Loving You Differently

One

Aria Adkins

The clanking of dishes and a loud "Ah, shit!" snaps me out of my reverie. I look up from the coffee-stained countertop and watch as Sidney, my boisterous coworker, struggles to clear a booth in her section. As expected, no one in the surrounding booths bats an eye. If you've ever dined at RJ's, even if only once, you can usually find Sidney clambering around from table to table, cursing loudly when she drops a dish or two. Which still to this day confuses the hell out of me since she's worked here longer than any of us, yet still clumsily causes the most messes.

I don't bother to help her, knowing that if I even take a step in her direction she'll bite my head off.

While I tend to keep to myself, I couldn't help but allow Sidney into my inner circle. Granted it was a very small circle, but if I had to consider anyone close to me a best friend, it would be Sidney.

I don't hesitate in jumping down her throat though when she rounds the corner and angrily tosses the plastic bin of dishes into the window behind us. Anthony, head cook, shoots her a confused look. I don't blame him; very rarely does she have an off day like this.

"You good?" I ask her. Sidney is usually so upbeat and energetic it's almost annoying. She reminds me a lot of Savannah in that sense; always excited and in a good mood.

"I'm pissed," she says lowly, her southern twang reverberating around us, "I am so god damn pissed off that I could choke slam someone."

I pause from tightening the black apron around my waist and dramatically take a step back. "Someone? Or just Lincoln Matheson?" I tease.

"Don't start," she huffs, rolling her eyes at me.

I snort, wiping the sweat off of my forehead and dig a five dollar bill out of my apron. Anthony pockets the cash and salutes me as he continues cooking and frying up food. Sidney notices and flips me off as I shoot her a teasing smirk. Sidney and Lincoln were always having problems, and every employee on the payroll knew that and used their relationship problems as an opportunity to make a few dollars. Sometimes Sidney herself even places bets on when she thinks their relationship will crumble next.

Love, huh? Is that what they call it these days?

I glance over at Sidney, raking my eyes over her dark, flushed skin, messy hair, and rumpled white t-shirt. Lunch ended about fifteen minutes ago, and it had been a hectic hour of delivering the daily special to every table and booth in the building.

My own white t-shirt is suffocating and tight against my chest, and I'm sure I probably have sweat peeking through the thin fabric. My jeans chafe against my thighs, my face sweaty and my dark hair hot against the nape of my neck, not to
mention the fact that my feet are killing me.

My shift here ends at three, but lucky me, I also have to work a four to ten shift at the dive bar downtown tonight. That barely leaves me an hour to get changed from one uniform to the next, and God I wouldn't be surprised if both of my feet completely fall off after today. I usually try not to work two shifts in one day, but the bills are kicking my ass at the moment. However, no matter how much I gripe and complain, I'll take on anything that becomes available to me right now.

The loud chiming of the bell above the front door stops me from any further interrogation about Sidney and her on-again off-again lover, and I take that as my cue to fish my notepad from my apron and slap on a small, fake smile. I'm sure it looks more like a pained grimace, but the customers that dine here only care if the food and service is good.