Grown-up (7 page)

Although she nodded, he could tell she wasn’t yet convinced. She moved a box containing voodoo-doll key chains from one spot on the counter to another and then straightened a stack of promotional postcards. “So why are you looking now?”

He could have bullshitted her; he’d done it before. He’d told tales of store closings, of interfering nepotism, of reduced hours due to the economy. But he liked Tabby, and he was tired of making up stories. Plus, she seemed like the type who might actually try to verify what he told her. “I got fired,” he admitted. “From a shoe store in the mall. I had issues with getting there on time.”

To his surprise, her demeanor softened slightly. Maybe she was impressed with the truth. “So why should I hire you?”

Fair enough question. “Because I’m trying really hard not to screw up again. I even have a… sort of life coach helping me out. I’m already a more responsible citizen
and
I separated my whites from my colors.” He brushed his fingers across his red shirt. “Plus I’m a hard worker and I’m good with people. And I can make change or pretty up displays like you wouldn’t believe.”

Tabby’s fingernails matched the colors of her hair. She tapped one nail on the counter as she considered. She must have reached a decision, because she bent, retrieved a paper from beneath the counter, and slid it across to him. “Fill this out. Pay’s fifteen an hour, which I know isn’t great, but I can give you forty hours a week. If you work out, we’ll talk a raise and benefits after a couple months.”

“Sounds great,” he said honestly. Anything above minimum wage would be good right now.

She pointed a purple nail at him. “But if you’re late or you miss a shift, you’re out of here. I have a small staff and I can’t afford no-shows.”

“I promise not to flake.”

He filled out the form, and then he and Tabby discussed schedules. He wanted to keep the deli job, but they were able to work around that. She told him he could begin Monday.

Maybe he didn’t quite have a song in his heart when he left Gifted—maybe just a ringtone—but he certainly felt less hopeless. He had a paying gig close to home, so no trauma if his car was being an asshole. And this time, he vowed he wouldn’t fuck it up.

He still had time before his evening shift at the deli, but he felt too lazy to walk back to his apartment. Besides, if he went there, he’d be in danger of being seduced by a nap and not waking up on time. That had happened before. So he strolled awhile longer, peering at window displays of stuff he couldn’t afford. Several years earlier he’d maxed out three credit cards buying unnecessary crap. Sam had bailed him out that time too, but only with the proviso that Austin cut up the plastic. Although Austin had chafed over it at the time, now he was thankful. Being a grown-up would suck even worse if he was buried in debt.

But thoughts of Sam reminded him that he had a task to do. He pulled out his phone and called his father, who hated to text.

“What’s up?” Sam asked. He sounded a little wary, which wasn’t fair. Okay, maybe it
was
fair.

“I thought you should be the first to know I’m now gainfully employed.”

“Oh?”

“Yep. Full-time, not slave wages, close to home. So I can’t come in to the factory anymore. But when I get a little ahead on the bills, I’ll pay you back.” Austin leaned against the exterior wall of an ice cream place and tried to decide whether he was hungry.

“You don’t have to pay me back, Ozzy. Just… I’m glad you found a job so quickly.” He didn’t actually warn Austin not to screw up again, but Austin could read his father’s thoughts even from across town. Who needed texting when you had intrafamily ESP?

“I’m glad too. And this place is going to work out. It’s just up the street from Rosenberg’s.”

“Sounds perfect.”

It was. Except there was something niggling at Austin’s brain, some tiny little voice telling him he should feel less contented with his new situation.
Shut up
, he wanted to tell the voice.
It’s not like I’m qualified to do anything better.
But the voice only lifted its eyebrow at him—and how the hell could an inner voice lift an eyebrow?—indicating that Austin was full of shit. The desire for a more prestigious or better-paying job was not the problem here.

“There
is
no problem,” Austin said. Out loud, into his phone, which probably confused the hell out of Sam.

But Sam must have been used to Austin’s odd outbursts, because he ignored this one. “Best of luck with it, son.”

“Thanks, Dad. Say hello to Bill for me.”

After they disconnected, Austin decided he wasn’t in the mood for ice cream after all. Instead, he walked a couple of blocks to the indie coffeehouse with the funky art on the walls and the cute hipster baristas. He nursed a large iced coffee, watched the pedestrians wander by outside the window, and pretended everything was just peachy.

W
ORKING
AT
Gifted turned out to be fun. He liked working for Tabby, and his coworkers were nice. Most shoppers were in a good mood in a store like that and very few came in with obnoxiously specific desires, so pleasing the customers was easy. The traffic was heavy enough that he kept busy, which meant the days went by quickly. And he got paid to play with toys, which was always a plus.

One of the waitresses at Rosenberg’s was stricken with appendicitis on Wednesday, and when Gopal called to offer him extra shifts, Austin couldn’t say no. By the time he dragged himself home each night, all he could do was fall into bed, with barely the energy to text Randy and Colton his refusals for dancing.

But goddamn if he didn’t clock in on time to every one of his shifts at
both
jobs—every single day for two fucking weeks. It was a miracle.

An even bigger miracle occurred when the stars aligned and he ended up with not one but
two
days off. In a row. He spent the first day grocery shopping, laundering, and cleaning his room. He washed the dishes and wiped down the counters even though it wasn’t his turn. He even took a big plastic bag out to the parking lot and removed every bit of trash from his car. Maybe he didn’t go so far as to hang a pineapple-coconut-scented tree from the rearview mirror, but at least when he was done, the car looked more like a vehicle and less like a dumpster. That night he sat on the couch with Rob, refused bong hits, and watched several episodes of the original
Star Trek
.

The next day was Wednesday. “Hump day,” Rob said from the couch when Austin emerged from his bedroom. Then Rob giggled. Austin didn’t know whether the guy had spent the whole night there or if he’d crawled back to his cavelike bedroom for a few hours. Also, Austin didn’t know why it mattered to Rob what day of the week it was, considering that Rob had no discernible obligations.

But Austin nodded agreeably. “Yep.” He wandered into the kitchen and was happy to discover that Kyle hadn’t eaten the bacon Austin had bought the day before. Whistling happily, Austin fried himself a delicious, artery-clogging plateful, then sat at the kitchen table to consider his day. He didn’t have any plans. But he hadn’t made time for exercise lately, so maybe he should hit the gym. And then, perhaps, he could…. Suddenly he remembered his list. Shit. He’d been so busy performing a few of the items that he hadn’t thought to see what else he should be doing.

And then a sickening realization hit him so hard that he dropped his fork. Fuck! He’d been going about his life for the past two weeks without so much as a howdy to Ben, who’d been so nice to him. He could have at least let Ben know he’d found a job. Yeah, most likely Sam had mentioned it, but Austin should have said something too.

He took out his phone and began a text but got only one letter into it before he stopped.
I
. Right. I what?
I got a job?
Well, duh.
I managed to go a whole fourteen days without getting fired?
Well, la-di-da. Alert the media and strike a medal.

I miss you
, he typed.

No! That was inappropriate and… weird. Austin erased it immediately.

He sat in the kitchen with his phone in hand, watching the bacon congeal on his plate, until finally he sighed. Abandoning his meal—like any good scavenger, Kyle would find it eventually—Austin stood, checked the hour, and tucked the phone back into his pocket. It was almost eleven thirty. He most likely had time.

He didn’t ask himself why he changed into the blue shirt that brought out the color of his eyes. And he didn’t question why he stopped in the bathroom to add some product to his hair and fuss until he got it spiked and swirled just right. He also didn’t shave—but was that spurred by day-off-from-work laziness or by the knowledge that he looked pretty good with stubble? Best not to ask.

During the drive to Sam’s, Austin sang loudly with the radio and did not think.

Just as he walked through the factory door, he saw Ben, who was about to enter the office area. Ben froze when he saw him and, by all appearances, almost dropped the stack of papers he held. He definitely gaped. But only for a moment, and then he mumbled something, averted his gaze, and began to walk away.

“Wait!” Austin called, hurrying to catch up.

“He’s in the back. I’ll tell him you’re here.”

“I didn’t come to see Sam.”

That made Ben slow his pace, but he still didn’t look at Austin. “Oh?”

“I came to talk to you, actually.”

For a moment Ben glanced over at him. Then his shoulders tightened into a half shrug. “You need more help with your list.”

“Actually, no. I think I pretty much have the maturity thing covered, at least for now. I just…. Can I take you out to lunch? So we can talk?”

Austin was positive Ben was going to refuse. The guy even started to shake his head. But then he stopped and gnawed his lower lip before heaving a noisy sigh. “Okay.”

“It’s not going to be a
painful
lunch, Ben. I’m not going to torture you or ask you for money. I won’t even make you eat with bears.”

“I didn’t mind the bears,” Ben mumbled. He gave a tiny smile. “All right. Let me just take care of this first, okay?”

Whatever
this
was, it took about fifteen minutes. While he waited, Austin exchanged friendly hellos with a few members of the crew. Then he wandered to the back, where he found Sam deep in conversation with one of his employees. Sam looked surprised to see Austin—and not at all happy.

“What are you doing here?” Sam asked, then winced slightly, as if ashamed of his accusatory tone.

Austin smiled at him. “I have the day off. I’m taking Ben out to lunch. He helped me with some stuff and I wanted to thank him.”

Now Sam just looked astounded. “You— Oh.”

“Don’t worry, Dad. I haven’t gotten my ass fired and I don’t need cash. I’ve made a lot of tips lately, in fact.”

“That’s great to hear, kiddo.”

“You look busy. I’ll get out of your hair. See you later!” He could feel Sam watching him as he walked away, but Austin didn’t mind. It was nice to exceed his father’s expectations for once.

As Ben drove, Austin directed him to a place called Upper Crust, about fifteen minutes from the factory. “I know it doesn’t look like much,” Austin said as they pulled into a nondescript strip mall, “but the sandwiches are amazing. They make their own bread.”

Ben parked between a Lexus and a Mini. He was a careful driver and a precise parker, positioning himself exactly in the middle of the lines. “How do you know all these places? I’ve lived here almost my whole life and I’ve never heard of them.”

“Dunno. I’ve always eaten out a lot, plus I have a lot of friends in the biz. How about you? What do your friends mostly do?”

Instead of answering, Ben got out of the car and shut the door. They walked across the lot, which had been freshly resurfaced and still smelled faintly of tar. Austin reached the restaurant first, so he held the door for Ben, and then they waited for seats. “I don’t think I have as many friends as you do,” Ben said quietly.

Before Austin could reply, the hostess appeared and took them to a table.

The décor was witty: chandeliers made of gold-colored plastic with hanging baubles, paintings intended to parody ancestral portraits, tablecloths that looked like lace but were actually printed paper. The walls were painted to suggest fussy wallpaper gone slightly astray. The menus sported a typeface with lots of unnecessary swirls and flourishes.

Ben looked slightly puzzled. “What’s the deal?” he asked, waving at a shelf of faux Ming vases.

“It’s a bad pun. You know, upper crust. Upper class. Don’t worry—you can enjoy the food and ignore the humor.”

“Ah, I get it.” Ben buried his face in the menu for a minute or two. “Anything you recommend?” he asked without looking across the table.

“Everything’s good. I’m having the Monte Cristo.” Because he hadn’t terrified his arteries enough with the bacon that morning.

Ben closed his menu and set it on the table. “Sounds good.”

They sat a little awkwardly until they ordered, and even after the waitress went away, an uneasy silence lay between them. Finally Ben cleared his throat. “So you found a new job?”

Grateful to have a start at conversation, Austin nodded eagerly. “Yeah. It’s this shop called Gifted. I’m manning a cash register again, but that’s fine. It’s not a bad place at all, and it’ll pay the bills.”

“Sounds great.”

“I guess. I mean, yeah, it is. But….” Shit. This was hard. “I feel bad.”

Ben drew his brows together. “About what?”

“You really stepped up to the plate for me, and then I kinda just dumped you. I mean, I know we’re not besties or anything, but I was definitely starting to feel like we were friends. Then I took off without a word.”

The lenses of Ben’s glasses were thick, and when he blinked like that, he reminded Austin of an owl. “So this lunch is an apology?”

“An apology. A thank-you for your help. And also….” God, Austin suddenly wished he’d taken them someplace with alcohol. “I dumped all my issues on you. You know my entire life story. And I hardly know anything about you. Other than that you’ve worked for Sam a long time and once had a steady boyfriend. And I’d like to know more.”