ISABELLA

"I'm home!"

Exhausted, drenched and upset, but I am finally home. After the incident with Anthony's brothers, I was barely in the mood for Alè and Gab's jokes, though fortunately they seemed to understand. They ate their dinner in silence and left, with a tip of over fifty bucks.

The service wasn't that good, but I pocketed it anyway. I can use all the money I can get my hands on. Besides, they had already left by the time I could clean their table, I couldn't give it back. What else was I supposed to do?

Footsteps approach me just as I am getting rid of my worn down sneakers, which are drenched as well. Jean-Marc offered to drive me home again, but I declined. It was more important he stayed with Anthony, and I am a big girl. I can handle myself.

That doesn't mean I stayed dry, though. One of my roommates, Malia, appears in the hallway, leaning against the wall as she watches me shed my wet jacket. She stretches her arms with a sympathetic smile and says, "Here, give it to me. I'll hang up your jacket so you can wear it tomorrow. I don't expect it to stop raining in the first few days."

"Ugh, thanks. I'll go take a shower, what are you and Zuri doing?" Usually, by the time I get off work, they've gone to bed already. Now, she looks awfully awake for supposedly having just woken up.

"She found a new detective series, so we're watching that. Halfway season one already," she grins, following me into the bathroom. As she recounts the characters— a bitter old woman who's a workaholic and a "hottie" as her DS—I gather my pajamas and underwear. "We can pause the episode and wait until you're done in here?"

I give her a tired smile. "I think I'll get in bed after this, but thanks. Maybe tomorrow evening? I don't have work until this late then."

She raises her arm for a high five. "Deal!"

After giving her the high five, I lock myself in our small bathroom. Finally, it seems I have a moment for myself. I like working at the brasserie, that's not the issue. Yet some days, all I want to do is stay in bed, and the knowledge I can't do that, not even once, is dragging me down. Sometimes, all I need is for my mind to empty, for my thoughts and worries to leave my head, but I am never able to catch a break.

My family is dependent on the money I make, and not only that, but I have rent to pay for this apartment as well. It may be small, but it is still close to college, which increases the price again. I manage with the bills, but only because I pick up extra shifts at the brasserie here and there. The weekly dance class I teach helps a little as well, but not nearly enough to be able to drop a few shifts. 

Sighing, I wait for the water to warm up. I fear the day I'll lose either of my jobs, and knowing that day could be tomorrow is making me anxious. Together with college, consistently turning up at dance class and the brasserie is difficult, but it's needed if I have to survive. I don't want to think about my student debts once I graduate. At least I won't have to pay for this apartment by then, which opens up my budget just a little. Perhaps I can move back home then.

Though I love sharing the apartment with Malia and Zuri, I only considered their proposal because of the distance between college and my parents' house. Gas or taking the Uber cost me more than renting this place, so the decision was quickly made, but it's harder to check up on my parents now.

I call daily, or I try too, but it's easier to lie to me over the phone than when I'm standing in front of them. Back when I still lived at home, I could see whenever they'd had a fight or whenever the worry was becoming too much, but now, all I can do is analyze their voice. And it doesn't really help for determining their mood.

A soft sigh leaves my lips as the hot water hits my skin. Perhaps it would be a little cheaper if I didn't leave the water running until it was searing hot, but it's one of the few aspects of my life I still enjoy. A girl can enjoy the little things in life, can't she?

Tomorrow's Friday, which means my usual shift is from five to nine pm, after which I should be free and ready to go home and watch this detective series with Malia and Zuri. Although I might work a little longer and help clean up the brasserie, it will still be way earlier than usual when I get home. Perhaps I can search for some jobs for dad online.

When I leave the bathroom, teeth brushed and in my soft pajamas, I hear Zuri silently laugh at something on the TV. I glance at the clock stating it is nearly two am. We should all head to bed, since we have classes tomorrow, but instead, I join them on the couch.

Zuri smiles at the sight of me, scooting over so I have some space. She rests her head on my arm as she returns to the screen, which I don't mind. It's comfortable like this, and she shares her popcorn with me.

"It's an old murder," she fills me in as I watch the screen, where an elderly woman is being grumpy towards her crew. "An innocent woman was thrown into prison a couple of years ago, but she's committed suicide. And now they're trying to find the real killer. I think it's... that guy," she points, and I nod. He seems guilty, although I have no idea what is going on.

"You want something to drink, Isa?" Malia asks me, at which I shake my head. "No, I'm okay."

I can already feel exhaustion tugging at my eyelids, begging me to go to sleep. But I like this, I like being with my friends. I already don't have much time with them, so it's nights like this that matter. I am grateful they came into my life, so I have to show that. And me being away all the time, doesn't matter what I'm doing, isn't really appreciating them.

A hand brushes my hair out of my eyes—which have somehow closed—and I shiver at their caress. Malia whispers to Zuri, "We should put her to bed. Look at her, she's exhausted."

Zuri must've nodded, because I feel her shift. I crack my eyes open, not wanting them to leave their show for me. But the screen is black, and they're up already. "You don't have to—"

"Let's go to bed, shall we?" Zuri smiles, her white teeth contrasting with her dark skin. I pull myself out of my slumber and stand up, ready to go to bed, as they say. 

"You didn't have to stop watching for me," I mumble, rubbing in my eyes to wake up a little more. Malia shushes me, for some reason following me into my room. She stays until I have gotten into bed and am sprawled out under the covers before she flicks off the light and closes the door without another word.

I am too tired to insist they have to keep watching the show.

***

"Two times the Eton Mess, alright. Can I get you anything else?"

Both the ladies shake their heads, after which I return to the kitchen to tell Jean-Marc their orders. Fridays are always busier than Thursdays, so at least I have something to do. Fridays are also the days where Anthony works most, because he gets the hint a full brasserie is not the place to ramble. Today, though, he is working exceptionally. I almost dare say as good as me, but his eye contact is something he still needs to work on.

Nevertheless, he is taking orders and bringing out dishes like a champ. I make a mental note to listen to more of his stories next week, when it's calmer. He deserves it, and especially so shortly after his brothers were here. Usually, he takes about two days before he dares to return tot he front of the brasserie.

"How are you holding up?" I ask him when I pass by him standing at the computer, putting in an order. He gives me a distracted nod, too focused on what he's doing to elaborate. I decide to leave him and walk through the kitchen door, only to be met with a cursing Jean-Marc. Fantastic.

Fortunately, he is only cursing at some grease splashing on his hand, so it should be okay to bother him. "Jean-Marc? I got two desserts for table six."

He briefly looks up before waving me away. "Put them in the machine. Now get out of my kitchen, you're in my way."

Alright, fine. I return to the bar, where the computer is set up, and see Anthony is still busy. Because I don't like being pressured, I pretend to be making some drinks while I wait, but it seems he isn't filling anything in. "Are you busy with an order, Anthony?"

He nods again, although less visible than before. Feeling something's wrong, I join his side and watch as his eyes reread the same few words again and again. "What's wrong? Is it a difficult order?"

Again, he nods, finally looking up at me. His eyes are a little red-rimmed, so I got here just in time. "I can't read it."

"You can't read your own handwriting?" I ask, because if he can't, surely he still knows what the people said to him. The notes are usually to make sure we don't forget anything, and to have some sort of back-up when people complain this isn't what they ordered.

"It's not mine." He shakes his head, a shaky breath leaving him. "I... I started stuttering, so they wanted to help me and write down their order. But I can't read it."

My heart warms a little at people noticing him struggling and deciding to help them. Though he can't read it, the intention was good-natured, and that's what counts. "Let's see if I can read it, yeah?"

Sadly, I can't either. And there's people gathering at the entrance, waiting for me to assign them their table. "Alright, let's do it like this; you put these two desserts in the computer for table six, and I'll go ask your table what they've written down. After you've done that, why don't you help those people at the entrance find their seat? Can you do that?"

This time, his nod is more sure. He relaxes his shoulders, lifts his chin and eyes the entrance. "Where's the list with the reservations?"

My chest swells with both pride and relief. "Here it is. Do the best you can, and I'll be more than happy to help you where needed, okay? You can do this!"

He quickly works with the machine before heading towards the entrance. Fortunately, the people waiting there are regulars and used to Anthony's shyness, so they greet him with a patient smile and follow him to their seats. Relieved, I head on to table one, where two elderly men are sitting, chatting nicely.

"Hello, how are you doing this evening?" I ask them, greeting them with a broad smile and some enthusiasm. The one with a mustache leans back in his chair, sending me a polite smile of his own. "We're doing great, thank you. We've given our orders with that nice boy working here, although I don't immediately see him."

He looks past me, into the rest of the brasserie. Anthony must've been there, because he points to something behind me. "There he is! We wrote it down."

"Oh, yes, he told me you did, no worries. We just have some difficulties reading it, I'm afraid." There's no easy way to tell them their handwriting sucks, so I better rip off that Band-Aid.

The other man laughs, a deep, rich belly laugh. "That's a good one! Oh, that poor boy. Imagine trying to help and ruining it even more," he snorts, and the other man doesn't seem too bothered by it either. He gives me an easy smile, a bit apologetic.

"We ordered a cheese board and two gin tonics. Was there something else, John?" he asks the—still wheezing—man, who shakes his head. I thank them again, wish them a delightful evening and leave them be.

Anthony just returns from a table and reaches for the menus when he sees me. His eyes lights up when he sees me putting their order in the computer. "You got it?"

"I did," I grin. "They got a good laugh out of it, but it was more directed at the situation than at you. Nice people."

He nods in agreement, handing me a few of the menus. "Can I give you table nine? Four tables just entered, so it's a bit too busy for me to handle all of them."

"Of course! You got the rest?" I ask, already turning in the direction of table nine. It's around a corner, a bit out of view of the entrance and with that, the bar. 

Anthony is already on his way, doesn't answer me, so I assume he is fine and head to table nine. I plaster a smile on my face as I turn the corner, ready to hand them the menus when I see who it is.

Alè and Gab.

"What—Hi! Glad to see you guys dry, for once," I greet them, giving them the menus, although I am quite confused as to why they are here. They ate here yesterday. Who has the money to go to a restaurant two times in a row? I know I certainly don't.

"We came by car this time," Gab grins, not even glancing at the menu as he drops it in his plate. His full attention is on me, his arms again crossed over his chest and dimples popping out as he laughs at my shock.

"You have more dead mathematicians for us to try?" Alè asks, briefly looking at the names on the menu before also turning his attention on me. 

I nod, going along on our inside joke. God, I can't believe these men. "We do actually, though the philosophers are also nice. Especially with some Passoã."

Gab snorts behind his hand, making me grin myself. My fake smile has morphed into a real one. I should probably get going, deal with other people, but I allow myself a moment to bask in Alè's glare.

"One day, it won't taste as bad," he mutters, only sounding half-grumpy. I assure him with pursed lips, though I send Gab a look saying the opposite. He grins even wider.

"Okay, guys, call me when you need me, but I have some things to do now. You know, run a brasserie and all," I wink, turning on my heels and following Anthony to the other side of the room. He quickly fills me in on all the tables he's already done, which, to be fair, are far more than I have in the past half an hour. He's on a roll.

"Where do you need me?" I ask, since it seems he is in charge now. He gives me a surprised, then rather unsure look. "Here?"

"No, I meant—never mind. What can I do to help you?" I ask instead, realizing it would take too much time to explain what I meant.

He points behind the corner, to table nine, again. "Those guys scare me, so I would rather not be around them tonight. Can you do their table? I'll do the one with the two loud kids."

Scare him? "Are you sure? They were in here yesterday too, and one of them is actually really into history as well. Not in the math department, though."

He gives a shake of his head. "No, thank you. They remind me of my brothers. Not in a personality way, just... I don't know. I would rather not look at them the whole night."

Understandably so. And that explains the choice of seating as well. "I'll take care of it, then."