Chapter 6 - Behind The Kitchen Doors
I got through the double doors and the noise hit me first. Heat off the line, pans clattering, the expediter calling tickets in that flat shout he used when he was already behind. My breath was coming too fast and I tried to slow it down by the bus tubs, like if I stacked two dirty plates nobody would notice I was shaking.
The pass was all stainless steel. I didn't mean to look. I set down his water glass I hadn't even served and caught myself in the edge of the warmer.
Under those white kitchen lights the makeup didn't work. The bruise around my left eye looked darker, gray-green at the edge, and there was a fresh mark high on my right cheek I thought I'd covered that morning. The candlelight out front had softened it. Back here there was nowhere for it to hide.
"Harper." Jenna came up beside me with a tray on her shoulder. She was twenty-six, worked doubles like me, always counted her tips in her car so no one asked to borrow. She lowered her voice. "Hey. Are you okay?"
I nodded too quick. "Yeah. I'm fine."
She didn't move. Behind us the dishwasher sprayed steam. She glanced toward the doors, then back at me.
"You jumped when Marcus walked behind you with the bread," she said. Quiet, not mean. "You almost dropped the basket."
I felt my face get hot around the bruises. "I'm just tired. Bad shoes, you know? Slippery back there."
It sounded thin even to me. Jenna's eyes flicked to my cheek and then away, like she didn't want me to catch her looking.
"Did someone—" she started.
"Don't," I said. It came out sharper than I meant. I softened it. "Please. I need tonight. I'm already short from missing Tuesday. If Melissa cuts my sections—"
Jenna pressed her lips together. She understood that math. Rent, gas, the late fee on electric if I didn't pick up Fridays. We all understood it.
"I won't say anything," she said. "But that guy at twelve is staring a hole through the door every time you go near."
My stomach dropped. "I know."
The expediter slapped the bell. "Harper! Twelve needs ranch and more bread. Move!"
"It wasn't on the ticket," I said.
He didn't look up from the rail. "He asked. Just take it."
I picked up the little ramekin, wiped the edge with my thumb. My hands were still damp. In the steel I saw my ponytail had come loose, strands sticking to my neck. I tucked them back, checked my apron. Professional. Like nothing had happened.
Jenna touched my arm light, from the front where I could see it coming. "You want me to take twelve for you? I'll say you have the big party."
For a second I wanted to say yes so bad my throat hurt. If I didn't go back out there, he couldn't hold my chin again. Nobody would watch. I could finish my other tables, keep my head down, get through the shift.
"Would you?" I whispered. "Just for— just till he leaves?"
She hesitated. I saw her do the calculation, the risk of pissing off a regular who tipped big and knew the owner. "I can ask Melissa."
Melissa was suddenly there at the end of the pass with her handheld, headset still on. She must have heard my name.
"No swaps," she said before Jenna even asked. "I already told you. You finish your station. No drama, no special treatment."
"Melissa, please," I said. My voice cracked. "Just this one table. Give him to Jenna, I'll take—"
"You'll take your own tables." She cut me off, eyes on the tickets, not on my face. "He's a good customer. Don't make it weird. Smile and get out there."
The bell rang again. The doors swung as Marcus pushed through with an empty tray, and I flinched before I could stop myself, stepping sideways into the ice bin. The ramekin tipped. Ranch spilled over my fingers.
May you like
Jenna steadied me. The expediter swore. Melissa finally looked at me then, really looked, at the makeup and the swelling, and then she looked right past it to the dining room clock.
"Wipe that up," she said. "You're on."
