Page 43 of Searching for Nova

“I didn’t get his name. It was the guy who was here last weekend.”

I forgot that Kym was the one Easton talked to when he got here that day. I’m surprised she waited this long to ask me about him. But she hasn’t worked since last weekend so she really hasn’t had a chance until now.

“Easton’s just a friend. He gave me a ride home.”

“Oh,” she says, sounding disappointed. “I thought you were dating him. He’s really hot. Way hotter than Mateo.”

“Mateo and I aren’t dating. I told you, we’re just friends.”

“Then date that other guy. He’s hot, and he seemed nice.”

“You only met him one time.”

She shrugs. “You can tell a lot from a first impression. He had a good vibe.”

“Okay, well, I need to get to the bus stop. See ya.”

On the ride home, a guy gets on the bus who looks like Easton. My pulse ticks up, thinking it’s him. It’s not, but even if it was, I shouldn’t be reacting that way. Easton’s an old friend, nothing more, and he’s not coming back. His message last night made that clear. He’s not going to keep calling. He’s given up on me. And I don’t blame him. I’ve given up on me too. I don’t even know who I am anymore, or what I’m doing with my life. Every day is the same and doesn’t seem to be leading anywhere. I have no plans for after high school other than to get the hell away from Ted.

When I get home, he’s passed out in his chair, six empty beer cans on the tray next to him, along with the dirty plate left from his breakfast. I take the plate to the kitchen and set it in the sink, then grab the garbage can and bring it over to Ted’s tray and start tossing out beer cans.

Ted startles and wakes. “What the—” He sees me and sits up. “What the hell you doing here? What time is it?”

“Almost noon. Lenny sent me home early because we weren’t busy.”

Ted grumbles something as he pushes the footrest on his chair down. He struggles to get up and stumbles on his way to the bathroom. I don’t think he’s drunk. He’s built up a tolerance after a lifetime of drinking. Six beers isn’t enough to affect his walking. I think it’s his age. He just turned 70, but if you didn’t know it, you’d think he was in his 80s. Drinking, smoking, and eating like shit hasn’t been kind to his body and has made him look a lot older.

“I want to talk to you,” he grunts when he comes back from the bathroom.

“Why?” I bring the garbage can back to the kitchen. “What’s going on?”

“I’ll tell you if you get over here and sit down.” He falls back into his chair and takes a cigarette and lighter from his tray.

As he lights up his cigarette, I sit down on the couch, feeling anxious. Ted never wants to talk. I don’t know what this is about, but it can’t be good.

“I talked to Lenny the other night,” Ted says, taking a drag of his cigarette. “He said business ain’t so good over at the diner.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s been slow.”

“He’s gonna have to cut your hours.”

That’s actually good. I hate working there.

“We can’t get by without you working,” Ted says, tapping his cigarette on the ashtray.

“He’s firing me? I thought you said he’s cutting my hours.”

“He is, for now, but he might have to cut you if business don’t pick up.”

“So what are you saying?” I ask, wanting him to hurry up and get to the point.

“You need another job, one that’ll give you more hours.”

“I have school. I can’t do more hours than I’m already doing.”

He glares at me, his cigarette held in front of his lips. “You CAN and you WILL, or you’ll be finding a new place to live.”

There he goes again, threatening to kick me out. He does this every time I try to stand up for myself or refuse to do something. And it works every damn time, which is why he keeps doing it. I’m not willing to live on the streets, although I’ve considered it, many times.

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