Page 70 of Five Brothers
I’m glad it’s busy, though. It helps to keep me from thinking about Iron and what he’s doing right now. It feels like we dropped him off a year ago, instead of just yesterday.
The cook grabs the plate. “Give me three minutes.”
“I don’t have three!” I blurt out, and snatch Summer’s plate from her, spooning the rice from her dish onto mine.
“Krisjen!”
“My order was first,” I tell her. “My rice.”
I carry the food off, swiping a ketchup bottle and pinching it between my elbow and hip as I go.
“I’m considering this payback for that onion ring incident!” Summer yells. “We’re even now!”
“Affirmative.”
I set the plates down in front of the two ladies, one of them so beet red, they have to be tourists.
I drop the ketchup at table eleven and grab the Coke I left at the bar, setting it in front of Sam Martinez, who comes in only when his wife puts tuna sandwiches in his lunch, which he hates but doesn’t have the heart to tell her.
“Here you go,” I tell him, dropping a fresh straw next to the drink.
“Thanks, hon.” He cuts into his steak. “Keep ’em coming.”
“Will do.”
My phone rings in my back pocket, and I pull it out, seeing Bateman’s name on my screen. I answer it, holding it to my ear as I start clearing the dirty dishes at table twelve. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Krisjen …”
He’s breathless. I pause.
“I’m sorry about this,” he says. “But you have to come home.”
I stop, standing up straight. “What’s wrong?”
“Your mother is two hours late from her lunch appointment,” he tells me. “And I told her I could stay only so long today.”
But I tear off my apron, leaving the dishes as I ask, “Why are you even there? The kids are at school. My mom dropped them off this morning.”
“No,” he retorts. “It’s some staff-development thing that I’ve had on my calendar since August. The kids are off today, and I have my own errands to run. Your mom assured me she’d be back by two.”
I dart my eyes up to the clock above the breakfast bar. It’s after four.
“Can you please stay?” I ask him. “I’m really sorry, I just—”
“And your mom also hasn’t paid me in five weeks, either.”
I hesitate. “What?”
Bateman doesn’t say anything for a moment, and while I’m grateful he’s continued to come, I can’t imagine anyone else would’ve. What the hell is going on with my parents?
“I’m sorry. This isn’t your problem,” he tells me, “but I can’t get ahold of her, and I’ve had it. I need to leave.”
For today or for good? I exhale hard. “Oh—okay. I’m on my way.”
“Thanks, babe.”
I hang up and swing around the counter, taking out my bag.