Page 17 of DadBod
ELIZABETH
I’ve seenCalvin every time I’ve worked this week, which isn’t as much as I need, three nights and one lunch shift. Not near enough. When I asked Jackie if Calvin has been here on other nights, she frowns. “Yes. He follows Rome around like a puppy.”
I noticed that too. It’s normal, really. I’m sure Calvin is going through all sorts of issues, including abandonment and worry about losing his one remaining parent. I remember.
Funnily though, as soon as I get to the restaurant, Calvin switches over to me. He’s been my assistant on each of my shifts, and he’s very good at it. He’s even got his own order pad. He takes my drink orders. If it’s a cocktail, he runs over to the bar to tell his dad. For soft drinks, he already knows how to pour those out of the machine. He’s not allowed to carry alcohol to the tables, it’s illegal, and he hasn’t mastered the art of carrying a tray full of glasses either. I take care of that part.
If someone orders a side salad, he’s on top of that too. I laugh whenever I see one of his attempts. He must love the homemade croutons here, because each salad plate is piled high with them. Our customers don’t seem to mind. They think it’s cute, and my tips are showing it. When he’s tired of working with me, he bellies up to the bar to watch his dad work. When that happens, I hand him some of my tip money. One of those times, Rome caught me. He shook his head, but I ignored it and said, “He’s been working his tail off. He deserves a tip.”
Calvin agreed, “Yeah, Dad. I deserve a tip.”
How can Rome argue with that? “Thanks, Elizabeth.”
“Thank Calvin here.” I ran my palm over the top of his thick dark hair that probably needs a cut. “He’s a natural.”
“Yeah, Dad. I’m a natural.”
“A natural pain in my ass,” Rome said with a smile. “But I really do appreciate your help, Cal.”
The pride on that boy’s face was something I may never forget. His little chest bumped out, and his chin lifted as he said, “No problem, Dad. Happy to help.”
My goodness. I wanted to cry I was so happy.
No worries. I didn’t cry. Not until later. At home. I let them flow.
* * *
“Jesus,how far up Rome’s ass can one person get? She drags his kid everywhere.”
I overhear this comment from my hiding spot behind the partition that helps disguise our beverage station. I recognize the voice too. Monica. The server with the chronic absentee issues.
I’m a little surprised by the person who responds, “Yeah, well, she’s got a thing for him; of course, she’s going to try to show off. She’s playing the ‘let me help your poor kids’ card.”
Jackie.
I thought we were friends.
“Yeah, well, Rome James would never touch her with a five-foot rod.”
I believe it’s ten-foot pole, but whatever. It means the same thing. It’s an insult.
“Right?” Jackie is too old to be saying things like “Right?” She’s in her fifties or something like that. Hell, she’s too old to be gossiping with this twenty-year-old party girl.
“She’s fat, and those god-awful teeth.” I hear her make the shiver sound.
“Right?” Monica repeats that stupid word. “You could drive a truck through those things.”
They both laugh, and it makes me feel like shit. You know how I feel about my teeth. As for the “fat” comment, well, I prefer curvy or bodacious. I’m not going to let myself feel bad about my body. Heredity, people. It’s a thing. I’m built just like my mom was, and for me, that’s a badge of honor. Fu––
“Fuck those bitches,” Jeriann says in full voice. Loud enough for the pair on the other side of the short wall to hear. In an even louder voice she says, “You two need to focus on your tables and not on gossip.” The pair mutter, but Jeri isn’t done. “Oh, and I’m telling Rome what you said.”
“Fuck,” Jackie says. At least, I think it was her.
Jeriann steps around the wall to face the pair. “And Monica?”
“Yeah?”
“I just helped Gianna triple seat your section.” She snickers. “Good luck. Now you’ll know how we feel every time you call in fake sick.”