She grabbed an apron from behind the counter while she was bent over it.
The diner was fairly empty since it was 10 a.m. on a Tuesday, but Mr. Simmons was a regular. Over his coffee, he took in the eyeful provided by Delilah’s short shorts while she bent over. He was a dirty old bastard who pinched my ass every chance he got.
“I’m just fine, ‘Lilah.” Darnell smiled back.
I just shook my head at her. “Don’t let Jimmy catch you flirting with Darnell again.”
Delilah pulled back from the counter and glared at me. “Jimmy can go fuck himself. You’re so lucky to have Kyle.”
Kyle. My boyfriend of three years. There was a time when just his name would’ve sent butterflies fluttering through my stomach.
Now?
I think of finding him passed out on my couch last night after I’d worked a double, videogame controller still in hand, leftover take-out containers on the table, drool dripping down his chin.
The applications for local positions around town sat untouched on the kitchen table where I’d left them. He hadn’t even moved them, meanwhile I was working my ass off to support both of us. And I’d told him not to order takeout. It was the last thing we could afford.
But whenever I tried to bring up money, he just said he liked me better back before I used to bitch and complain all the time. Usually followed by him grabbing a beer from the fridge and walking out of the room.
“Yeah,” I murmured, running a cloth over the counter. “So lucky.”
“Hey.” Delilah’s voice was sharp. “I mean it. You got one of the good ones.”
I smacked the cloth on the counter and braced my hands, looking up at her. “Did I?”
Then I shook my head at myself. “I always swore I’d be nothing like my mom but look at me, shacking up with the first guy who looked my way.” I grabbed the cloth and started scrubbing again, harder than ever.
“You’re gonna scrub the Formica off that countertop, you keep going at it like that,” Delilah said. But she crossed her arms over her chest. “And someday you’re gonna have to get down off that high horse and realize you’re just like the rest of us. Yeah, you’re super pretty, but ain’t nothing special about you, or me, or any other girl ever born in this county. We were born in the dirt and that’s where we’ll die. Reading all these books is only making you miserable about that fact.”
She thumped my Econ book closed.
“Hey.” I grabbed for the book, but she yanked it out of my grasp.
I glared at her. “Bitch.”
“Snob.”
Then we both cracked up laughing.
She tossed my book back on the counter and reached into her enormous Mary Poppins bag. I swear, her whole arm could disappear into it when she was hunting for one particular item or other, and it was always bursting at the seams. A leopard bra strap hung out of the front pocket. A packet of tissues along with several used ones spilled out as she hunted and finally pulled out a shimmery pink lip gloss.
She was already wearing a siren red lipstick, but she puckered up and smeared lip gloss on top. When she smiled, her cigarette-yellowed teeth clashed with the color, but my grin was still genuine.
“Gorgeous as always. But take off those sunglasses.” I reached over and pulled them off her face. “Bill might be in later and you know he hates—”
I gasped and froze once I saw her face underneath the shades. And the giant bruise blooming around her right eye.
“Delilah! What the hell?” I dropped the glasses on the counter and scooted closer.
She shied back from me and turned her face away. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing!”
She spun and glared at me, her shiner swollen and puffy. “Jimmy and I just got in an argument last night and it got out of hand.”
“Jimmy did this to you?”
I’d kill the bastard. He was twice Delilah’s size.
“It’s not what you think.” She sighed. “I pissed him off. I was snooping around on his phone and he caught me. I really shouldn’t have been doing that. He was angry and it went downhill from there. I started shoving him. It really wasn’t his fault.”
I could not believe the shit I was hearing.
And at the same time, I understood it all too well. Hadn’t I heard the same crap from my mom? Over and over. Boyfriend after boyfriend.
He loves me, he just has an anger problem.
It only happens when he’s drinking. He’s getting help, he swears.
It was my fault. I made him angry. I hit him first; we were hitting each other.
Funny how the guys never came away with bruises or broken bones, though.
“Come on, Grace, don’t be like that. You know how the guys around here are. Jimmy got laid off from the shipping center last month—”
“‘Cause he kept showing up hungover or still drunk,” I interrupted but she ignored me.
“It’s not like there’s any good jobs around here anyway. It’s easier to just drink and forget about it all. Can you really blame them?”
I reached out and took her hand, the dark purples of her bruise looking even more horrendous in the ugly fluorescent lighting of the diner. “Yes. Yes, I can blame them.”
She just shook her head and pulled her hand back. “You really are such a snob. At least Jimmy’s got a steady place to live.”
“Only because his mama lets him live in that apartment free.”
Delilah just shrugged. “It’s better than most guys can offer. I grew up with my five brothers and sisters all crammed into one room of a single wide. So, it seems like I’m stepping up in the world.”
And with that, she grabbed the cloth from me and went over to scrub the tables near Mr. Simmons. He lit up, seeing her coming. I couldn’t stand him, but Delilah knew how to work him for every spare quarter in tips.
The second she passed by his table, his hand snaked out. I turned away before I could see his gnarled old fingers pinch her butt. After all, I wanted to keep down the little bit of eggs I’d managed to shove in my mouth before running out the door this morning.
Soon things picked up with the lunch crowd and Delilah and I were running our tails off to keep up.
It wasn’t until around three in the afternoon before I had another break. I stretched my back. God, it didn’t seem like carrying trays of food around should be that tiring, but when the booths filled up, those trays could get really heavy. Not to mention the constant running back and forth.
People would dock your tip for the smallest perceived lack of service. If they finished their coffee and you didn’t intuit the very second the last drop slipped down their throat so you could be there with the steaming carafe ready for a refill, they’d get pissed and use it as an excuse not to give you a tip at all sometimes. But if you bothered them too often asking if they wanted a refill, they’d complain you were pesky and intrusive.
Guys liked cleavage on display but if they were with their wives or girlfriends, it pissed the women off to catch their guy sneaking a peek down your tight shirt. Some days you just couldn’t win.
I looked at the clock. Just fifteen minutes left on my shift and then I could finally go home. I leaned back against the counter and tipped my head toward the ceiling. Why the hell had I ever invited Kyle to live with me?