It’s some high-level irony that her sperm donor and I work across the street from each other. I mean, I never told him I was pregnant and he barely remembered my name while we were screwing around, so there is no chance he would ever remember me now. But I never thought I would have to deal with him. I never thought I would see him again. And that would’ve worked out if my parents hadn’t died and I hadn’t been forced to move into town because the only way I could afford rent in this overpriced market was if I secured a family housing apartment on campus. And even though I could waitress anywhere—if I had a working car—I do not have a working car. It broke down six months ago, just after I sold all the other cars and farm trucks to pay off the credit cards I maxed out trying to feed the cows last winter.
“You’re making that face again.”
“What face?”
“That face when you look at that place.”
“What place?”
“That place!” She stops and points behind us. Right at Sick Boyz.
“I’m not making a face at that place.”
“Mom. You so are. I’m gonna go in there and see what’s so interesting.”
“You will not. Ever. Go in there. Do you hear me, Vivian Lee? Ev-er.”
She tsks her tongue at me. “Why not? I like the sign. It’s pretty.”
“It’s a tattoo shop, Viv. Those people in there, they’re bad.”
“No. I see kids go in there.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do. Little kids. My age. I saw them before school got out. They wear those uniforms.”
“Yeah, because those kids go to private school.” Holy shit, I can’t believe I just said that out loud. And it came out… bitter.
Vivian looks harder at the shop. “Hmm.”
“Never mind that shop. We don’t associate with those people.” I pull her towards the door to the restaurant and we slip inside. Judy, the manager, shoots me a look, just like she does every weekend when I bring my kid with me to work. She hates it, but she puts up with it because Vivian is not a troublemaker. She’s quiet. She sits in the breakroom and colors and draws, and doesn’t ask anyone for anything. She is a little mouse.
She is the daughter of a single mom.
She makes herself disappear so I don’t lose my job.
I suddenly feel very weary.
Vivian sits down at the break table and starts pulling her stuff out of her backpack. She’s been using an old sketchbook of mine. I was taking an art class when I dropped out of school seven years ago. Just a dumb drawing class for general ed credit. And that was my notebook.
She loves that thing. Most of the pages are still blank. I didn’t get far into that semester before I figured out I needed to go back home and forget about school. At least until Vivi was born.
And then I turned into a statistic. Because I never went back.
Daisy Lundin. Stop it. You are back. You are changing your life for the better. And yes, things suck mightily right now, but it won’t be like this forever. You only have five more semesters and you will graduate with your animal science degree.
I should change majors. This animal science degree is not going to do anything for me now. I don’t want to work for some other dairy farmer. But if I change my major that will add two more semesters. And every time I think about how long it will take to change my life, I get depressed.
So dairy farming, here I come.
“Do I at least get a donut?”
“No,” I tell my daughter. “No junk. I’ll bring you an egg-white omelet and some juice, OK? You just sit here and be good, and I’ll come back with your breakfast in a few minutes once I get my tables all set up.”
She huffs, but doesn’t complain.
I take my purse into the bathroom and check my hair. It’s a mess. It’s always a mess. I haven’t had it cut in months and I can’t even remember the last time I didn’t have it up in a ponytail. I don’t usually wear make-up either, which is fine here in the Pancake House, but it really makes me stand out at school.
Things were different seven years ago.
Or were they? Maybe I was just one of the in-girls, so I didn’t notice the outsiders like the woman I am now.
I sigh a little. Then, on a whim, I pull the scrunchie out of my hair and fluff it up. I have nice hair. It’s long, and blonde, and thick. It’s a little wild today. And I can’t wear it down, not while I’m waitressing. But I can do better than a stinking ponytail, right?
I braid it. Two braids. Like Heidi. I used to wear it like this all the time. It’s really cute in the winter when you have a hat on too.