Tears of rage burn behind my eyes, but I won’t let a single one fall in front of him. I’m done with this shit. Done being his punching bag. Done working myself into the ground without a single shred of gratitude for everything I’ve sacrificed in the name of family loyalty.
It’s time for me to stand up for myself for once and prove my backbone hasn’t disappeared from my body. It’s the only choice I have left.
“Then she can start today. I quit.”
Pop’s face takes on a mottled red shade as wrath and alcoholism collide.
“You can’t quit because you’re fired! I want your shit out of here by noon. Leave the keys on the bar. I’m done with you. You’re as dead to me as your whore of a mother.”
He turns and stomps out of the room, leaving me sitting up in bed, frozen in place, a lump in my throat choking off my air supply.
When the door to the apartment slams and his footsteps thud unevenly down the stairs, I finally move, but only to blink as the tears come, along with gut-wrenching sobs.
What did I just do? And what am I going to do now?
* * *
Four hundred forty-seven dollars and thirty-seven cents. That’s how much money I have to my name. My jobless, homeless name.
It would have been three hundred forty-seven dollars and thirty-seven cents, but I remembered the emergency Ben Franklin I folded up in my wallet what seemed like a million years ago and haven’t touched under any circumstances. Now it has been painstakingly flattened and makes up almost a quarter of my life savings.
Ten years of hard work, and this is what I have to show for it. When I think of every dollar of my own I used ...
I shake my head. It’s water under the bridge. I can’t get any of it back now.
The final burn? I didn’t even get a chance to pay myself anything from last night’s take—which is gone from the safe, even though the stack of citations still sits on the scarred wood surface that has been a part of my life for so long.
I feed and water Esteban while he preens on his perch, hoping like hell Brandy and Pop will take care of him. Somehow, I can’t picture Brandy changing the newspaper at the bottom of his cage on a daily basis. And what about his bird treats? They might be few and far between, but he appreciates them all the same. I ruffle his feathers one last time.
“If I could take you with me right now, I would. But it’s not like I can stuff your cage in my car.”
“You’re fired!”
Another tear rolls down my cheek. “I’m so sorry, buddy. I’ll come back for you. I swear it.”
“You’re fired!” he repeats as I shut the cage door and lock it.
If anything happens to that bird, heads will roll.
Shoving the back door open with my hip, I cart the last sad load of my stuff out to my car.
“Looks like it might be you and me for a while,” I tell my Javelin as I stuff a duffel bag with the rest of my clothes inside. “Please don’t let me down. I’m not sure I could handle it.”
The old AMC’s engine fires up roughly, but at least it’s running.
As I drive away from the Fishbowl, my chest feels like it’s crumpling under the pressure.
I failed.
Somewhere along the line, keeping the Fishbowl open became the same as keeping my mama’s memory alive, regardless of how tarnished it was.
But I failed.
The harsh truth drags another tear from my eye.
I drive in the direction of Hope’s apartment building, praying that she’s there. Honestly, I have nowhere else to go.
I’m so stupid. I should have had a backup plan. Never in my wildest imaginings did I ever think I’d be leaving the Fishbowl. I’ve never lived anywhere else. I don’tknowanything else.