Better Late than Never

VIII. Octo

VALERIA

My first shift was...interesting.

Five hours of Jason attempting to "show me the ropes" was really just him being an awkward mess. Let's just say that I ended up having to show him how to turn on the milkshake blender.

But I didn't mind.

We are in my car again, driving to his house. He doesn't say much, probably embarrassed.

The pink tinge to his cheeks hasn't gone anywhere in 6 hours.

"Thanks for training me, Jason," I say.

He looks at me, slightly surprised.

"Uh, yeah! Sure! Sorry, I was a little...rusty. Ha." he trails off.

"It's fine. I learned a lot."

"Well, I'm glad," he responds, smiling now.

I pull up to his house. It's a nice 2-story home, maybe newly built not too long ago.

Jason doesn't get out right away, though. He looks out the windshield as if trying to think of something to say.

"Well," I start. "See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah! See you in homeroom."

"I had a great day with you, Jason. I'm glad I sat next to you in homeroom."

"Me too. I mean, I'm glad too. That you sat next to me. And that I got to hang out with you. And that we're working together. It's cool..." he stammers.

I smile at his awkwardness.

Jason gets out of the car thanking me again for the ride. As he walks to his front door, I roll down my window.

"Have a good night, Mr. Flynn!" I say through the window at his retreating back.

He stops and turns around before smiling widely and waving.

I watch as he enters his house and closes the door.

I smile as I turn the music up and head back home.

- - -

As I walk in the front door, I'm greeted by my mom, who's sitting on the couch, eating pizza.

"Hey, mamá." I greet, taking my shoes off and putting my bag down.

"How was your first day of work, mijita?" she asks, giving me a warm hug.

"It was pretty good! Jason trained me, actually." I smile at the memory.

"Jason?" my mom questions. "The same Jason you met yesterday? The same Jason who walked you to your classes yesterday? That Jason?"

I find myself blushing lightly at her questioning.

"Yes, mamá. That Jason."

"Hm," she replies, slightly smiling.

"What does that mean?"

"Oh, nothing mijita. No te preocupes," she replies, still slightly smiling, as if it's some inside joke, before going back to her show on TV.

"There's pizza on the counter. I didn't feel like cooking," she tells me.

"Ok, thank you," I say, grateful to move on from the inevitably awkward conversation that thankfully didn't happen.

Well, yet anyway.