Page 8 of Honeyed
My head has been in such a tailspin that glimpsing August after a Friday night dinner rush is enough to have me stumbling. Tonight was busy, per usual, with a mad rush of our local diners who all come in for their celebratory end-of-week pizzas or entrees. Evan’s new menu has been a hit, and with the live music Fridays Alana insisted on drawing a larger crowd, it’s no wonder August is wiped. She’s our best waitress and works like a dog, putting everyone else first.
This isn’t the first time I’ve found her asleep in my office, whether it be on a weekday afternoon or after a shift, to avoid going home. Her mother is a whack job, a narcissist who gleans joy from controlling every aspect of August’s life and inflicting emotional and verbal abuse on her daughter. Everything from sleep deprivation to forced interactions to berating this wonderful young woman about any and every decision. The number of times I’ve wanted to call the county on her is endless, but I hold off due to August’s insistence. If anyone knows what a gamble the foster system is, it’s me.
We’ve bonded over that, and at least it sends a twinge of hope through my chest that she feels comfortable enough to use my office as a safe space.
“Her mom went postal again.” Cassandra comes around the corner, lowering her voice as we both stare in on the sleeping teenager in my office.
The scent of cleaner and pizza sauce comes off her; those end-of-night smells familiar in my bones. Everything in this place is since I’ve been the manager after returning from college. From the wood paneling in my office that hasn’t changed since the eighties to the word art sign hanging just above the back door that reads “Mangia is Family,” everything at Hope Pizza is an integral part of who I am now.
“That college start date can’t come fast enough,” I grumble, concern plaguing my body, knowing she has so much time before she can move out.
“Only three months until graduation, and then two months after that. I wish she’d just move in with Patrick and me,” Cass muses, and I wish that August would accept their offer, too.
Cassandra Mauer, or I guess Ashton now, used to be one of the most famous actresses in Hollywood until she dropped it all to live the small-town life. What a lot of people don’t know is that she grew up here as an outcast of the community due to her father’s decisions. So, in that way, we’re very similar.
Only Cass and I know what it’s like to be in someone like August’s shoes; while the rest of the Ashton clan can sympathize, they’ve always felt unconditional love.
She and her husband, Patrick, just bought a house on the outskirts of town that they’re renovating before their first baby arrives within the year. I’m sure there is a room available for August, but she won’t take them up on moving in. Cass helps out on Friday nights at the restaurant, just like the rest of the Ashtons, and I know she’s had this conversation with our best waitress too many times to count.
“Me too, but forcing her will only make us the enemy in her eyes. August has to figure it out on her own, as much as we hate it.” I was in her position once upon a time.
“Anything else you need before I head out? Patrick and I are headed to the baby expo in Philly tomorrow, and my bed has been calling for hours.” She rubs a hand over her stomach.
“Nah, get out of here. Let my godson rest.”
“You know, if you keep making that joke, I think Liam really is going to punch you one of these times.” She chuckles low.
I’ve been threatening Liam that his brother will pick me to be the baby’s godfather instead of him, and that growly son of a bitch hates it every time. Which is why I keep doing it.
Cass gives me a side hug and then walks back down the hallway. I guess it’s time to wake August and offer her a ride home, even though I know she’ll refuse.
“Hey.” Jostling her shoulder gently, I watch as her eyes flutter to awareness.
August bolts upright, her delicate features etched with worry. “Oh my God, my tables! I should have helped bus them, I’m so sorry. Please don’t tell Thomas, I—”
“Auggy, calm down. You’re fine. Thomas would never be upset with you, don’t you know that by now? Everything is cleaned up in the dining room. That’s beside the point, though. You haven’t been sleeping at home, have you?”
Her eyes slide to the left, a tell that she’s about to lie to me, and I shake my head curtly as if to tell her not to try it. She stares at me for a moment, then her mouth turns down in a frown.
“Mom has been forcing me to deep clean the house almost every night. Will wake me up to say how lazy I am, how the baseboards aren’t clean, that I can’t go out with my friends until the showers have been scrubbed. She keeps saying that my uncleanliness reflects poorly on her.”
Her voice is so small and brittle that it ignites my bones with rage. I keep it in because she doesn’t deserve any more strife, but God, I fucking hate that woman. If she wants her house clean, how about she does it herself? How about she stops deflecting her insecurities, ugliness, and delusions onto her daughter?
“Come stay with me or go to Cass’s for the night. Please? Get some rest so you can deal.” I know asking her to move out will get us nowhere.
She turns eighteen in two months, and even though she could leave without consequence, I know she won’t do that either. Sometimes it’s easier to get stung by a singular bee than the wrath of pissing off the whole hive. Her mother is both in this example, of course.
“It’s fine. I drove here anyway.” August rises and grabs her backpack that was stored under my desk.
“How is the scholarship search coming?” Trying to change the subject might disguise my disappointment at her decision.
August was accepted at most of her top choices, being the brilliant kid she is, but of course, money is the deal-breaker. Her mother’s personality won’t allow August to go far, and because of that, the vile woman has committed no financial help to her daughter’s future. She has already rebuffed Thomas, Leona, and Cassandra multiple times when they’ve all offered to pay for college. She insists on getting a scholarship or paying her way through in loans, and the thought of her carrying more burden makes me sick.
“Heard from another one. I didn’t get it.” Her head hangs so low in defeat that I want to smash my fist into the wall. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Night, Warren.”
Without a backward glance, August shuffles out of my office.
My blood pumps too fast, ideas swarming my mind, and there is a tightness in my chest that I can’t ignore. The expression on August’s face was a trigger, and now I know.