Classic.
I frown at them.
âWhat are you frowning about?â Wilf asks.
âItâs July. These are Valentineâs place mats.â
âThis ainât the Ritz, Chickadee,â Wilf says.
âSome of them are wrinkly and torn.â I hold them up to show him.
âTheyâre clean. Suck it up,â he says.
I swallow a retort. I wasnât brought up to get snarky with old men. Of course, I wasnât brought up to do a lot of the things Iâve been doing lately.
âBe nice,â Stella says to him. âThis is her first day. Sheâs never been in a place like this before. I donât think you have much choice, being here? Punishment for your sins?â she asks.
I bite my lip harder and feel their judgment. The poor little rich girl.
The old guy stares at me. âShe looks too young and fancy to get into trouble. What were your sins?â he asks.
I straighten my shoulders and stand taller. No way Iâm going to tell this guy I got drunk, bought a ten-thousand-dollar dress, and flashed my boobs. âWhat are yours?â I ask instead.
Stella chuckles. âIâll leave you two to work this out. Wilf, introduce her to Sunny. Sheâll show you the ropes,â she adds for me. She shows me a long enough rope and I might try to hang myself with it.
âNot worth it, Mess,â the old guy says as if he read my mind. He winks.
âJess,â I tell him.
âThatâs what I said.â He points at his ear and smiles a crooked old-man smile and starts to whistle. âGo on then. Start putting out those fancy place mats.â
Stella laughs and turns and flows back to the kitchen. For a big woman, she moves with lightness and grace.
Wilf and I work silently, putting down place mats, and then he grunts out instructions for setting out the plates and glasses. We set those out, and when weâre done, a tall black girl walks through the kitchen into the dining room. Sheâs not too much older than me, and sheâs skinny. She actually makes me look big.
Sheâs holding a bin. âDamn plastic stuff,â she mumbles. She walks by, and I peer inside the bin and see rows of plastic cutlery wrapped in napkins and tied with ribbons. âYou must be Jess?â
I nod.
âSunny,â she says. âYou ever served before?â
I shake my head. âNot really. No.â
She looks me up and down. My pants are expensive and my top is designer. I definitely donât shop at Target for clothes. âYeah. Youâve never needed a part-time job, Iâm guessing.â
I stand straighter and lift my chin. âIâm here and Iâm working. So. Yeah. I guess I do.â
âNot the paid kind though.â
I donât have a ready argument, and Sunny mumbles something under her breath. I donât hear her and decide itâs for the best. We obviously have an understanding. We donât like each other.
âYou want us to put out this plastic cutlery?â Wilf interrupts.
âWe have to use it sometime. Did you explain to her how this works?â She nods her head to me, as if she canât be bothered to remember or say my name out loud.
âI did. Why? Are you mad because Iâm stepping on your toes?â Wilf asks.
âMy feet are bigger than yours, Wilf. Worry about your own toes,â she tells him.
âIâm too much of a gentleman to point out your flaws,â he says. âBig feet being only one of them.â
I decide then that I might like the old guy better than I thought. Wilf and Sunny argue for a moment, and I look around, swallow, and take deep breaths.
âI have a million pages of paperwork to catch up on,â Sunny finally says and glances at the clock on the wall and then back at me. âPlease try to get up to speed quickly.â
I want to point out that, in theory, Iâm a volunteer. No one even seems to want me here. Not even me.
âDonât