Maya

“You don’t look so good, sugar.”

I look up from the cooler where I’m loading beer bottles from a case and give Grady a weak smile. “Nothing a box of Thin Mints won’t fix,” I tell him.

Or a vat of sherbert ice cream or Richard walking in here right now, taking me in his arms in front of everyone, and telling me he loves me.

God, I’m so tired. And weary. I couldn’t stand to look at him last night, and I wanted nothing more than to be away from him and out of his life.

I took my newly repaired VW and crashed at my sister’s, and then I came to work at ten to get ready for the lunch shift, and I’ve been here for twelve hours now, staying long after the schedule dictated.

My anger and resolve are still there, but so is the sadness…