the talk’ again, or are you all set?” I ask, trying to keep my cool.

She rolls her eyes at me and heads back toward the door. “I’m going to spend the weekend at Monica’s,” she informs me before leaving me alone.

Well, at least I don’t have to do that again.

I imagine having the talk about birds and bees is hard enough as a parent. It’s even tougher as a sister with zero fucking experience of my own, though.

When I was fourteen, I struggled with bad acne, and Mama took me to the gynecologist to get on birth control to help with the breakouts. We had ‘the talk’ then.

The birth control did help, and I still take it for that reason. At one point, I wanted to stop taking them because they’re an extra expense on my list, and let’s be honest, I don’t need the pills for what they are intended for, but as soon as I stopped, my acne came back with a vengeance. I’ll gladly work an extra shift each month if it means I don’t have to walk around with a face full of craters.

Then, when Chiara went through the same problems about six months ago, I did what our mother did with me.

I swear, I’m not going to have children. Navigating Chiara through her teenage years is challenging enough. I don’t need to go through all of that again.

I look at my new phone and attempt to tap on it. It still works, but she’s right. I can’t text properly since the letters in the middle of the phone are unresponsive. Looks like I’ll have to stick to making phone calls or sending emojis.

Not that anyone besides Chiara messages me anyway.

A few hours later, I find myself sitting at my laptop, searching the web for a new job again. But either the hours don’t align with my schedule, or the pay is terrible.

“Fuck,” I mutter into the empty room, frustration creeping in.

Suddenly, my phone rings. It’s an unknown number, but I filled out some applications, so I answer, “Hello?”

“Where the fuck are you?” a familiar voice demands.

“Donny?” I furrow my brows.

“The bar is packed like crazy. Get your ass over here, you’re already late for your shift,” he says.

“So, I’m not fired anymore?” I ask, dumbfounded.

“I told you you’re late for your shift,” he replies and hangs up.

OhDio.

Thank fuck. A genuine laugh escapes me as I glance up at the ceiling for a moment, taking a deep breath.

I get ready in record time and make my way to the bar. It’s freezing outside, and a shiver runs through me as I close the bar’s back door and hang my jacket in the still-empty locker. Only my apron is there, so I tie it around my waist.

Entering the kitchen, I nod to Lennard and Matteo, who both grin and nod back. I push open the door to the bar and spot Cindy struggling to fill some beer glasses. She’s shaking, causing beer to spill everywhere while Donny reprimands her.

I take the glass out of Cindy’s hand, gently nudging her to the side with my hip, and ask, “Order?”

“Three beers, table six,” Cindy whispers near my ear.

I quickly prepare the beers and place them on a tray, then make my way over to the table with a friendly smile.

I return behind the bar, swiftly wiping the sticky surface with a cloth and rearranging everything back into its proper place.

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