TANISHA
The caterers looked at me like I was asking them to hand over a kidney.
I smiled, begged, negotiated, apologized. It was a performance of emotional gymnastics, until they finally shoved a couple of recycled cardboard boxes into my hands, muttering under their breath about “inconveniences” and “unreasonable requests.”
I didn’t even defend myself. I was too tired, I was so done. I trudged back outside, clutching the warm takeout boxes like they were evidence in a crime, Christof and Pepa were already in the car. Of course they were.
The sleek black vehicle idled at the curb. Engine running, tinted windows glinting like it was mocking me. I walked up and tapped on the window I hoped was Pepa’s side. She sat there relaxed, like she hadn’t just sent me on a humiliating mission.
I
