I got home a little after ten and tucked my mom into bed because she fell asleep on the couch watching TV (as usual).
It took a little work, but eventually, I poured her onto her unmade mattress, hoping that she bothered to brush her teeth earlier. It doesn't smell like it when her mouth lolls open.
I watch her sleeping peacefully for a few seconds to be sure she's alright.
The light of the moon is peeking between the bent slats in our cheap blinds as she mumbles under her breath, so I slip out.
Later, I catch a glimpse of my face in the mirror over the sink in our bathroom and grimace.
My lack of makeup only highlights what little sleep I get these days.
My pale skin doesn't show a hint of my dad's Greek heritage. Instead, I've got a smattering of freckles across the bridge of my nose, and big expressive green eyes that have always betrayed me when it comes to games like poker.
My tangle of light brown hair is the only feature I'm really proud of, it's curly enough to get gnarled by the end of the day, but instead of being frizzy, it's lustrous and long.
I'm not skinny, but I'm certainly not fat because of all the hours I spend running around on my feet. In fact, the soft curves of my hips and breasts are really the only visible part of my Hellenic heritage.
Tonight though, I just look tired. There are slight violet shadows under my eyes that make me appear older than I am, and I swear I can see the beginnings of a pimple to the left of my nose.
Between working at the diner, going to night school, doing homework, and taking care of Mom, there's almost zero time for myself.
So, my daily shower is my sanctuary.
It's when I wash away the stress of my life while the hot water untangles the knots in my back.
As I'm raking my favorite lavender conditioner through my hair, Mr. Benedict's face pops into my mind.
I picture the way his eyes crinkle slightly at the edges when he breaks into that breathtaking smile he wears so well.
I'm sure he's very aware of the effect he has on women, I mean, how could he not? He's not just classically good-looking, the man is super hot.
I have to literally shake the memory of him out of my head to get myself back on track.
So what if Mr. Benedict is good-looking?
He's a teacher, who would never give a passing thought to some random student.
At least it'll be an easy class, and hopefully, I've found a new friend in Kiera.
***
"Eggs sunny side up for Otis and hot oatmeal for Agnes." I chirp, setting the hot plates down on the tabletop.
"Thank you, dear." My grandma says in her kind voice. "How's your mother?"
"She's doing fine." I hedge carefully.
Grandma and Grandpa haven't spoken to my mom since her arrest nearly a year ago.
"If you need anything, Moira, you can call us." Otis reminds me in his steady voice.
"We're fine Otis," I force a smile.
I love them for everything they've done for us, but I'm torn.
After my dad died, they took my mom and me in, rent-free.
For a while, Mom did alright. She worked at a local plastics plant and my grandparents helped us buy the trailer we now live in, despite their own financial limitations.
Then my mom got hurt on the job.
Her doctor prescribed Percocet for her back and everything just fell apart. My mom didn't care about anything but getting high, and eventually, she got fired for missing too much work. That's when everything started to get really bad.
Mom hid her addiction for a while, borrowing money from anyone she could. As soon as I turned sixteen, I dropped out of school and started working at Mike's while going to night classes for my GED.
My grandparents tried to help us, but when Mom was arrested for the third time while driving under the influence, they'd had enough.
Their absence has added to Mom's depression, and while I can't blame them for wanting to remove themselves from a bad situation, it hasn't been easy on me either.
"How's school?" Otis asks tucking a napkin into his mustard-colored shirt.
"It's going well," I smile. "I've got one more class and then I'll have my AA."
"How are those grades?" Agnes asks.
"I've got a three-point seven average," I report, knowing that'll make them happy.
"Ma'am?" A smarmy new voice got my attention. "Can I get a cup of coffee? Please?"
I know who it is before even turning around.
It's Rory Smithe, the biggest waste of space I've ever encountered.
His Ken-doll looks, expensive outfits, and his bottomless bank account made Rory one of the most eligible bachelors in Auburn when we were in high school.
"Hello, sir," I pretend to care. "Would you like decaf or regular?"
"Regular," he grins. "Got a big date later, and I need my energy."
"Coming right up," I reply, trying my best to keep some semblance of civility in my expression until I can turn around and gag.
"Oh, and ma'am?" He calls at my back. "Cream and sugar?"
In the five minutes it takes me to get to the counter and back, Rory has somehow wormed his way over to my grandparent's booth.
He's chatting with them animatedly like they were old friends, and it piques my anger, which I'm sure is what he was going for.
"Oh my goodness that's hilarious Grandma Schmidt!" Rory chuckles in his self-satisfied manner. "Moira never told me that story!"
"Well, it's family lore at this point," Otis says wiping a tear from his ancient eye. "And please, call us Otis and Agnes."
"Moira, I am learning some really fun family stories about you!" Rory exclaims.
"That's oddly intrusive," I reply in a flat voice. "Your coffee, sir?"
I plunk the mug down on Rory's abandoned table sloshing some of the hot liquid over my hand.
"I'll be back with your cream," I growl.
"Nonsense," Agnes insists kindly. "Rory can share ours, your grandpa isn't supposed to be having that stuff in his coffee anyway."
"Oh well, thank you, Agnes." Rory purrs making a show of his familiarity with my grandparents.
"Oh, good. You're on a first-name basis now," I answer through clenched teeth.
"Is everything alright Moira?" Otis asks, his mouth puckering with disappointment. "you're turning awful red."
"It's alright Otis," Rory assures the table. "I'm sure Moira's just surprised to see me back from college."
"Oh, college," Otis replies, his tone profound with admiration. "Where do you go?"
"University of Washington," Rory smirks.
The hairs on the back of my neck begin to prick at the collar of my pale blue uniform.
"And speaking of school," Rory exclaims while getting up from the table. "I've got a paper to finish before my date."
He makes a show of waving to my grandparents, so I whirl around and march away.
"Well, they are delightful!" He gushes so close to my ear that I almost stumble.
"What are you doing here Rory?" I turn on my heel to confront him.
"I'm here to see you, of course," he says with a smug snort. "Why else would I be back in this piece-of-shit town?"
I try walking away again only to feel Rory creeping up behind me as I make it to the safety of the counter.
"Really?" I retort as my fingers punch the keys of the register. "It's not a meeting of the pussy posse?"
That's what Rory's high school buddies called themselves. It was moronic teenage boy speak for all of their sleeping around, and it was just plain gross.
"Oh yeah? Well, none of them would ever come back to a loser town like this," Rory snaps a hint of anger flaring behind his eyes. "Why do you have to be so nasty to me? I've never done anything to you."
"Nothing but make fun of me and my friends and our loser town," I hold his eye contact.
The only reason Rory came back to Auburn was his long-term girlfriend, Bianca.
"What are you talking about?" He feigns innocence. "I don't make fun of anyone. I'm a lover, not a fighter. Is that why you won't agree to go out with me? Out of some misguided loyalty to the bitches in high school that don't even talk to you anymore?"
That stings. He knew that the only friend who stuck with me after I dropped out was Keri.
"That's thirty dollars please," I sneer.
"Thirty dollars?" He exclaims. "That's a bit steep for eggs and porridge don't you think?"
"Gratuity," I tell him taking the bills he shoves at me. "For having to deal with an ass."
"Very ladylike," he says matching my flat tone. "Maybe you'll be nicer to me when I take you out for your birthday?"
"How did you know my birthday is coming up?" I ask, completely taken aback.
"Grammy Schmidt of course." He replies in a syrupy voice to throw one last barb my way. "So what do you say beautiful?"
"No," I seethe. "The answer is always, no."
"Well, that's too bad," Rory flashes his poisonous Prince Charming smile. "You know, one of these days I'm going to wear you down and you're going to see that we could be really good together, Moira. Keep the change."
Rory turns on his wing-tipped loafer and strolls out waving happily to my grandparents.