Page 37 of Not Until Her
I don’t even know what to do other than stare at her in shock. Why is she so horrible? Seriously, what did I ever do to deserve this? She doesn’t even know me.
“Would you rather I call the police? Because you can’t keep this up. My daughter issix. She goes to school, she needs sleep.”
With a sigh that says she can’t be bothered, she walks away from me.
“You don’t always have her here, and you can clearly leave whenever you do.”
My blood begins boiling. It’s obvious to me that this woman doesn’t have any children of her own, or have regular contact with any. Who could say that with their whole chest, and simply not care about the inconvenience?
That isn’t even a good enough word for it. It’s not inconvenient, it’s cruel. All a six year old should worry about is learning how to read, not whether or not she’s going to be woken up in the middle of the night by terrifying sounds. She’s at an age where those things will stick with her for a lot longer than the current moment. Am I going to end up with a teenager that wakes up in a cold sweat every night because she expects to hear growling on the other side of the wall? Is she going to be a grown adult living in her own home with that fear, when I won’t bethere to make her feel better? The thought of it makes me feel sick.
“I shouldn’t have to take her from her home in the middle of the night to make sure she can sleep!”
She starts down the stairs, not even raising her voice to answer. Not caring if I even hear what she says.
“But you do have somewhere to go. Sounds like a problem solved.”
“You are unbelievable,” I gasp.
“Believe it.” She turns back to give me the bitchiest smirk I've ever seen. “And stay away from my door.”
I’m left standing by that front door, contemplating my entire life for an embarrassingly long time after she leaves. When the sound of a downstairs neighbor's door slamming snaps me out of my trance, I stare down at the note in my hand. It’s a little wrinkled now, barely surviving that interaction.
Much like me. Like some silly metaphor.
I slap it on her door anyway, unsure if I want the adhesive to do its job and stay adhered until she gets back. Seems fair to put it in fate's hands, and if the wind blows it away? So be it.
Remove hanger. Scan item. Bag item.
Remove hanger. Scan item. Bag item.
Remove hanger. Remove security tag. Scan item. Bag item.
Repeat approximately three hundred times, until you feel like you’re absolutely losing your mind.
Oh, but sometimes people spice it up for you. Sometimes they have a coupon that they swear they should be able to use, even when I read aloud the clearly stated line on it that says,“This coupon can not be combined with in-store promotions or other discount offers.”
It feels self-explanatory, but I’m always surprised by how wrong people can be. Do I have the option as the manager to override it and give them what they want? Sure, and it happens pretty often to the ones that are nice about it.
But when they demand that I do it, and question my intelligence because they aren’t getting their way? It feels good to smile and say no.
It feels even better when they ask for the manager and I get to tell them they’re currently speaking to her.
My store always has a big sale for the anniversary of the store’s opening. This year things were kicked up a notch to celebrate ten years, and now ten locations across four states.
This week has knocked Black Friday out of the water. I’ve never seen us so busy before, to the point where I’ve felt the need to sacrifice most of my down time. Every second that Dahlia has been at school or with her dad, I’ve lived here. At night when I’d normally be at home, stressed and tired, I’m here. I replenish everything on the sales floor, and make sure it all looks perfect for the next morning when I’m coming right back in.
I’ve done iteverynight Dahlia hasn’t been home. I leave eventually, but I go straight to my parents just to sleep for five hours, then wake up and repeat. It could be worse. If I went home and had to see that awful woman, that would be much worse. I’m too angry to be anywhere near her. I’malsoangry that I’m letting her win at the moment, and making her disruptive life all too easy, but I need to have my priorities straight.
When I finally do go home, there are only a couple more days left of the chaos at work. It feels weird to walk inside, like I can tell it’s been empty for a while. The air is too stagnant, and everything is too quiet.
For now, of course. I’m sure that’ll change.
I turn on the television, just to have some background noise. I open up the windows, despite the cold night outside. I get some water going on my electric kettle, and preheat the oven for tonight’s dinner. I could do better than frozen enchilada’s, but I could also do a lot worse. At least Dahlia loves them.
The second I think about how much I miss her, there’s a knock on my door. Perfect timing.
“Hi, my sweet girl!” She hugs my legs, and I smooth down the back of her blonde hair that’s sticking straight up. “Caleb.”