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Chapter Twenty · Four

(Becca Peterson plays in the image Deborah Ann Woll age: 24)

Eliza

It was Friday, mid-afternoon. I unpackaged the new clothes from our store's shipments that came in today and sorted them on racks in categories of style and material. I juggled between this and running the fitting rooms, which gets pretty hectic at times. I looked up at the huge round clock on the wall in front of me; the big hand on eight, and the small one approximately two-thirds till' it lands on four. I had twenty minutes left of my shift and I couldn't be happier. I was tired, annoyed with self-absorbed customers, and my shitty manager. On top of that, my feet hurt like hell. I could practically feel blisters forming at the bottom of my feet. I nod my head along to the poppy beat playing through the store's stereo speakers. I was nearly zoned out when I heard an overly loud clearing of a throat that made me turn around. There a young blonde woman stood, an annoyed look plastered on her face and a few dresses hanging on her arm. I put on the fakest smile and raised the pitch of my tone, attempting to exaggerate my enthusiasm for the customer in front of me. "Hi, how many clothes do you have?" I ask. The woman rolled her eyes at me. "Can you just let me into a fitting room? I have somewhere to be." She says, rudely. I nodded and pressed my lips together, forming a thin line. I turned and led the way to an empty room, taking out a key and opening the door. "There you go! If you have any questions, my name is-"
"Okay, yeah, whatever." The customer said, cutting me off and going into the changing room, shutting the door afterwards. There was so much I wanted to say, but instead I exhaled deeply.

I went back to sorting clothes on a rack and occasionally checking the time, getting disappointed when only a minute or two went by. I looked out the corner of my eye, checking for customers, and saw my store manager Stacey, whom I despised, approaching me. Oh, God. I mentally rolled my eyes. What could she possibly want from me now? I wondered. "Hi! Ella," she addressed me in a fake friendly, high-pitched tone. I stopped working and looked at her. "Eliza." I corrected it for the twentieth time. I've been working here a few months now, and she seems to never remember my name, either that or she does it purposely to piss me off. If that's her goal, then sadly, it worked, because I was irritated even more. She shot me a look of distaste, rolling her eyes at me. "Right, whatever, you know what I mean. Um, anyway, I need you to stay until six o'clock because Lyla called off earlier and I need someone to help me close today," she said with a snotty attitude. I called her a bitch in my head, wishing I could just say it to her face, but again, I need this job.

"Are you asking or telling me?" I asked. "Mm, why not both?" She gave a sarcastic smile, batting her long and thick eyelashes. I'd like to slap that look right off her face. "Well, it seems I don't have a choice." I say. "Not if you want to keep your job, that is." She said, crossing her arms over her chest." She's challenging me. I know it. I huffed. "Sure, I'll stay." I said, turning back to sort. "Oh also, Ellie, be a doll for me when you're done sorting, I need you to put all those clothes out onto the floor as well and while you're at it, take out all the trash once the store is closed, please and thank you!" Afterwards, she walked away. I swear I would like to just choke her with pantyhose. I checked the clock once more and gave a frustrated sigh. Three–fifty–five. So much for going home soon.

************

I swear, Becca, I don't know how much more I can take. It's like she deliberately tries to give me a hard time." I vented to my best friend on the phone just as I relaxed on the sofa comfortably while on my second cup of red wine. It was now seven–thirty. I'd only been home for an hour. "I'm sorry hon, but don't let her take you out of character because all she wants is a reaction and if you don't give that to her, then she has nothing to use against you," she said. "Yeah, I know you're completely right. She just makes me feel like that same defenseless little girl I was in grade school all over again. It was hell back then." I say. "I understand, El, but did you hear what you just said, 'was' right? So it's not who you are anymore. You are a beautiful, intelligent young woman and a fucking bad ass. Don't you forget that." She said, which caused me to smile. Just when I opened my mouth to speak, there was an unexpected knock at my door. I furrowed my eyebrows. "Hey Becca, I'll call you later–someone's at the door."  
"Okay, talk to you later." I ended the call and tossed my phone down onto the empty sofa cushion next to me.

I got up and sat the half empty glass of wine on the ash-gray wooden tv stand before walking over to the front door. I unlocked it, then opened it up. I was greeted by two familiar faces: my mom and dad. "Mom–Dad?" I say this in utter shock. "Hi, honey!" Mom said cheerfully, wasting no time pulling me into a tight hug. "Hey, sweetheart." Dad greeted me, planting a kiss on my cheek. His short, neatly tapered and salt-peppered beard felt like a soft bristle brushing gently against my face. "What are you guys doing here? Is everything alright?" I questioned them curiously. "Of course, darling. Everything is fine. We just came down for a surprise visit. Now don't be rude, Eliza, invite us in." Said mom. Well, this is just great. I moved aside and allowed them to step inside. I shut the door behind them, locking it again.

(Inside of Eliza's home above.)

"Um, honey, when's the last time you've decorated?" Mom asked, looking around while taking off her white faux-mink coat, displeased with the lack of decorations. "I-" I said, before dad interrupted. "Oh, leave her alone, Marina. She probably hasn't had time for that with all the college stuff she's been doing. Isn't that right, sweetie?" Dad said, answering for me and wrapping an arm around my shoulder. "Right, dad." I gave a nervous laugh."I'm just saying, Matt, she could've called me or something." She went on. "So, how long are you guys here for?" I asked, ignoring mom's last comment. "Just for the weekend, we know you have exams to study for. Speaking of studying, have you studied?" Mom questioned me. "Yeah, I have been here and there." I lied, taking a seat on the middle cushion of the sofa. "What does that mean?" She took a seat next to me while my dad sat on the other side of me. "Mom, yes." I replied in a slightly annoyed tone, refraining from rolling my eyes.

"Good. Now, what's for dinner? You did cook, didn't you?"
"Marina-" Dad started, but got cut off by mom. "Oh Matt, hush." She waved a hand at him dismissively. "Um, no, actually, I was planning on eating this microwaveable cuisine." I responded, a little ashamed. Mom gave a look of disapproval. "Oh no, Eliza, how dare you put that poison in your body? It's not good for you, you should have a real meal." She scolded me." Come on, grab your things. We're taking you out for dinner." She stood up, grabbing her coat from the arm of the sofa and throwing it around herself before slipping her arms through the sleeves. "Mom, I don't really feel like—" I tried to decline, but I was cut off again. "No, no, Eliza, no daughter of mine will eat such junk. Matt, help me out here." Mom insisted. "Honey, maybe we should let her decide if that's what she'd like to do." Dad told her. "Matt! You can't be okay with her eating a frozen dinner." I swear she's so unreasonable, had to have everything her way. Dad sighed. "I didn't say that I was. I'm just saying she's an adult who should make her own choices." He defended me. I jumped up from my seat. "You know what? It's okay, we can go. Can we go, now, please?" I interjected, grabbing my things. I refuse to sit here and listen to them both bicker like children. It was starting to give me a really bad headache. "After you, sweetheart." Dad said, fixing his asphalt–colored suit. Can this day get even worse?

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