Decisions We Make After Midnight Read online

  She grabbed my hand before I could run away. “But he means well. He doesn’t like the customers ogling the waitresses. That’s why he wants them to . . . dress modestly.” At my incredulous look, she dropped her voice and pleaded, “Please, Lola, we’re desperate. I know they’re”—she gestured toward the hallway—“totally insane, but this bar is the hottest spot in Durham right now. The hourly is shit, but you’ll make over a hundred bucks a night during the week and up to three hundred or more on the weekends just in tips. It’s . . . worth it.”

  My stomach flipped with that sick feeling all over again. Nothing was worth a boss like that. I already had a job. A legitimate job, packed full of retirement plans and health insurance and familial obligation. “I don’t know . . .”

  “Think about it,” she rushed to say, squeezing my hand again. “Think about the money. And how much we need you. The spot will be from four to close tomorrow if you want it.”

  “Should I call you if I don’t?”

  She shook her head quickly, textured blond bangs falling into her eyes. “Trust me, I’ll figure it out.”

  I pulled my hand from hers and grabbed my purse from the back of the chair. “Well, thanks for your time,” I told her, unable to quit being polite. “This was . . . interesting.”

  She smiled broadly. “It always is.”

  At the door, I turned around with my hand on the brass pull. “Ada?” She looked up from where she’d been staring contemplatively at her hands. “Are they why you’re so desperate to hire someone?”

  She shook her head, glancing over her shoulder to make sure we were still alone. “Not all of them. Eliza and Charlie are really nice. They’re only like that with each other. They would never yell at you. I’m truly sorry you had to witness them at their usual.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that, but it didn’t really matter anyway because I wasn’t taking the job. Nodding my goodbye, I stepped outside, relishing the warm sun on my cold, bare arms immediately. It wasn’t until I’d gotten home that I realized she hadn’t included Will in her apology. She’d left him out entirely.

  Probably because my first impression was right—he was a big, bad, scary boss, and I would be absolutely miserable working for him.

  ----

  I poured another half glass of red wine into my Solo cup and swished it around, watching the dark crimson stain the white inside of the plastic cup with blurred vision. I hadn’t meant to drink almost an entire bottle of pinot by myself, but there we were. It had been a weird day, and I was anxious to forget all the frustrating reasons.

  After the strange and surprising interview at the bar this morning, I’d gotten the wrong drink order at a local coffee shop on my way home. I hated pointing out other people’s mistakes, even innocent ones like a hot latte with whole milk instead of an iced with almond milk like I’d wanted. So I’d struggled through the drink, replacing feelings like refreshed and energized with disappointed and sweaty.

  The day had dissolved from there. I’d gotten a disappointing email about a short-term apartment I’d been thinking about renting while I was in town. They were unimpressed with my new-to-town resident status and lack of Durham employment, so they’d decided to go with the more “stable” applicant who was willing to sign a one-year lease.

  I’d never been a wild card my entire life. The blow had come as the worst kind of insult to my type A and painfully predictable personality.

  Shortly after, I found out the Airbnb I had my eye on as a backup plan had been rented for the summer. I’d dragged my feet, deciding how long I wanted to be here, and now there wasn’t anything similar available for weeks. It was tourist season, so I should have booked something months ago. But Durham hadn’t been in the cards at the time.

  Then my dad had called, asking when I was going to arrive in Florida. After that, I’d dodged several texts from my brother, Edison, who was wondering the same thing. And one unanswered call from my mom. Surprising really, as it’s been much of the same for weeks now. When? When? When? Never . . . why?

  “Your phone is buzzing like crazy in the other room,” Reese said as she sat down on the porch swing next to me.

  “Is it my brother?”

  She shook her head. “It’s Owen.”

  “Shit.” I took another deep gulp of the wine. I was going to pay for it tomorrow, but right now, my decision-making abilities were influenced by fermented grapes and my enabling best friend. “What time is it?”

  “After midnight,” she said, the sympathy in her tone obvious.

  I took another long drink. “I messed up.” My confession rang hollow in the sultry summer air. Reese had a small bungalow in an old, quiet neighborhood in the heart of Durham, North Carolina. There wasn’t even traffic to drown out the insincerity in my voice. It was loud and clear and sober, even if I wasn’t.

  Reese laughed at me, a warm sound that felt like college all over again and staying up in our dorm room until ungodly hours, talking about boys and sharing secrets and planning our identical futures. Turned out those late-night conversations couldn’t live up to our real-life problems. But they were still some of my favorite memories.

  “You didn’t mess up,” she said firmly. “You took a detour and visited your best friend. Nothing is permanent.”

  Hugging my knees to my chest, I stared out at the quiet, tree-lined street and the cars dotting either side. Crickets chirped nearby, and stars twinkled overhead. Dressed in only cotton pajama shorts and a black cami, I shivered as the night breeze pulled goose bumps from my skin. “I had a job interview today.”

  “What?”

  “Here, in Durham.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  I shook my head and had another swig of wine. “Nothing permanent, obviously.” The excuse was an echo of what she had just said, but it hurt my heart to say it for some reason. “I noticed that bar we went to the other night was hiring, so I grabbed an application and—”

  “If you’re really thinking about staying, you might as well do something with your degree. I could see if my firm has anything available.”

  Shooting her a narrow-eyed look, I decided it was probably time to set the wine down. Since there were two of her now. My cup was empty anyway.

  Reese had been my best friend since college when we were paired up as roommates freshman year at Northwestern. We’d stayed together every year of our undergraduate, even when Owen had begged me to move in with him after he’d moved back from his graduate program in Indiana. I couldn’t leave Reese, though. Not yet. Not when I knew I would have a lifetime to live with Owen and only months left with Reese. Back then, graduation had felt like the end of our chapter. Grad school and our subsequent careers were going to take us in very different directions.

  And they had. At least for a while. But look at us now. Back together. And where was Owen? Waiting in Florida with my brother, Edison. Begging me to join him once again.

  But unlike in college when it wasn’t a big deal to postpone my life with Owen or my pending responsibilities, this detour with Reese had much more significant consequences. None of which I could be bothered to care about right now, though—especially those concerning Owen. Instead of the nagging sense of responsibility I should have felt, all I could muster up was resentment, bitterness . . . anger . . . failure.

  “That feels too permanent.” That word again. But I was too drunk to search for synonyms. “I just . . . I don’t want to freeload.” I didn’t tell her about the apartment that turned me down. A lease, even a short one, also felt permanent. But I had reasoned that they’d offer a six-month commitment, and if I had my own place, I would at least be out of Reese’s hair.

  I knew she didn’t mind my unexpected visit, but at some point, she would have to get back to life per usual. Her job as an associate in a powerful law firm kept her very busy. Late nights, early mornings, all the at-home research. Plus, we weren’t in college anymore. She’d been on her own since her illustrious Duke law school days.

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nbsp; “You’re not a freeloader, Lo. You’re my guest. I love having you here.” She reached out and squeezed my hand, reminding me of the girl at the bar today.

  Laying my cheek on top of my knee, I blinked away tears and smiled at her. “Thanks, Pieces. I can’t tell you how much it means to me.”

  She wrinkled her nose at her old nickname, but she couldn’t hold back a smile. “What bar was it at anyway?”

  “Craft,” I told her. “The one with the really complicated drinks.”

  “Oh, yeah. That’s supposed to be one of Durham’s hot spots right now.”

  “Well, apparently they’re having trouble keeping waitresses because they offered me the job on the spot.”

  She tipped her head back, springy black curls that she pulled back for her important lawyer job cascading over her shoulders. “That seems right. Your dad will love your master’s in finance going to good use.”

  Her words soured my already precarious mood, and I turned my face into my knees and groaned. “How long do you think I have until he figures out where I am?”

  “Babe, you’ve been here for three weeks. He already knows where you’re at. He just hasn’t come to pick you up and drag your stubborn ass down to Florida yet.”

  My voice was muffled when I told her, “You’re not helping.”

  “I know.”

  “Tell me what to do, Pieces.” I used her nickname again because it was comforting. It reminded me of when we really didn’t have all this responsibility on our shoulders.

  She was silent for a few minutes while we both mulled over the consequences of what I’d done. We both knew I couldn’t stay here and would eventually have to make it to Florida. My extended visit would be over soon, and we both knew I wasn’t actually serious about the bar job.

  It had been a whim. Just like this pit stop in North Carolina. But I wasn’t prone to whims or detours or ghosting text messages from the people in my life I loved.

  When Reese spoke, I knew she surprised us both. “Take the job,” she said confidently. “What can it hurt? If they’re that desperate for waitstaff, they probably won’t be surprised when you quit after a couple of weeks. Plus, you don’t owe them anything anyway.”

  She was right. But . . . “A couple of weeks? You don’t mind if I stay? Seriously?”

  Reese shoved my shoulder. “Are you kidding? You’ve been the best part of this last month. Mi casa es su casa and all that.”

  “I can look for a place. It’s really not a problem. I don’t want to be in your hair.”

  She rolled her eyes and grinned at me. “It’s not permanent, remember? You’re just here for a little hiatus from . . . well, everything. Waitress, live with me, heal, get it all out of your system, and then go to Florida.” Her words inspired hope, peace . . . resolve. “Florida can wait a little longer, right?”

  “Right,” I agreed. The sick feeling was back in the pit of my stomach. I blamed the wine and let the after-midnight haziness get away with it.

  This wasn’t how I’d planned for this to go, or honestly, how I planned for my life in general to go. But it wasn’t a bad plan. And I would eventually get back to some version of my regularly scheduled adult-life programming. I just needed a few more weeks to sort through what version I was willing to go back to.

  Besides, Edison could handle my responsibilities for now. Sure, he’d make the most noise possible, complaining about the extra workload, but he would be fine. It always felt like overkill anyway when both of us were there to manage new projects. He always let me take point, so it was weird to hand it over to him—especially when I had been the one to fight hard for Florida—but he was good at his job when he wanted to be. Plus, he owed me for a lifetime of putting up with his shenanigans.

  And maybe waitressing would be the kick in the pants it took to refocus on my goals. I had always known what I would be when I grew up. The family business was always the goal. But now, after all that had happened with Owen, I was questioning everything. Not just the things I wanted . . . but who I was as a person. As a human being. How much of this was my fault? How much could l have changed sooner? How much of my future did I even want, let alone want to face? So maybe learning a new job, in a new environment, with Reese’s safe support and sanctuary would eventually motivate me to get back to the picture-perfect life I’d abandoned. With the exception of the one person demanding I get back to it the loudest.

  Guess I would find out soon enough.

  2

  I arrived at three forty-five dressed in a black cocktail dress I’d worn to a work event with Owen last year that was shorter than I remembered it being. But because I knew I’d packed it, I hadn’t given myself enough time to go shopping before the four o’clock shift. The neck was scooped but tasteful, though it was also tighter than I remembered. Reese had laughed at me when I’d walked out of her guest bedroom.

  “It’s obvious you’ve never had a real job before,” she’d said.

  My cheeks had heated, and I’d regretted the late-night decision influenced by wine and fear for the hundredth time today. We’d decided I should ditch my stilettos and borrow a pair of her checkered Vans—because they were practical, and my poor feet had never worked a shift job before. She also pulled half my hair up in a twist on the top of my head and added some bangles to my wrists. I was up for anything as long as I looked less political fundraiser-y and more tip-me-I’m-normal-and-need-your-money.

  But at Ada’s wide-eyed look of surprise when I walked through the bar door fifteen minutes early, I knew I still hadn’t gotten it quite right.

  She quickly wiped the shock off her face and offered a warm smile. “You’re here.”

  “And in all black.” I swept a hand down the length of my dress and finished with a shaky jazz hand.

  Her lips pressed together in an effort not to laugh at me. “Yes”—she nodded emphatically—“you are in all black.” There was a stilted pause before she said, “I like your shoes.”

  “Thanks.” They weren’t even my shoes, but Ada didn’t need to know that.

  “Anyway, now that you’re officially a Craft employee, I have some papers I need you to fill out before you can work tonight.” She hopped down from a barstool she’d been sitting on and started walking toward the hallway where I knew the bathrooms and office to be. “Oh, and there’s a sexual harassment video you have to watch.”

  “Really?” I asked, surprised that I seemed like a threat.

  She shrugged and reached up to slap the wide doorframe as we walked through it into the darkened hallway. “Everyone has to watch it.” She paused with her hand on a swinging door to what I could see was a small industrial kitchen. Her nails were chipped with black fingernail polish, and she had stacked rings on nearly every finger. “Have you never had to go through a sexual harassment course before?”

  It was my turn to shrug. How did I explain that I’d only ever worked for my dad? I’d never even had to fill out new hire paperwork before—he’d had a secretary do that for me and a stamp with my signature made before I was of legal working age. I hoped she didn’t need to verify my address or anything like at the DMV. Because I didn’t have a permanent address in Durham. And I’d had my mail forwarded to my parents’ house in Chicago anyway.

  Before she could ask any more questions, Charlie yanked the door open from the other side. “Sorry,” he murmured as Ada was flung forward into his chest. He grinned down at her. “You okay, Ade?”

  She pushed up and glowered at him. “You nearly ripped my arm out of the fucking socket, Charlie.”

  He squeezed her shoulder blade, digging his thumb into her until she had to twist to get away from him. “Seems okay to me,” he said unapologetically.

  “You’re a child,” she squealed, doing her best to stomp on his toes while he danced out of the way. “A tiny, immature baby.”

  He cackled in delight when she couldn’t catch him. “It’s not my fault,” he insisted, hiding behind a man wearing a dirty apron and a red bandana on hi
s head—a cook maybe? “You make it so easy. Really, you only have yourself to blame.”

  The man between them hopped out of the way with his hands raised in surrender. “Keep me out of this,” he told them. Then he noticed me for the first time and thrust out his hand. “You must be the new girl.”

  “Uh, er.” I watched Ada catch Charlie and punch him in the pec. Charlie’s entire body convulsed under the hit, and he really did look like the baby Ada said he was. “Yeah, I’m the new girl.”

  “Lolly?”

  “Lola,” I corrected quickly. “But, um, everybody calls me Lo.”

  “Cool.” He smiled, and it was charming behind a grizzly beard. “I’m Case, the resident chef.”

  My palms grew sweaty when I realized I wasn’t just going to have to serve drinks, but food too. “So, there’s a full menu?”

  He nodded proudly. “Yeah, the Durham Food Blog, the one attached to the paper, recently did a whole article on us, calling Craft a ‘hidden gem in the bar scene.’” His fingers used air quotes, but I could tell how proud he was. “Pretty sweet for a gig this size.” He spread his arms wide, gesturing at his domain, and his fingertips nearly touched opposite walls. The space was absolutely minuscule.

  But good for him if he could make it work.

  “That’s awesome,” I told him genuinely.

  “Thanks.” He shot another grin my way.

  “Come on,” Ada demanded when Charlie crumpled to the ground after another sound defeat. “We have a lot of work to do before we get busy.”

  Just as Ada had decided to move on, Charlie jumped to his feet, pulled his arm behind him, and then let it go like a slingshot to smack her ass. She jumped a full foot off the ground and grabbed her butt. “Charlie,” she shrieked. He smiled like the devil himself at Case and me and then ran out of the kitchen like a naughty kid hiding from his parents. “Oh, my God, I’m going to kill him,” she growled, her cheeks flaming red with fury.