The Moretti Clause

The first thing Imani registered was the light coming through from the window. Too bright. She turned over, pulled the sheet over her head and gave herself maybe three seconds before her brain kicked in, she immediately grabbed her phone from under her pillow. 10:23am. She stared at it. Then she sat up so fast she almost fell off the bed. "Oh f**k. f**k. FUCK." She was supposed to be at the diner by nine. Nine. As in an hour and twenty three minutes ago. As in her boss Sandra who had absolutely no patience and absolutely no problem making that known was probably already blowing up her phone. She didn't even check. No time. She threw herself out of bed, and kept moving. Bathroom. Toothbrush. She was brushing with one hand and pulling her headscarf off with the other and the face looking back at her in the mirror was not inspiring confidence. Her curls were smashed on one side and doing their own separate thing on the other and she had a mark on her cheek from the pillow and her eyes had that particular look of someone who had gotten maybe a few hours of sleep if she was being honest. She'd gotten home at three. The bartending shift had run long because some group had decided to extend their little birthday situation and the tips were decent enough that she'd stayed. She'd thought about setting her alarm when she got home. She had genuinely thought about it. Apparently thinking about it was where she'd stopped. "Imani." She nearly swallowed the toothbrush. Nico was in the bathroom doorway holding two coffees, looking at her with that expression he had. The one that was concerned and amused at the same time and he never even tried to hide the amusement part. He was in a yellow top and some jeans. Locs freshly done. Smelling like he'd had a full shower and a good morning and everything she currently did not have. "Girl." He looked her up and down. "What is happening?" She spat, rinsed, grabbed one of the coffees straight out of his hand. "Don't." "I'm not saying anything." "Good." "I'm just looking." "Nico." "I'm just standing here." She pushed past him back into the room and dropped to her knees to look under the bed for her sneakers. One was there. Just one. She stood up and looked around the room. "Where's my other shoe?" "By the door." She looked and there it was, she grabbed it, hopped trying to put it on, nearly took out the lamp. "What time you get in?" he asked. He'd sat himself down on her bed with his coffee like he was settling in for something. "Almost three." "Doing what." "The shift ran late, I just said that." "Mmhm." He sipped his coffee. "And what did I say about doubling up the waitress shift and then doing the bar thing after? What did I say, Imani?" "I needed the money, Nico." "I know you needed the money. I need money too. We all need money. That's not what I asked." "I don't have time for this right now." She was pulling her hair back, trying to make it look like a choice she made on purpose. It was fine. It was giving something. She didn't know what it was, but it was something. "Your curl is just…" he made a vague gesture at the left side of her head. "I know." "You want me to…" "There's no time." She grabbed her apron from the chair and shoved it in her bag. Phone, keys, apron. That was everything. That had to be everything. "How'd you even get in?" "The door was unlocked." "Really." "Yep." "And I keep telling YOU to lock it before you sleep but you don't listen." He reached behind him and held out a muffin wrapped in a napkin. "Blueberry. Eat something." She stopped. Took the muffin. "Thank you." "Mmhm. Go before Sandra fires you." "She's not going to fire me." "She might fire you." "She's not…" she was already at the door "or maybe she will." "TEXT ME!." He called after her. She was already in the hallway. She got to the stairwell, looked down, and realized her shoelaces weren't tied well. She fixed them right there on the stairs and kept moving. Outside the heat hit her like a wall. New York in July was not playing with anybody. She started walking fast, muffin in one hand, coffee in the other, curls doing whatever they wanted at this point. She was going to be fine. She had to be fine. Being anything else wasn't really an option. She made it to the diner in eleven minutes which was honestly a personal record and said a lot about what fear could do for your cardio. She pushed through the door, the little bell above it announcing her arrival to everyone, including Sandra who was standing directly behind the counter with her arms crossed like she had been there specifically waiting. Sandra was a Dominican woman in her fifties who had been running this diner for twenty years and had the energy of someone who had seen everything and was tired of most of it. She looked at Imani the way a disappointed parent looks at a child who knows exactly what they did. "One hour and thirty four minutes," Sandra said. "Sandra I am so…" "Don't." She held up one finger. "Don't do the sorry thing. The sorry thing doesn't pay the people who had to cover your tables this morning." Imani pressed her lips together. "You're right." "I know I'm right." Sandra came around the counter, lowering her voice but not her energy. "Imani, I like you. You know I like you. You're one of my best when you're here. But this is the third time this month." "I know." "Third time." She held up three fingers in case Imani had forgotten what the number looked like. "You cannot keep doing this. I have a business to run. I have customers who come in at nine expecting service, not me telling them their waitress is somewhere sleeping." "I wasn't sleeping, I was…" she stopped because she was absolutely sleeping. "It won't happen again." "That's what you said last time." "I mean it this time." Sandra looked at her for a long moment. That look that saw more than Imani wanted her to see. Sandra had known her for two years and had on more than one occasion, slipped her an extra twenty at the end of a shift without saying anything about it and Imani had taken it without saying anything either because that was the understanding between them. "I'm not firing you today," Sandra said finally. Imani exhaled. "But Imani," Sandra pointed at her. "Next time I can't promise you that. You hear me? I need people I can count on." "Yes. I hear you." "Good." Sandra handed her an apron from behind the counter. "Table six has been waiting twenty minutes. Go." Imani tied the apron around her waist and went.