Making Plans

STORM

“Storm! Table 4 needs attending. Stop zoning out for god's sake. We don’t have time for this.” Jess literally shouted, her face clouding in annoyance, and then she eyed me badly for taking time to collect orders.

I wanted to cuss at her for letting me work this morning when the doctor had tasked me with at least four days of bed rest. In her words, she had said; ‘since you have the strength to club and dance, then you should be more than healthy to work at the restaurant.’ Those were her words this morning when she had knocked consistently and noisily on my door.

I had asked her about Miranda, who was supposed to help since she hadn’t gone back to college. The woman had said that her daughter needed some rest after being out all night. Her daughter needed rest and I didn’t? I mused and scoffed, collecting the notepad from the kitchen counter, heading to table five. All the while my thoughts ran all over the place, uninhibited.

After Jess had woken me up to open the restaurant