The other woman gasped in surprise, which quickly turned to outrage. “That makes so much sense.”
I checked to make sure their beverages were full and then disappeared back into the kitchen to claim my last order. Brad was busy talking to the dishwasher, a kid from the local high school I didn’t recognize.
“The Democrats want everyone to be on welfare and the Republicans want everyone to starve,” Brad explained to the hapless teenager, who looked confused by my uncle’s filibustering. “You have to decide which one you believe in more and then go with it.”
I’d barely spent any time with my uncle before reporting for my first shift, but one of the first things I’d noticed about him was he’d suddenly developed an interest in politics. When I was a kid, he was all about peace, love, and understanding. Now he was all about political shows and arguing simply for argument’s sake. As far as I could tell, most of what he said was complete and total nonsense. He couldn’t even pick a side to land on when it came to these arguments. He bagged on both sides.
“You should leave him alone,” I instructed Brad as I collected my plates. “He’s a teenager. He doesn’t want to hear your bitter old guy shtick. He’s still dreaming of getting out of this place.”
“Oh, I’m going to get out of this place,” the teenager intoned, his eyes lighting with excitement. “Two more years and then I’m out of here. I’m going to college at Central Michigan and then I’m going to find an actual city to live in.”
“One that has more than one stoplight and actually has a fast-food restaurant, right?” I asked, thinking back to the things that were important to me when I was his age.
He bobbed his head excitedly. “Exactly. I want a Taco Bell, people. Is that too much to ask?”
His enthusiasm made me smile — and then frown. I’d wanted a McDonald’s. Who doesn’t love those fries? I’d been so excited when I got to college and could eat fast food regularly. That lasted only a few weeks, though. Then I missed the food at the cafe. Of course, I wouldn’t admit that to anyone.
“Well, good luck.” I swooped out of the kitchen just as my uncle was explaining proper military strategy from the Republican point of view, and I delivered the food to a corner table in the cafe. The men waiting on their burgers started inhaling the food, as if they hadn’t eaten in weeks, and I left them to it. I saw Sarah trying to catch my attention and flashed her an apologetic smile before crossing over to my grandfather. He sat at the coffee counter, alone, reading his newspaper as he ate chili over a bed of onions — with a fork.
“How can you eat that?” I complained as I moved behind the counter and grabbed the pot of coffee to top off his mug. “I mean ... that’s like all-day heartburn right there. It’s gross.”
Grandpa glanced up from his newspaper and regarded me with unreadable eyes. In the years since I’d left, his hair had thinned some and grayed at the temples. His face had a few more lines. Other than that, he looked mostly the same.
He also acted the same.
“Do I comment on your meals?”
I shook my head. “No, but we haven’t had many meals together since I got back. I expect that to change because you comment on everything.”
He chuckled. “You haven’t been around for any of the family dinners,” he countered. “You even missed last night’s meal, which was a welcome home dinner for you, so that was a ballsy move. Your mother was mad, by the way.”
As far as I could tell, my mother was angry about everything these days — especially the fact that I was working in the family restaurant again. She couldn’t understand why I didn’t get rich off the one book that sold well, enough to live comfortably forever. When I explained that’s not the way it worked, her response was that I should’ve tried to sell a second book. I told her I did, but it didn’t sell. Her response? “Well, you should’ve tried harder.”
That was two weeks ago and we hadn’t spoken since. I’d made my move to Shadow Hills, taken over the apartment above the restaurant, and seen almost everybody in my family during the intervening days. There was still no sign of my mother. It was too much to hope she wouldn’t speak to me for the rest of her life. She would be back, there was no doubt about that.
“Isn’t my mother always ticked off?” I asked, grabbing a rag from the small sink and wiping down the counter. I felt the need to stay busy. If I didn’t, my mind would start to wander, which was the reason I was living on four hours of sleep a night these days. I couldn’t stop running what had happened through my head. How could I get everything I ever wanted and then lose it in a few short years? It would’ve been easier if I’d never been published.
“It seems so these days,” Grandpa confirmed. “She told me to fire you, by the way.”
I was stunned. “What? Why does she want you to fire me?”
“Why do you think?” His eyebrows hopped with amusement as he dropped the newspaper. He was one of the few people I knew who still insisted on regular delivery even though the local newspaper was so thin you could read it in five minutes. “She believes that you’ll write another best-selling book if I fire you.”
“Yeah, unless I starve first.”
He smirked. “She doesn’t understand what happened. I think perhaps that’s because you’ve never taken the time to explain what happened to her.”
Oh, well, of course he would think that. “Why is everything always my fault?”
“You make an easy scapegoat,” Grandpa replied without hesitation. “No one is at fault in this particular situation. You got lucky with that first book. You didn’t get lucky with the second. Maybe, after taking a little downtime and getting some perspective, you’ll get lucky with the third.”
I narrowed my eyes to blue slits. “What makes you think there will be a third book?”
“We didn’t raise you to be a quitter. Your mother may be a hippie-dippy freak, but she’s a hard worker. She owns her own real estate business now, which is something to be proud of. Your father is a hard worker, too. You always worked at the restaurant, even when you hated it. I don’t expect you to suddenly give up on your dreams now that things have gotten rough. You’ll put it back together.”
He sounded sure of himself, which only served to annoy me. “It doesn’t feel like anything is coming together right now,” I argued. “It feels as if everything has fallen apart and I’m sitting on the edge of a cliff, ready to fall off at any moment.”
“And people say your second book lacked dramatic tension.” He shook his head.
I glared at him. “You’re not funny.”
“I think I’m hilarious.” He patted my wrist and then turned back to his chili and onions. “You need time to absorb what happened to you, Stormy. You’re still young. You haven’t lost the dream forever. You’ve simply misplaced it for now. You can get it back.”
That felt unlikely. “I don’t know many literary agents willing to accept submissions from waitresses,” I muttered.
“Then don’t tell them you’re a waitress. Tell them you’re a princess or something. I know, tell them you’re a witch. Witches are everywhere now.”