3WW: Big Dreams

Three Word Wednesday has come around again, and thank you to ThomG for this fabulous community.

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Big Dreams

If I couldn't be a waitress, what else could I be? I walked home, apron jingling and heavy with coins, and stared at the sidewalk. Check-out girl at the supermarket. They might make me bag groceries first. I could do that. Work my way up. I'd been hinting -- incredibly subtly, for sure -- to the guy who ran the used book store that I could work there. I'd keep the books in order. I could add numbers in my head real well, and count back change like a pro. And then there was the ad I'd seen in the paper, for someone with good conversation skills to talk on the phone. Females only. It paid good. I could sit and talk on the phone -- they'd let you sit, wouldn't they? I wouldn't have to stand? Well, I was used to standing anyway. It wouldn't make a difference.

Yellow and green leaves fell next to me. The first falling leaves of September. I don't know why they fell; they were still soft-looking, not dried and crumbly. If I found another job soon, I'd have money for Christmas. Last Christmas, money had been tight. I had a feeling that Mandy and Lissa were still offended by my homemade gifts. I'd tried to make them sound charming and heartfelt, but they were married with babies and already had two-story homes with decks and garages. Mandy had given me a gift card for fifty dollars to Macy's. I'd tried to demure, like, "Oh, no, I can't take this, it's too much," but secretly, I was already thinking about some nice long johns and maybe even a pair of earrings. Lissa gave me a sweater from Express that I'd seen before; it cost eighty bucks. Maybe she got it on sale. It didn't matter. It was chunky and long and expensive, and I wore it every chance I got that winter, except when I was seeing them. I didn't want them to know I treasured it that much. I wanted them to think that I had other nice sweaters, from Express and Macy's and, I'd half-sort-of-pretended, Ann Taylor.

I could probably get a job at Ann Taylor. Except I kind of thought you needed the right wardrobe to work there. By the time I'd mentally gone through my closet and discarded all my options, I was home.

"Hey," Chris said when I walked in. I put my coin-filled apron on the counter. "How was work?"

I didn't dare tell him I'd been fired. His personality was... volatile under the best of circumstances. Instead, I said, "I think I'm gonna look for another job."

"Good. You're better than a waitress." He turned back to his TV Guide, circling possibilities for the day. He used pencil, so he could change his schedule. He was smart and organized like that. "How about some lunch?"

I put a pan on the stove and got out the bread. I'd make grilled cheese. My feet were killing me, but I was used to it. Standing. Walking. I thought about the change in my apron, how good I was at money. And I'd done pretty well in school. I was a good reader. I had a lot of skills. I'd just need to make them work for me. Soon. Real soon.

Macy and Lissa weren't going to be the only ones with babies.

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Thank you for stopping by. During the course of writing this, I dropped my toast with Nutella. Nutella-side down, of course. On my flash drive. You should know that I pulled it out of the laptop and licked it off. This is the kind of writer I am. One who licks food off her laptop.

Thanks again. Happy Wednesday. *lick*