Hearts and Heels

05 // in which jen suffers a hard day

          I jolt awake, my eyes snapping open to the sharp ray of sunlight as I realize that I’ve slept a little too much and that I may or may not be super duper late for work. Turning to the bedside table, I grab my phone that I’ve been snoozing, and see that it’s quarter past one.

          “Oh crap,” I whisper. I should be in Lava Java by now since my shift starts from one to seven. I’m forty five minutes late. I groan, swinging my legs to the side of the bed, and running towards the bathroom with a towel in hand. I yelp as my shin made contact with my study desk table, and I start jumping around in pain.

          However, I still make my way to the bathroom, and try to hurry as fast as I can, because there’s only one thought running through my mind ever since I woke up this morning:

          Olivia’s going to be so pissed.

          »          »          »

          I put up a fake small smile as I walk into the small homey café, hoping that Olivia won’t see me at all—or maybe she didn’t even realize that I’m late. Yeah, I’m going to hope for that. I catch Tim’s gaze where he’s standing, taking a customer’s order on his notepad. He gives me a look that says, ‘where have you been?’

          “Later,” I mouth, and then trot over to the cashier place, taking in my apron, and quickly putting it on me. Layla’s busy at the counter, but I don’t forget to greet her, “Sorry, I’m late.”

          She hands the customer their cheesecake on a plate, and then turns to me with eyebrows raised. “You should be saying that to Olivia.”

          I open my mouth to say something, but someone’s familiar low pitched yet feminine voice interrupts me, “Jen.”

          Recognizing the aforementioned woman, I close my eyes and hope that she won’t scold me. I’ve had enough of those this month. I sigh before spinning on my heel, and facing my jet black haired manager whose head is popped out of the door that leads to the kitchen. “Hey, Olivia.”

          She raises a perfectly arched eyebrow, and then signals me to follow her into the kitchen. She disappears behind the door, and I follow her inside with a frown. When the door automatically shut behind me, I notice the wrinkles on Olivia’s forehead; probably from furrowing her eyebrows at me all the time, her slightly narrowed dark brown eyes, and angry scowl on her features.

          And that’s how I know I’m done for.

          “Jen, do you know exactly how many times you’ve been late to work this month?” she starts off. I’m about to answer, but then she does it for me by crying out, “Eleven times!” I touch my right elbow nervously, and look down at the ground—a habit of mine whenever I feel uncomfortable. “That is way too many times, do you know that? No one here has ever been that late many times! I would’ve been okay with it if you were at least ten minutes late, but an hour? God, Jen, are you trying to kill me?”

          Deep breaths, Jen. Deep breaths.

          “You should’ve been fired long ago, but if it weren’t for Layla—“

          “Layla?” I interject, my voice small. What did she do?

          She frowns at me, disliking how I interrupted her. However, she answers, “Yeah, her and your thug of a friend, Tim.”

          “Thug?” I repeat incredulously, raising my eyebrows a little. Why would she call him a thug? Tim’s far from a ‘thug’.

          She waves me off, “That’s beside the point. The point is if it weren’t for them convincing me not to fire you, then you wouldn’t be here at all, Jen. You see, it’s not only me who’s upset, Jen. You’re disappointing your friends as well, because they believe better than skipping or coming in late for work, because of your boyfriend. It’s not like I’m telling you to break up with him—“