Willowcliffe

Taylor

God, her feet were killing her. It wasn't just that she was on her sixth hour of her shift, it was that her feet was so damn flat it felt like she was barefoot on concrete. She had tried everything too: foam inserts, extra thick socks, shoes with arch support. She once even tried wrapping her feet in athletic tape and stuffing cotton balls inside. But nothing helped the feeling of bones grinding on the ground. 

Taylor wanted to sit for just one minute. There were no chairs in their back work area, so her only options were sitting on the ground or the toilet. Both appealed to her at the moment. But, as always, the second that the thought of taking a break enters her head, there was Drake, ascending down on her like he just appeared from thin air. 

"Miss Taylor," he said in his deep voice, seeming to reverb through her body. Drake was only about as tall as Taylor was, but had a voice that belonged to a seven-foot tall man who did voice-overs for men's shampoo commercials. His long hair was pulled into a bun behind his head, and his arms were covered in colorful tattoos of dragons, samurai, and koi fish. "Does Table 12 in the corner look like they need refills to you?" 

"12 isn't my table tonight," Taylor said back, tucking her stray hairs behind her ears. 

"So because they aren't your table, that takes away the right for them to be hydrated at dinner?" 

Okay, Taylor thought, that's a bit dramatic. But she learned a while ago that it was much easier to just go along with whatever Drake said than to ignore it or to fight back. 

Taylor worked at a tacoria called Cantina's as a waitress now for almost a year. They were one of those really hip and alternative shops that used jackfruit instead of carnitas and had three types of aiolis on the menu. The walls were covered in colorful paintings of sugar skulls and instead of normal lights, they used mason jars with paper cut-outs around them. The margaritas, which flavors' ranged from blood orange to lychee berry, came in fish bowls and metal straws with guitars and cows imprinted on. She always scoffed at the menu for calling them an "Authentic Taco Experience." Not that she had ever been to Mexico, but she doubted the abuelitas down there substituted queso fresco for vegan goat-milk curds. 

Despite Drake constantly breathing down her neck and nitpicking every little detail, she liked Cantina's. She made good tips and always stayed busy, with the tourist season in the summer and the college in the town over for the remaining months of the year. Everyone who worked there, except for Drake, was under the age of twenty-six, which turned closing shifts into social events with rap music on full volume like a club. 

However tonight, Taylor wanted nothing more for her shift to be over. It wasn't that she was tired, it was the exact opposite; she was full of energy. She felt as though working was wasting the potential of what she could be doing for the night. The tourist season was just about to begin, which meant that Willowcliffe and the surrounding areas would be experiencing an influx of boaters willing to buy drinks for pretty underaged girls who batted their eyelashes at them and laughed at all of their stupid jokes only divorced dads could tell. 

"I could go for a drink," Alyx said at the POS system as she was swiping the third card out of five her table had given her. 

"You could always go for a drink," said Taylor, flipping through her credit card sleeve. 

"Well, yeah," Alyx said back. "And I mean it this time. This table only had three people there and they paid with five cards. And I swear, they're going to give me zero tip. If I have one more fucking table like that, I'm going to lose my shit." 

"I think they'd appreciate it if you don't do that." 

Alyx smirked at Taylor. "You're gonna make me lose my shit too." Alyx was one of those people who was always about to lose their shit. It didn't matter if it was a picky customer at work, or if it was someone driving a little too slow in front of her, or if it was the neighbor's dog barking a little too loud. Her anger was constantly bottled and was about to snap at any given moment, she just waited for the trigger.