Chapter One

CLARA

T he world comes into horrible clarity with the sound of dishes clattering against the tile.

The tray in Mina’s hands tips off balance and crashes down to the ground, food and shards of cheap ceramic splattering across the kitchen floor. A gasp flies from my mouth, frustration and exhaustion overwhelming me as I stammer out apologies.

“Mina, I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you,” I say, already bending down to clean up the mess.

She crosses her arms over her chest, rolling her bright green eyes at me with a sneer. It takes everything in me to bite my tongue and stop myself from reminding her, for the millionth time, to warn someone when she’s walking behind them on the line. I’m too worn out to be polite about it, so it’s best to just keep my mouth shut.

“You really need to be more careful,” she says sharply. “Now I have an entire table’s worth of food I have to rush.”

My eye twitches in annoyance, and I bend my head further down in an attempt to hide it, letting loose strands of my white blond hair fall forward out of its ponytail to cover my face. Thankfully, before I have a chance to go off on her, my manager comes bustling through the kitchen door.

I spring up from the floor, my hands full of glass and food. He looks at me with annoyance as he grabs a broom leaning on the wall and thrusts it toward one of the other waiters. My cheeks immediately flare with heat, and I blink fast to keep my tears at bay. I’m not usually this emotional, but this is the third double I’ve worked this week, and with Thanksgiving just around the corner, it’s been so busy I’ve barely had time to go visit my grandmother. I’m at my breaking point.

“What happened in here?” Mr. Folt demands gruffly, the manager on duty at Lucky’s, his bushy brows furrowing.

“I’m so sorry, I?—”

“She wasn’t paying attention and she knocked my whole tray over,” Mina all but whines over me, as if I’m the only one who needs to pay attention

My head whips to the side to shoot her an absolutely betrayed look. She doesn’t like me, even if I have no clue why , but she’s almost never this outright spiteful. Maybe she’s just as tired as I am, I tell myself.

“Carla, you need to keep alert in the kitchen,” Mr. Folt snaps, rubbing his brow with a sigh. “I can’t keep having this conversation with you.”

I grit my teeth to stop from explaining what actually happened, forcing myself to nod bashfully. It’s not worth an argument, especially not right now. The fact that he can’t even be bothered to get my name right is just salt in the wound.

“Behind!” Jesse calls, a server coming right for us.

Mina stands in the only path clear of food and broken plates, but she doesn’t budge as he walks closer, balancing a tray of drinks. I try to step out of the way and give Jesse some space to get by without having to step over the food still on the floor. He shoots me a grateful look, skirting the edge of the mess.

“I’ve been trying to make things easy…” Mr. Folt starts talking again, turning his attention back to me, but Jesse seems to think Mr. Folt is addressing him. He hesitates in just the wrong spot, and in slow motion, he loses his balance.

I watch in horror as Jesse squeaks in surprise, before the tray tips over, soda and tea spraying everywhere. It arcs through the air and drenches me, syrupy sweet liquid soaking straight through my apron and dousing my hair. I splutter as I try to wipe the mess away from my face, immediately making sure Jesse didn’t fall. A sigh of relief falls from my lips when I see him rebalancing himself on the prep table, his eyes wide and apologetic.

“Shit!” he yelps. “I’m so sorry, Clara, are you ok?”

“Enough!” Mr. Folt’s voice is loud enough that the entire kitchen goes silent in response, everyone freezing at his tone. “Car—Clara. Give me your apron.”

My fingers tremble as I tug at the ties, fear and uncertainty coursing through my veins. He’s asking for it because it’s ruined, right? He’s not…

I refuse to even think about the possibility as I hand him the sopping piece of fabric. He rakes his eyes over me, sighing and shaking his head.

“Go home.”

I swallow uneasily, my heart pounding in my chest.

“I’ll come right back after I change and shower,” I promise.

“No,” he says firmly. “You’re fired. I’ve had enough of your mistakes. I’ll mail you your last check.”

Panic sears through me like fire, and my own breath chokes me before I babble out pleas.

“Wait, Mr. Folt, I—I’m sorry,” I stammer. “I’ll do better, please, I’ve worked here for four months, you—please don’t just fire me!”

He shoots me a bored look, his eyes flat and uncaring. Mina giggles into her hand behind him, and Jesse stares between the three of us, looking absolutely horrified. If I leave, he’s going to be their new punching bag, and I can’t let that happen.

“I told you to go,” Mr. Folt says unapologetically. “Don’t make me call the cops and say you’re trespassing.”

My mouth drops open in shock. Surely, even he wouldn’t go that far. The look in his eyes says he’s not joking in the slightest.

I stumble back, just barely avoiding slipping in the spilled food. Holding back tears, I turn tail and run, bursting out of the stifling air of the kitchen and into the chill of the alleyway behind the diner. It’s littered with trash and stinks like all the alleys of New York do, but it’s a million times better than watching Mr. Folt fire me like four months of hard work meant nothing .

I make it to my beat up old Chevy Cavalier before collapsing into sobs, terror and anger mingling in my gut.

I liked working at Lucky’s, for the most part. The shifts were exhausting, but the pay was alright, and the tips were great. My customers were almost always nice, and I’d gotten to know my regulars.

Besides all that, I can’t afford to lose my job right now. Thanksgiving is in two days, and rent is due in a week. The nursing home bill a week later. My grandma will always come first, but I really can’t afford to be late on rent again. I’ve got enough to pay both bills if I eat nothing but ramen, but that’ll only barely get me into December. After that, my wallet is empty. I’ve got nothing.

I lean forward against the steering wheel, my tears flowing freely as I struggle to come up with a solution to all of this.

The only thing I can do for now is go home, calm myself down, and try to figure out a plan. There is no time to mope around.

I shoot Allie a text, explaining everything that happened, and then toss my phone onto the passenger seat. Writing the words out hurts more than I expect, and I take several deep breaths before starting the car. I can wait until I get home to properly break down. Traffic is just as unforgiving as it always is around the holidays, decorations and glittering lights mingling with honking horns as people rush to get back home to their families. Thankfully, I don’t live too far from Lucky’s, and I pull into the parking lot of my apartment complex before panic can take root.

I walk up the stairs to my third-floor apartment in a bit of a fugue state, the squeaky old stairs familiar even though the whole world feels like it’s falling apart. The paint on my door is still peeling, the hinges still creak, and there’s still an awful draft that comes in from beneath it.

At least the rest of my apartment is warm. The lamp on the coffee table offers just enough light to see by, and the string of lights on the tiny Christmas tree on my kitchen counter twinkles merrily. It almost hurts to look at right now, with how upset I am. I collapse onto the ancient, threadbare couch and breathe in the scent of home, desperate to calm my thoughts before they race again. The blanket draped over the arm of the couch is older than I am and hardly thick enough to offer any real comfort, but it smells like my grandmother’s perfume, and that’s enough to keep me from the brink of panic.

My phone buzzes where I dropped it on the floor along with my bag, and I reach out blindly, searching for it on the worn through carpet.

I crack one eye open to read the text from Allie. A lot of it is expletives and threats to yell at my ex-boss, but there’s also an invite in there to go over to hers in an hour when she’s off work. I could really use some comfort, and I don’t want to worry my grandmother over this, so I text her back with a promise to be there when she’s off.

After attempting to job search on my phone, I stumble my way through a shower, frustration and worry making my movements sluggish. All of the exhaustion that’s been building up is hitting me at once, and I can hardly muster the energy to dry my hair and get redressed when I get out.

I do feel a bit better for being clean, at least.

By the time I’m dressed again, it’s time to head out, so I turn off all the lights and make sure the windows are locked before heading back out into the chilly winter air. I pass by the mix of Thanksgiving and Christmas decorations on people’s doors as I make my way back down the rickety stairs and to my car.

Thankfully, the drive to Allie’s doesn’t take long, and before I know it, I’m knocking on her door and being bundled into her bed with a pint of ice cream in my hands. Her place is a shitty little one bedroom in the Bronx, too, and it’s always felt like a second home. Half of my pajamas are here anyway from how often I sleep over. Allie lets me cry and complain as much as I need to, waiting patiently for me to pull myself back together.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve cleared out, like, three different websites, and it only took me like five minutes. There are hardly any postings up,” I huff, digging my spoon into the ice cream. “Everyone’s already filled their holiday positions with college kids and part-timers. I’m just going to walk around and hope someone will hire me.”

Allie frowns sympathetically as she ties her wavy chocolate hair up in a bun for the night. She picked me up my favorite strawberry ice cream on her way home from work, her idea of the best friend cure all. Personally, I think the cure is really just her innate ability to listen to all my worries and help me figure out an actual solution instead of just complaining. She’s always been good at that.

“I know you don’t want to hear it,” she says, “but you really need to start saving some of your money.”

I sigh at her as I adjust the blanket around my shoulders, already knowing where this is going. This is a long-standing argument between us, and I understand where she’s coming from, but it’s just not something I can bring myself to do.

“I’m not saying to save all of it,” she adds, stealing a bite of ice cream. “But if you don’t have a cushion for yourself, you won’t be able to help anyone else. Brooke and the folks at the nursing home would adore you even if you never gave them a penny.”

I shake my head, smiling sadly down at the blanket that pools in my lap. I know she’s right, but that’s just not who I am. The children’s home Brooke runs barely scrapes by, and those kids deserve the world. Even if all I can give them is a few extra books and some new blankets, I’m going to do that.

The nursing home is the same, really, although my reasons for that are a little more selfish. I can’t take care of my grandma all by myself anymore, no matter how much I want to. I work too much to be home as often as she needs, and if I don’t work as often as I do, I won’t be able to pay the bills. Besides, my grandma may be frail these days, but she’s still taller than I am, and I just don’t have the strength to help her move around the house safely.

I also just can’t help feeling a bit guilty. A lot of the people at Brooklyn Gardens with my grandma don’t have anyone left. They don’t get or give Christmas presents, no grandkids come to visit them. If I have a little left over to buy them a blanket that’s on sale or some board games at the thrift store, I want to help. They have even less than I do, and that’s something I can’t stand to watch.

“You know I can’t do that,” I say, grinning unapologetically at Allie.

She rolls big blue eyes at me, but there’s a hint of an answering smile on her lips.

“What about your other jobs, then?” she asks.

I blow out a tired breath as she climbs under the blankets beside me. If I could go full time at either of them, things would be fine, but unfortunately, that’s not an option.

I didn’t get to finish my college degree—even with the scholarships I qualified for, I just couldn’t afford it—so I don’t have the education that graphic design jobs at real companies require, even if I’ve got the skills. All I can rely on is freelance work, and without a laptop of my own, that’s spotty at best. Allie and I actually met in the one college class I ever got to take, and she’s been my biggest supporter.

“The catering place barely scheduled me for the holidays because I was supposed to be doing nothing but doubles at Lucky’s,” I say, annoyed. “I’ll call them in the morning and ask if they can add me on for some more events, but their full-timers will get priority over me. They already told me they don’t have another full time position available.”

Allie makes a face at that, but we both know there’s nothing we can do to change the facts.

“The graphic design has been taking off, though, hasn’t it?” she asks hopefully.

“A bit! I’ve had more people reaching out, I just can’t take on very many jobs without my own laptop.” It’s slow going, honestly, but the paychecks are good. They’re just not very regular, and it’s hard to find clients willing to work with my schedule. “I was really close to being able to buy a laptop for myself, but I’ll have to put that off for now.”

Allie looks at me, guilt lying heavily behind her lashes, and I hold my arms out to her. She’s taller than me, and I rest my head in the crook of her shoulder as she holds me close. The contrast of her tanned skin against the paleness of mine when I hug her back is comfortingly familiar.

“I wish I could just let you use the laptop more often,” she whines. “I feel bad knowing that I’m holding you back.”

“Allie,” I scold, laughing. “You’re not holding me back, you’re the only reason I can do this in the first place. It’s not like the library computers have great design software downloaded on them.”

She makes a disgruntled noise above my head, pulling back to frown down at me.

“But if it wasn’t my work laptop, you could?—”

“There’s no use playing what if,” I remind her. “There’s only what is.”

Allie has plenty of her own hardships, and it’s not like she’s swimming in cash. She was only able to go to college with the promise that she’d take care of her family when she graduated, and she works hard to support her mom and her little brothers. I’m grateful for everything she does for me. We spent a lot of time wishing for different lives when we were younger, but this is what we get.

We need to be happy with what we have.

She takes my hand in hers, humming affectionately. I balance the ice cream in my lap, smiling at her and squeezing her hands in mine.

“I’m not going to let this fuck you over,” she promises, eyes earnest. “I’ll keep my eyes and ears open, get your name out there. We’ll figure something out.”

My smile widens and my heart swells with affection. Even if the whole world goes to shit, as long as Allie’s around, I’ll be alright.

“We always do,” I say brightly.