Chapter 1
My mom isn’t awake when I make my way downstairs for work. That’s not unusual, given that it’s not yet 6am, but I know she’s home; there’s an ashtray on the kitchen island next to a lipstick-covered glass. Tony will be here any minute, so I slip my shoes on and wait outside on the porch steps. The sun hasn’t risen quite yet, but the air is warm, and my street is predictably quiet. I savour these moments when life feels so peaceful and still. The only movement comes from the breeze through the trees and the occasional chirping bird in the sky—that is, until I see Tony’s car turn onto our lane and stop at the end of the driveway. He flashes his high beams at me, and I hear the click of him unlocking the doors as I make my way to him.
“Mornin, sunshine. You’re looking tired today.” Tony says with a smile when I take my seat on the passenger side.
“You say that every morning. You know, Ton, there are other adjectives out there.”
“Spare me the English lessons; it’s 5:57, and words like ‘adjectives’ aren’t acceptable until at least 9am.”
“Fair enough,” I concede as we move down the road. Tony and I both open our respective departments at the market together, his place being in the butcher shop, mine in the bakery.
“Have you talked with Laurie recently? I think she’s in tomorrow; they’re taking some of our signage for the new spot.”
“I saw her last week,” I say, thinking back to last Wednesday, when she and Tony broke the news that he’d be transferring to the new market for the first few months. “I just hope they don’t stick us with Trent when you leave; I can’t stand that meathead. Get the joke?”
Tony laughs and offers me a drag from the cigarette that’s been hanging from his mouth since I got in the car. “Of course you’ll be stuck with Trent. The boss has been trying to sack him for months. I think she hopes he can’t cope with the early mornings and quits. That’s my hope at least.”
Trent is a 20-something-year-old guy who, despite his best attempts, has been failing to get me to go out with him since I first started almost 2 years ago. The thought of seeing him 5 days a week for the foreseeable future is not a good one, coupled with the fact that I’ll be losing one of my closest friends. My mom and Mel, my only other friend, think my friendship with Tony is strange. Tony, whose full name is Anthony, is a nearly 60-year-old man who smokes 2 packs a day and lives off PB and J sandwiches. When I first started this job, at the end of grade 10, I’d been walking or busing to work every day. That was until Tony offered to drive me in every morning, and we’ve been close ever since. Tony used to part-own a racetrack two towns over but sold his share to retire at 50. I’m told he was a regular at the cafe in the market, coming every day without fail. He came out of retirement to help out the owner, Laurie, when her husband flaked on the business a few years ago. Now that the business is steady, and honestly booming, I suspect the reason Tony stays is because he has the hots for Laurie, though I’d never call him on that.
At 6:12 we pull into the employee section of the empty parking lot. Our start time is technically 6:20 to be open for 7:00, so Tony offers me another cigarette while we wait, seeing as he’s not one to start early.
“I think I’m a bad influence on you, sunshine,” Tony says as we sit on the curb outside the building. He passes me his lighter, a vintage, metal-plated one that flips open, and we both light up, enjoying the sunrise.
“Nonsense, I’ve been smoking with my mom since I was like 11; it’s our bonding time.”
“And how is our Betty doing, still mother of the year?” Tony asks, and I can hear the twang of disapproval in his voice. He’s never liked my mom, Beth. They’ve only met a handful of times, one of which included my mom accusing him of being a sex offender when he dropped me off after working late.
“Same old Betty. She’s still at Rikkies, though, which is the longest she’s stayed at one job.” My mom’s a waitress part-time, working mostly evening and weekend shifts. Rikkies is one of the few restaurants in town she hasn’t already worked at, and given my mom’s turbulent employment record, I’m surprised she’s lasted there for nearly 7 months.
“And Patrick? That’s his name, right?” I nod. “He’s still hanging around? What’s that been, a year?”
“I think it’s been longer, almost 2 years. But yeah.” Patrick was one of my mom’s regular tables at the place she worked 3 jobs ago. I don’t see him much; the pair always opt to hang out at his place. I don’t blame them; where our house is small and worn down, Patrick’s is massive and pristine. Patrick owns a drywall company and makes a big show of all the money he makes from it. When they first started going out, when he was still making an effort to spend at least some time with me, he’d come pick us up in a different vehicle every time. Now, though, he sends a driver to get my mom and avoids our neighbourhood whenever he can.
At 6:20, Tony and I part ways. He goes in the front door and makes his way to the butcher section of the store, while I walk around back and unlock the kitchen door. After I preheat the ovens and pull out the doughs I proofed overnight, I start on a batch of bagels for the cafe. The cafe lead, Brenda, arrives at 6:45 to start brewing coffee and arrange the small dining area of the store. By 6:55 the cashiers arrive, and until they’re needed on the floor, one of them helps in the dish pit area of the kitchen, which by 7:30 is already piled full. Partway through the day, I sneak out back for a cigarette, where Tony is already waiting. I hand him the PB&J that I make him every shift, and he complains about Trent, whose shift started at 11:00.
“Seriously, kiddo, if I spend another afternoon with that asshat, my cleaver will end up in a different kind of meat.” Tony huffs, spewing crumbs from his mouth. “I hate to do this to you, sunshine, but I’ve put him on dish duty at noon.”
“Wow, I see how it is,” I say, shaking my head, though not at all surprised. Laurie is usually careful not to schedule the two together, knowing Tony will inevitably send him to become another department’s issue, but with the opening of a second location, her priorities are elsewhere. “That’ll help me out a lot actually,” I say, snuffing out my cigarette on the pavement below. “I’m seeing Mel at 4:00, so I was hoping I wouldn’t get stuck washing dishes all afternoon.”
I work Tuesday-Saturday, occasionally coming in to help on Sundays when needed. I like my work schedule. I don’t sleep well as it is, so the mornings are never too painful for me, and it’s nice being off by 3:00 most days.
Back inside, as I was warned, I can see Trent already filling the back sink to get started on the mountain of baking pans I’ve dirtied.
“What’s up, Leighton? Nice to see ya, as always.” Trent says, turning to face me and leaning against the sink’s ledge. He’s fully grinning at me and not trying to hide the way he looks over my body as I walk past him, back to the ovens.
“Hi Trent. You’ve got water all down your back, by the way.”
“Ah fuck!” Trent whines, twisting his body to look at the damage. “Damn Tony always hides me back here with you. Not that I’m complaining bout’ that last part, but I far prefer knives to sponges.” He says with a wink.
“I just hope you’re better with knives than you are sponges, because I really need those pans, and you’ve missed all the corners.” Trent turns back around to where he’s stacked all the ‘clean’ pans, and I can hear him curse at me under his breath.
By 2:30 Daphne arrives, and I walk her through what I’ve gotten done and what still needs to be finished. Daphne has worked here for a few months now, and I always get the impression she doesn’t like me very much. I went to high school with her younger brother, Peirson. Although I don’t recall the details very clearly, I’m vaguely aware that I hooked up with him one night after a party.
By 3:15 I’m back in the car with Tony, heading back home. I try hard to recall that night, looking for something that may give Daphne cause to dislike me. High school is a bit of a blur, and I’m somewhat grateful for that. I remember going to a party thrown by the basketball team—which Pierson was on—in grade 11. I can picture Pierson as tall, dark-haired, and somewhat grungy-looking. I remember talking to him then, which I rarely did in school, but I was drunk, and my avoidance of the male gender isn’t quite so steadfast when I drink, but that’s where the details stop.
“You’re seeing Melly soon, yeah?” Tony asks when we pull in front of my empty house. I nod.
“Do you need a lift there? I know a certain blonde with an affinity for my car.” Tony laughs, referencing Mel’s obsession with Tony’s 1974 Buick Electra.
“Thanks, Tony, but I’ll walk; the exercise will do me good.”
“Like hell it will. Sunshine, you’re wasting away; be a little lazy for once.”
“Wow, first I’m tired, now I’m wasting away. I guess I should give you credit for expanding your vocab.”
“I mean it, kiddo, pack some meat on those bones,” Tony says, sounding more serious as I unbuckle my seat belt and open the car door.
“I will, but don’t you worry about me; I’ll be just fine. See you in the morning, Ton.” Tony says his goodbyes, and I make my way up the front walkway.
Aside from the early mornings before the sun rises, my favourite time of day is right around now. 3pm in my house is perfectly quiet, with my mom either being at work or with Patrick. School is still in session, and the workday isn’t over for most people, so my street is bare.
I put my work bag back by the door and stick the apple I didn’t eat back in the fridge, ready to go uneaten again for tomorrow. I change out of my flour-covered clothes and decide on jeans and a white t-shirt, given that the summer days still burn warm. I know I should shower; my hair is probably holding enough dry ingredients to bake a cake, but I can’t be bothered and don’t want to be late. In the bathroom, I try brushing through the rat’s nest of dark hair on my head, which Mel has been begging me to trim for a year. When I look in the mirror, I conclude that Tony is right. I do look tired. There are what seem to be permanent dark circles under my eyes, and my cheeks look more hollowed out than usual. I make a mental note to start eating those apples and throw my hair back into a bun.
Mel works at the post office a few blocks away; it’s only a 10-minute walk from either of our houses, so I have time to clean up the half-dozen dishes my mom has dirtied from her morning at home before heading to Mel's workplace.
Mel, whose full name is Melody, and I went to high school together. We were paired up for a project in grade 9 science and have been friends ever since. Mel wasn’t exactly in the popular crowd, but her older brother, Liam, certainly was; hence, she was cool by association. Liam got us into a lot of parties over the years, and when he graduated the year before us, their familial ties kept us in the party crowd. My mom’s obvious absence at home worked out really well for us both during high school. Mel and I would walk to my house almost every day after school and smoke weed until we tasted colours. And on the weekends, when her oldest brother, Allen, came home from university, he’d take us to the liquor store. Now though, Mel is vying for a tattoo apprenticeship and taking art classes three times a week. Neither of us can afford to lose our jobs or fall back into our old habits, so we rarely party. I suspect Mel still smokes a good deal of weed, but she operates just fine.
“Oi!” I duck out of the way as an empty can of Diet Coke comes hurling from my right. “Smoking one without me? How rude,” Mel says as she skips down the steps of the post office I’m waiting outside of.
“You’re late; you know the rules.” I call back as she walks over to my spot under the big tree outside.
“4:04, and I’m already dead to you. Nice to see where I stand.” Mels pouts and holds out her ringed fingers for a dart.
“My apologies, I’ll wait a little longer next time, but only because I forgot how sexy you look in your uniform, Melly.” I tease, giving her an exaggerated once-over.
“Oh, fuck off, you know I hate it.” She says, looking down at the scrub-like uniform she has to wear. “Since you’ve had all this extra time to think, what are we gonna to do? Coffee shop? The park? Hair salon, which you so clearly need?”
“No, no and definitely no. I was thinking we’d go to the pond.”
“Come on, Laney, you know that I, and everyone else in this damn town, know you’re the hottest ever, but please, I beg you, lose the last 3 inches!”
“Hey, every inch is important,” I say, wiggling my eyebrows at her.
“Not when you already have 22!” Mel argues back, “But fine, I like the pond idea, and you need some colour.”
The plaza the post office is in backs onto a big, largely swampy pond in the middle of our neighbourhood. Aside from the bugs, it’s my favourite spot to be in the summer. There are massive, weepy-looking willow trees and cattails that stand up past your waist. You can’t really fish it, given the lack of stock, but that didn’t stop us as kids, when we’d always come down with our rods and nets and stand at the banks for hours. Now, though, Mel brings her speaker, and we sit under the trees listening to music and talking. Mel is splayed out on her stomach, sketching, and I braid the long blades of grass and watch her work.
“Okay, hear me out,” Mel says warily, and she closes her sketchbook to sit cross-legged next to me. “Liam and some friends are going to this party this weekend; just wait!” She says quickly when I groan. “And I know you’re off Sunday, so don’t even try using that excuse again. You could just come for a couple of hours, and I know it’s not really our thing anymore—thank god for that—but we haven’t done anything in months! I really want to go, Laney.” Mel says, flashing me her puppy-dog eyes and pouty face.
“I don’t know, Mel, I just don’t want to get back into all that.” I say, and it’s true. Since graduating, my gap year has been largely a healthy one for me.
“I know, I know, and we won’t. It’ll just be one night, and who knows, maybe you’ll meet someone.” She adds, sounding hopeful.
“I don’t want to meet someone. I know plenty of ‘someones.’”
“Well, if I go, will you go? Please, I don’t want to go alone.” The woman in me tells me, despite her brother being there, to not let her go alone. Neither of us really has other friends, so it’s not like she has many other viable options.
“Fine,” I say, and Mel lets out an excited squeal, “But I’m only going because I don’t want to see you missing or dead on the news the next day. And really, I’m not looking to meet anyone, okay? ”
“Okay, okay, then on a completely unrelated note, Liam’s got lots of hot friends. You remember Zach? I think he’s coming.”
“I don’t remember Zach, but it sounds like you do. Is that why you want to go?” I suspect it is; Mel isn’t one to crave a party anymore, but her cravings for hot guys haven’t dwindled at all. In school, Mel and I used to date around a lot—well, I didn’t really date per se, but Mel did. I can’t recall a stretch of more than a month when that girl didn’t have a boyfriend. Mel only recently ended things with her last one, Darren, who, by my assessment, was a lackey stoner who didn’t drive or work and constantly talked about his conspiracy theories.
“Maybe, but there are other options too! Lots of options. We can discuss details later, but I’ll come over to yours on Saturday? We can get ready together and taxi from there.”
“Yeah, okay, that works.” Mel settles back into her spot on the grass and sways her legs to the music, clearly happy I’ve agreed. My mind wanders back to high school, when the idea of partying was normal and abundant. “Hey, do you remember that guy Pierson we went to school with?”
“Of course. He and my brother played ball together. Why?” Mel asks, before quickly sitting up again and going wide-eyed, “Do you like him? I can ask if he’s coming to the party.”
“No, no, nothing like that. I work with his sister, Daphne. I don’t think she likes me much, and I can’t think of why. I think I fucked him though.”
“Yeah, you did. I remember that party. Not sure why she’d care, though.”
We change subjects to Mel’s possible outfit options for the party and share a bag of Swedish Fish she has in her work bag. By 7:00 we part ways in front of the plaza, and I make the few-block walk back to my still empty house. I know it’s pathetic that at 19 years old, I’m tired and ready for bed. Although my gap year has been healthy for me, or at least healthier, I’m still as sleep deprived as ever. My morning alarm is set for 5:10, although I rarely sleep past 4:00, and even though I try to be asleep by 9, I usually toss and turn until at least 11.
I force myself into having a shower, knowing I’ll regret not doing so come the morning. I make a decaf tea, as Reddit recommends to those who can’t find peace at night, and remake my already tidy bed.
I check my phone hours later; it reads 3:09 am. I can feel my sheets sticking to my body, damp with sweat, along with the rest of me. I’ve woken up in a total panic again, and my heart feels like it’s going to beat its way out of my chest onto the floor. I try counting back from 100, trying to focus my mind on something other than the images playing back in my brain. When that doesn’t work, I say the alphabet in reverse. I recite the Lord’s Prayer, which means nothing to me, but I’m desperate and exhausted. That too fails.
