I throw my dirty apron into the wash and am collecting my bag when Tabitha enters the locker room, looking as exhausted as I do.
“Wow, I’m beat,” she says, slumping onto the lone plastic chair sitting near my locker. “Where are you off to now?”
“Home,” I reply, not wanting to confess my home is actually a motel room.
“Do you want to get a coffee? I know that sounds stupid, seeing as we serve it all day. But there’s a little coffee shop up the road open twenty-four hours, and they have the best pie selection,” Tabitha asks, hopeful I’ll say yes.
I don’t know what to say. I’ve never been invited anywhere before, and I’m touched she would ask. But I can’t. What would I say? I’m not good in social situations. And what if she starts crying again?
“I wish I could, but I can’t… I have a few
