Page 33 of Fight for Me

I kiss my son on his soft forehead and sigh. I hate leaving him for the day with his grandmother, but because I became a single mother at barely nineteen, there’s not much choice for me in this department. There aren’t many people I would trust with my baby, and Rita may be this smoking like a chimney, rude bitch that hates my guts, but she actually loves her grandson. And she’s watching him for free, so I won’t lie that it wasn’t a big factor in the decision to let her babysit for me.

Checking the time, I curse and get a move on before my boss bites my head off for being late again. After I rush into the bathroom to brush my teeth and pull my hair into a messy bun on the top of my head, I glance quickly at my reflection and grimace. I may be twenty-one years old, but I look worn out and ugly already.

I was always super skinny, but after everything went down with Ricky, I lost a few pounds I didn’t have to spare. My hair grew out, and I never had the heart, or the money, to go to a hair salon to recreate the look Lucy had given me three years ago. My eyes stand out even more in my sullen-looking face, sporting dark circles underneath.

Shaking my head at myself, I get out of the bathroom searching for my apron and then run back to the living room.

“Henry is still sleeping. I gave him a blanket, so I hope he won’t catch a cold,” I mutter in annoyance in Rita’s direction.

“The boy will be fine. A little cold won’t kill him. Stop bitching about it,” I get in response.

I take a deep breath to calm down. After living alone with Rita for over a year, I know it’s better to choose my battles wisely.

“Anyway, I’ll probably be back later today since I need to go to the bank after work and try to solve the issue.” I collect my bag and my phone, and pin Rita with an insistent look. “And don’t smoke close to Henry. All we need is for him to get asthma.”

“Pshh, you, lecturing me? That’s rich. As if I don’t know how to raise a boy,” the woman says.

“Do you?” I ask sarcastically and get out before Rita can curse me out.

I march toward my car, looking around and checking my surroundings. This neighborhood hasn’t changed much since I started living here. Yes, many people know me now and associate me with Ricky, who grew up here and knows everyone. But it’s still a dangerous place.

Turning the key in the ignition of my piece of shit car, I pray for it to start because I’m already running late for work. Finally, after the third try, the car splutters to life and I peel out of the parking lot.

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“TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH, princess,” is the first thing I hear from my boss, Gary, as I step foot into the diner I’m serving at.

I scratch nervously behind my ear. “I’m sorry, Gary. My heater broke down again, I had to deal with it.”

He eyes me and huffs in annoyance, “Right. Just don’t make it a habit. It’s the second time this week that you’re late.”

“It won’t happen again,” I promise and then frown at his retreating form as he grumbles to himself about unreliable employees.

Shit, I need to be more careful. If I lose my job now, we’re screwed. With Rita constantly sending over all of her pension to her son, and with me barely being able to save any money with my minimum wage job, we’re on the verge of being completely broke.

Wanting to appease my grumpy boss, I quickly get to work. Soon enough, I find myself in sync with the whole place and enjoying the smooth workflow.

I never thought I’d say this, but I actually like my job as a waitress. If you can ignore grabby assholes and some nasty comments, this work can be pretty bearable. Most people leave nice tips if you serve them right, and I get free food if we have some leftovers. Also, apart from today, Gary can be a really cool and understanding boss. He can be a big softy, unless you cross him. And he knows I have a two-year-old at home, and is always trying to adjust the schedule to my conditions. The only thing that really irks him is not being here on time, and I’m on strike two right now.

Trying to make up for my earlier screw-up, I move my ass faster than usual and concentrate fully on my tasks, letting the hours pass me by. When the time for my break comes, I grab my sandwich and eat it in a hurry in the backroom, instead of taking my time at the back steps of the diner as usual. I use the rest of the time to clean the tables and make myself useful, in the hope that Gary acknowledges my effort and doesn’t get rid of me the next time I come in late.

After my shift ends I feel beat and tired, and I am dreaming about a hot shower, knowing that if I don’t deal with the gas company and pay the bill soon, I won’t be getting any hot water today. I exit the diner through the back door, waving my goodbye to my boss, who already seemed to forget about this morning, as he waves back with a warm smile on his face.

I hurry to my car, trying to decide which route I need to take to get to the bank before it closes, when I almost stumble at the sight of two men in police uniforms stepping onto my path.

It has been a long time since I stopped sweating every time a police cruiser passed me by on the street, or when officers knocked on my door. Living with Ricky has changed my approach to law enforcement a little. Instead of worrying about my father sending someone to get me, each time I encountered the police, I wondered what my idiot baby daddy did this time. Yet, the way both men eye me makes me instantly apprehensive now.

“Are you Jennifer Wallace?” one of them asks.

Stopping a few feet from them, I answer with an unnecessarily hostile voice, “Depends on who’s asking.”

“I’m Officer Walken,” the older of the two takes out his badge to show me and then motions to his companion. “This is Officer Rusoe. Are you Jennifer Wallace?”

I glance at his badge and swallow, before taking a step closer to take a look at the presented item.

Peering back at the man, I respond with, “Yes. What’s this about?”

The younger policeman steps forward and replies politely, “Ma’am, if you could follow us to the station. We have been ordered to bring you for questioning as a witness.”

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