Second Hand Waitress

“Thank you. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you sometimes.”

By ten the next morning, Kira was still lounging around in her pajamas and robe. She had no energy to do anything. She felt completely drained. She had spent most of the morning bent over the toilet, throwing up, and now she just felt exhausted. Her stomach still uneasy, she carefully made her way to the sleeper couch—one that Jake had, for once, actually made before disappearing off to who-knows-where earlier that morning. He always vanished for hours, doing who-knows-what in who-knows-where. Kira had been relieved when he left because his constant cheerfulness was getting on her nerves.

She was debating whether to try eating something when a knock sounded at the front door. She frowned. She wasn’t usually home at this time, so she had no idea who it could be. Their building had an intercom system, so unexpected knocks were unusual.

The knock came again. With a sigh, she pushed herself off the couch, pausing for a moment to make sure her nausea was under control before heading for the door. There was no peephole, so she had to take the direct approach.

“Who’s there?” she called. A long silence followed, making her wonder if the person had left.

“It’s me.”

The voice was slightly muffled but instantly recognizable. Kira froze.

When she didn’t respond, the knock came again, louder this time—firm and impatient, exactly like him.

“It’s me, Clover!” he said, his voice edged with frustration. “Open the door.”

“No.”

“What?”

She could practically feel his shock through the door.

“I said no. Go away.”

“I’m not leaving until we settle this,” he said firmly.

“I didn’t think there was anything to settle. You already made up your mind.”

“I’m not discussing this through a door. If you don’t open it, I’ll kick it down. And judging by how thin this wood is, that won’t be hard.”

“Not everyone can afford fancy wooden doors,” she shot back. And unfortunately, he was right—the wood was so thin she could hear him sigh.

“I’m counting to three. If you don’t open the door, I will—”

Annoyed, she yanked the door open. Only after she was face-to-face with him, dressed in his expensive suit, did she remember what she was wearing—fluffy polka-dot pajamas, a fuzzy pink robe, and pink-and-white bunny slippers. Her hair was a mess, and after throwing up all morning, she probably looked just as bad as she felt. The way he stared at her confirmed it.

“Your hair…”

She blinked at him in confusion. Why was that the first thing he noticed? Then she remembered. Her hand went up to her short bob, fingers brushing the bleached tips she and Jake had dyed pink the night before.

“I don’t have to look like a corporate employee anymore,” she said with a small shrug.

“It’s pink.”

“Just the ends.”

He dragged his horrified gaze from her hair down the rest of her outfit.

“Did I wake you up?” he asked, frowning in confusion.

“I didn’t see the point in getting dressed when I have nowhere to be.”

“And you didn’t think of looking for a new job?”

Rich people really had no clue about real life. His judgmental tone irritated her.

“I just got fired yesterday. I haven’t had time to sit down and look for jobs yet.”

He nodded, shoving his hands into his coat pockets as he glanced around the small, slightly messy apartment.

“This building has terrible security. Some guy in baggy jeans and a Rastafarian cap just held the door open and waved me through.”

“Oh.”

“I think he was high,” Tesah said, sounding unimpressed.

“If it’s who I think it is, then yeah, definitely.” Young Isaac from down the hall was always high. Kira had no idea how he managed to get any studying done. Tesah frowned.

“And you feel safe living here?”

“Why are you here?” she asked, ignoring his question.

“Can I sit?”

She hesitated before nodding. He glanced around before heading to the kitchen table, waiting for her to join him. When she did, he pulled out a chair, gestured for her to sit, and then took his own seat. The gentlemanly gesture threw her off a little.

He didn’t speak right away. Instead, he stared down at his hands, loosely folded on the table. The silence stretched, making her shift uncomfortably.

Then he lifted his eyes and locked her in that intense gaze of his. She froze under his stare, feeling like she was being studied under a microscope.

“You’re pregnant.”

“I know.”

“How far along are you?” he asked. Without thinking, her hand dropped to her stomach, still amazed that there was a life growing inside her.