ngl I picked sarah snyder to play the role as wren like a year ago when I first started drafting this story she just fits it so well
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Wren
I arrived at Louis' around 6pm. It was freezing outside, below twenty degrees for sure-- as it always is in Illinois-- and I was greatly appreciative to get through the front doors into the warm, noisy atmosphere.
They were packed today, and I couldn't comprehend why. It wasn't a holiday or important event, and no matter how many times I combed back through my memory, trying to figure it out, I was blank. They must be this busy on any normal occasion, which got me excited. If I land this job, I'll get some pretty good sized tips on a regular basis.
It was a challenge to get up to the counter, but I elbowed my way through the people standing around, waiting to be seated.
"Hi," I say to the woman on the other side of the desk, her face displaying a state of stress as she holds an armful of menus, trying to gather them into one place.
She looked distressed, as if she was the only one working here tonight and all the burden was on her.
She must not have heard me, because she doesn't even look up. I stand awkwardly, clearing my throat and repeating, "excuse me?"
She sighs into her words, "one moment please."
I uncomfortably look around the room, my eyes landing on the several flat-screens hung from every angle, visible to everyone in every corner of the room.
Each eye was staring at the screens like it contained secrets, disregarding their untouched plates of food, their fists clenched, prepared to explode.
Dad used to like watching football games, before all the Haven stuff happened, and happy times like those were stripped away from him.
I remember when I was little, I was the official beer-carrier. Him and Mom and all of their friends gathered in the den to watch, and I'm pretty sure the neighbors could hear their yelps each time a score was made, or just out of reach.
All of the kids would gather in the game-room upstairs to play, but that always got boring to me, since back then, there wasn't much to do.
So I would always sit on the few pieces of tile in the back of the den, by the sink and the mini-fridge, and I would eat all of their chips and snacks and laugh at Dad and his buddies getting all worked up over a silly game.
Whenever I think about that, my throat constricts and my eyes start to sting. Those moments are replaced by occupations, distractions, things he does to keep his mind off of his deceased daughter-- and his living one.
Occupations-- like spending type at the "gym". Or staying at "work" overtime. It was so obviously false, it was like putting up a completely glass, see-right-through front door and wondering who's knocking on the other side.
"Okay, sorry about that, how can I help you?" the woman behind the counter finally sets down her menus, standing on her tiptoes to see me.
She appeared to be relatively young, probably only a few years older than me. Her dark, glossy hair was chopped off into an edgy-looking pixie cut, a look that suited her.
"Yeah, um, I filled out this application for a job?" I dangle my paper in the air as proof, biting my lip from nerves. "I have waitress experience."
"We're not hiring," she says, though she seems unsure of that statement, as if it hadn't been double-checked.
"Right, I know, but-- "
I was just about to explain to her that I got an application from an employee, but the old woman who was standing behind me when I walked in suddenly jabs into my rib cage, leans over the counter, and groans, rather irritably, "my husband and I have been waiting for an hour and a half. Please get me my table, now."
The girl looks regretful, the worry in her eyes cornering as she places a finger on her puckered lip, looking around for assistance.
"I'm terribly sorry," she exhales. "I'll get you your table right away."
Then, to my surprise, she turns to me.
"You want a job?" she asks me.
It took me a while to realize she actually wanted me to answer. I fiddle with my fingers, my gaze fixed on her brief, benign eyes. "Um.. what?"
"Stand here and tell people you'll be right with them when they complain," she instructs, stepping on my side of the counter and urging me to follow her. "If they ask how long it'll be, ask them for their name and check for it on a pretend list. Then tell them it should be shortly."
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" I finally manage a sentence, standing on her side of the counter now, gazing out at the swarm of chaos before me.
She nods her head, but her presence was already needed somewhere else, her mind preoccupied as she walked backwards, towards the impatient old woman and her husband.
"You have waitress experience, right?"
When I don't answer, she gives me a reassuring smile. "You'll be fine. It's easy. We'll discuss that application later, but we need you now. Just do it, okay? You'll totally save my ass. The boss is a killer."
And before I could even form a reply, she tells the old couple to follow her, and she disappears down the crowded hallway towards the occupied, and extremely few vacant, messy tables.
Most of the customers were gathered at the bar, anyways. It had the best view of the tv's. Dad would've loved to come, had he not been working late tonight.
***
Dace was supposed to pick me up at 10pm.
I waited outside of Louis', my arms wrapped around my torso, trying to shield myself from the icy wind. He should've been there by then, but the only cars that passed by the interest whizzed by, didn't stop.
I'd called him thrice by 10:30pm, left countless voicemails-- all consisting of the usual where are you, you were supposed to be here, are you okay, call me back please-- all of which were left unanswered and disregarded.
By 10:45, I gave up, turning around and heading back inside the building.
I see the girl who gave me the job standing behind the open bar, wiping down the dirty, sticker countertop using the rag that wasn't draped over her left shoulder, spraying it repeatedly with a recycled bottle of windex.
I'd learned after a few hours of waitressing, that her name was Marlene-- and she was the only one working here because she promised to cover one of the waiter's shifts, who had promised to cover one of the other's shifts, and long story short; there were only two people running this place on its busiest night of the year.
It was empty, now, the last few people having left a few minutes after ten.
She looks up at me with one eye, then returns to her scrubbing.
"Hey, Wallflower," she mumbles, her voice echoing across the room.
"Huh?" I raise one eyebrow.
"You know, 'cause you're socially awkward," she smacks her gum, and even from the opposite side of the room, I could see all eight of her golden earring studs lining her cartilage gleaming under the light.
"Oh," I suppress a laugh. "Listen, um, what time are you going home?"
"As soon as I get this dump looking decent. Why, you need a ride or something?"
"Yeah," I say quietly, feeling bad for asking.
"No problem," she nods, still not even gazing in my general direction, all of her focus on the bar counter. "You wanna help me clean up first?"
I look around, only uncertain momentarily. I lean unquestionably towards yes, because with me being a jumpy and problematic waitress, sweeping and mopping is the easiest, most comfortable setting for me.
I walk towards one of the tables and lift the chairs one by one, placing them side by side on the tables so it was easier for me to sweep beneath them.
I walked from set to set, doing this to each table while Marlene carried dirty dishes off into the dimly lit kitchen.
She comes back, and I almost forget she was here for a moment, her unwavering gape filling mine.
"You get stood up?"
I avert my eyes down at the floor, searching around for a broom. "Uh, yeah."
"Can't drive?"
I sigh. "I need a car to drive."
She parts her bright red lips, placing one hand on her widened hip as she stalks across the room to open up a storage closet and pull out a broom for me.
"Keep up the good work," she smiles, her eyes in slits from all the dark makeup surrounding them, "and you'll be buying a car in no time. Finish sweeping and we'll hit the road, yeah?"
I nod, taking the broom from her hand, which wrapped around the clutch so that her black, painted fingernails reached the ends of each other. Something about her made me think of Haven, and her loud, immediately-striking beauty, one that didn't take long for you to notice.
I arrived home by midnight.
***
umm yeah so no spoilers but shawn drama in the next chapter ayye