But new shoes could wait.
Rent could not.
Her mother’s medication could not.
The final notice taped to the refrigerator could not.
“Tiana.”
That one word came sharp from behind her.
She didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.
Darren Cole stood near the host stand with his arms crossed over his chest, wearing his tight manager smile that never reached his eyes.
He was in his mid-forties, pale, round-faced, and always freshly pressed.
He liked his shirts white, his shoes shiny, and his employees nervous.
“That’s the third glass this month,” he said loudly enough for nearby tables to hear. “You know where that comes from.”
Tiana kept her eyes on the floor.
“My check,” she said.
“That’s right.”
A man at table six suddenly became fascinated with his soup.
A woman at table nine looked down at her phone.
Nobody said a word.
Tiana stood slowly, careful not to let the shame show on her face.
Her name tag had tilted sideways.
Tiana. Server.
She brushed invisible glass dust from her apron and forced her voice to stay calm.
“Won’t happen again.”
Darren looked her up and down.
“It better not.”
Then he turned away like she was a spill someone else needed to clean.
Tiana swallowed the bitterness and carried the broken glass toward the trash.
