Lucky Penny (24 page)

Marissa stayed the whole night. We ate noodles and dim sum from The Oriental Garden and watched reruns of
Friends
on cable. She didn’t mention Blake again. And I didn’t bring him up. But I did heed one piece of Marissa’s advice. I texted Mary to let her know that as of Monday I would be able to pick up shifts again, requesting local gigs when possible. I just hoped she would be okay with that. If she asked why, I was prepared to stick with Tara’s cover of a family emergency. I needed the job, but I didn’t need to run into Blake or Brittany anytime soon.

Before we had fallen asleep, I’d retrieved Blake’s note and set it alight with one of the lavender scented candles burning in the room. It was time to cleanse him out of my life for good. As the paper charred and burned into oblivion, a strange sense of acceptance washed over me. Maybe it was all the fortune cookies or pop or even the fumes from the takeout seeping up from the kitchen below, but I’d been doing well—too well—to let the revelations of the last week push me back into my mental prison.

When I woke, Marissa had already left, but not before sticking a note to my refrigerator. It simply said
a lifetime of possibilities.
As my eyes stared at her scribble, I smiled to myself.

I’d had one summer.

Now, I had my life to live.

It sounded simple enough, but until the summer, living was something I’d only had glimpses of over the last twelve years. I’d stopped living the day a truck ran my dad’s car off the road and into a ravine. The day my parents died, I died.

Only I didn’t.

I walked away from the accident with little more than a few scrapes and bruises. To the medical professionals and social workers, there was barely anything physically wrong with an eleven-year-old girl who watched her parents take their last breaths. But what they couldn’t see was the emotional damage—the damage on the inside. My heart was broken.

Marissa had said something to me last night; she’d asked me to tell her about them, to tell her about Stephen and Alice Wilson, life givers to me. All these years later, and after countless therapists, I still couldn’t talk to them about my parents without crying. But when my tears were all dried out, Marissa had taken my hand in hers and whispered, ‘don’t you think they’d want you to live, Penny?’

She was right; of course, they would want me to live. They would want me to date and get married and start a family. They would want me to take risks and fall and pick myself back up again. To fall in love and experience heartbreak, making vows never to love again, only to do it all over again. My parents would wish the world for me and more. But it had taken losing Blake again to realize only I could change my destiny. I didn’t need to let my past define me; I needed to let it shape me and mold me and push me.

But I needed to do this my way. Baby steps. The apartment seemed like a good place to start. Okay, so money was in short demand and moving out wasn’t an option, but it didn’t mean I couldn’t at least try to make the most of the place. After showering and changing into leggings and a baggy sweater, I texted Marissa to say thank you for stopping by and then grabbed my purse.

Operation egg rolls was about to commence.

T
he weeks passed by and I replaced lavender with cinnamon and pumpkin. Thanksgiving was right around the corner, and it was the first year I had bothered to embrace the tradition. An oak wreath hung on the door, not that anyone ever came to visit except Marissa on the odd occasion, and I had a pumpkin display in the window. Marissa invited me to spend the holidays with her and her family, but I declined. Mary needed extra staff over the weekend, and I was saving up to move out of the apartment. It was going to take a long time… a really long time, to save up until I could afford anything nice, but I wanted more.

I’d been working for Mary for almost three months. Since the black tie gala dinner at the country club, I only worked events in the Clintonville and downtown Columbus areas. I didn’t run into Blake or Brittany again. But I did find a new friend in Tara. She worked full time for Mary, and with me picking up all the shifts I could, our paths crossed on a regular basis.

“Penny, wait up,” Tara said as people filtered out of the staff room. It had been a long shift serving an early Thanksgiving feast to sixty veterans, and I just wanted to get back to the apartment, take a shower, and sleep. “Mary asked me to ask you if you could cover for Milly tomorrow night. Cody’s sick, and she can’t get a sitter.”

“It’s my only day off all holiday weekend,” I groaned, a painful burn shooting up through my feet.

“Grandview Heights. There’s a Thanksgiving banquet fundraiser at The Grand.”

“A hotel?”

Tara nodded.

“Black tie?” I asked zipping up my parka. The weather had taken a cold turn recently and having to walk everywhere or catch the bus required layers.

“No…” Tara shook her head as she jammed her hands in her knitted mitts. “It’s a local organization raising money for some charity, I think. It’s pretty low key. Nothing you can’t handle.”

I rolled my eyes. Tara knew I wouldn’t say no. Nothing was a deal breaker unless I heard the words Upper Arlington, and Mary never asked me to work out there anymore.

“Okay, I’ll do it. Have Mary text me the details. I need to get back and sleep.”

Tara gave me one of her half-smiles and waved me off. With each step, I winced. My feet were on fire and I felt sure when I removed my shoes there would be gaping holes. The ice underfoot mocked me as I stepped out onto the sidewalk, and I almost tore off my shoes and walked the short distance home barefoot.

It didn’t take long to reach The Oriental Garden, and for once, I was relieved to get back to the apartment. Everything was quieter at this time of year. Students returned home for the holiday weekend and local businesses, especially the bars, remained empty. Bernie’s still saw a few regulars pass through its doors, but there wasn’t the usual horde of students overflowing onto the street.

The first thing I did when I entered the apartment was crank up the heat. I stripped off and grabbed a towel from the pile of clean washing folded on the end of the bed. Twenty minutes spent under the steamy jet of water and I still didn’t feel clean. Working for Mary was a good gig and it paid well, but the hours were usually long. And after hours spent serving people food and drinks, I usually came home smelling worse than lavender egg rolls.

But it was worth it.

Mary’s could be my ticket out of the apartment.

Out of Clintonville.

The Grand was situated on Fifth Avenue, which ran all the way from the Scioto River right over the Olentangy River and out to Shepard. It looked more like a modern apartment building than a hotel, but certain I had the right address, I made my way inside.

The receptionist pointed me in the right direction, and soon, I arrived outside the Herrick Suite. When I entered the room, Tara was busy giving orders to two girls I didn’t recognize. When she noticed me, she lifted a hand and gave me a slight wave. I waved back and gave the room my attention. If I’d learned anything in my time working for Touch of Class, it was to know your room, the layout, and the service areas. Mary’s team rarely worked the same venue, and when we did, it was usually in a different suite or with a different setup.

“So service is for fifty. Five tables of ten. You and Jamie take tables one through three, the new girl and I will take tables four and five. Set courses, one vegetarian on table three.” Tara handed me her clipboard, which outlined a detailed table plan. “Guests will be seated for seven. That gives us forty minutes to finish prepping the tables. The hotel did most of it, but some of the cutlery needs repolishing. Jamie,” Tara yelled over my shoulder. “Can you grab a cloth and start on the cutlery?”

“Sounds good,” I said. “Do we know what it is exactly yet?”

“Alumni of Ohio State or something. It’s an annual thing. I just go where I’m told. You know that.” She winked and snatched her clipboard back out of my hands. “Now, don’t you have cutlery to polish?”

My laughter chased Tara away as she went to oversee the new girl. I assumed Mary had given her instructions to keep her eyes on her. “Yes, boss,” I shouted across the room earning an eye roll from Tara and a strange look from the new girl.

Forty-five minutes later, we watched from our area toward the back of the room as people took their seats around tables decorated with orange roses and cinnamon stick displays. Once everyone was seated, we headed into the kitchen to collect the first course, which was spiced pumpkin soup. Tara was last in as she was doubling as server and maître d’.

“Piranha. Table two. Sorry, I didn’t know.”

Tara’s apology was swallowed in the hollow pit carving its way in my stomach. Brittany was here?

Here?

She wasn’t supposed to be here.

I loaded two bowls into my right hand and picked up another with my left.

“You good?” Tara had somehow cut in front of Jamie to stand behind me as we got ready to serve the course.

I nodded.

“Of course, you are.” I heard the sarcasm in her voice but paid her no attention. My gaze was focused on the blonde at table two

Long blond hair curled at the ends, black bodycon dress hugging her slim figure, the huge fucking rock on her ring finger. I welcomed the anger swelling in me. For too long, I’d let my emotions cripple me, but looking across the room at Brittany, all I felt was red-hot rage. In a strange way, it was refreshing. Comforting.

I glided to table one, a fake smile plastered on my face. Brittany didn’t notice me right away; she was too busy gossiping, no doubt, to the girl sitting on her left. I couldn’t help but overhear as I served soup to three of the people seated at her table.

“… the venue is booked. Of course, Daddy and Ant insisted we have it at the country club. Exclusively…”

I threw up a little in my mouth but managed to swallow the bile down before hurrying back to the kitchen. It was as if those four little words unraveled all of my progress over the last few weeks.

The. Venue. Is. Booked.

Blake wasn’t just engaged to the piranha; he was going to marry her.

Give her his name.

They were going to have a whole life together.

Fuck.

My breathing became shallow. As soon as I was out of sight, I leaned back against the wall and focused on catching my breath. She hadn’t even spoken directly to me, and yet, she had managed to throw me into an emotional meltdown.

“Service,” an angry chef yelled, ringing the bell one too many times.

I pushed off the wall and mentally checked myself before collecting three more bowls of soup and heading back into the suite. This time, when I approached table one, Brittany’s eyes collided with mine and froze to the spot. It was only for a second, but it happened. A slow, knowing smirk spread across her perfectly made face. It snapped me back into action, and I placed the bowls in front of the next three guests.

If anyone noticed our exchange, they didn’t let on, and as I walked away from the table for a second time, the only eyes that followed me were hers.

“Everything okay?” Tara eyed me cautiously as I entered the kitchen again. I nodded, pursing my lips. “Are you sure? I was pretty sure I just caught a moment between you and the piranha.” Her eyebrow cocked, and I ducked out of her way unwilling to get into specifics while I was working.

“Okay, okay, I’ll save it for later.” Tara’s chuckle disappeared out of the kitchen.

I loaded the last two bowls for table one into my hands and set off. Brittany was waiting for me to appear. Her narrowed gaze tracked me all the way to the table. I wished I were more like Marissa; she would have done something unsuspecting to throw Brittany for a loop. All I could do was concentrate on not dropping the bowls.

I saved Brittany for last and, without speaking, I lowered the bowl in front of her. As I imagined dropping the whole thing in her lap, her shrieking and jumping up covered in pumpkin and butternut squash liquid, I smiled to myself. She deserved it. For tripping me. For being a total bitch to me the first time she met me.