This Tiny Perfect World by Lauren Gibaldi

Author:Lauren Gibaldi
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2018-01-12T00:00:00+00:00

Thirteen

When I wake up the next morning, Dad is standing in my doorway.

“WHA—” I jump, seeing him.

“Sorry! Sorry. I hate to ask this, but can you help out this morning?”

I look at the clock. “It’s five a.m.”

“I’ll put on the coffee,” he says, and that’s that.

Ten minutes later we’re in the car and I’m holding a mug. Despite knowing it’s going to be hot out today, I wear long sleeves because early mornings make me cold. And tired. And ugh.

“How was your night?” Dad asks as he drives.

“Good,” I croak out. “Went out with some camp friends.”

“Oh yeah? Where’d you go?”

“Downtown,” I say before realizing he’d probably not like that.

“Downtown downtown?” he asks, furrowing his brow. “I don’t like you hanging out down there. It could be dangerous. There are fights in the clubs. Homeless people asking for money. Drinking.”

“I didn’t drink, Dad; don’t worry.”

“You didn’t ask me if you could go.”

“You weren’t home.” I sigh, not wanting to argue. But also seeing an opportunity. “Where were you last night, anyway?”

“Oh, out,” he says, voice lighter.

“Out where?”

“Soccer match, remember?”

“Right. How was it?”

“Fine, we lost.”

I want to ask him what time he got home, since he wasn’t there when I did. And I wasn’t exactly home early. But asking would mean admitting that, so maybe I won’t go down that road.

“Who’d you go with?”

“Just a guy I know.”

“You seem to have a lot of mysterious friends lately,” I say jokingly, but he’s not laughing. “What’s up?”

“Nothing. We’ll talk later.”

“Umm, that’s not cryptic or anything. Seriously, what’s going on?”

He parks the car in front of the café and looks out the window solemnly before getting out of the car.

“Nothing. Nothing bad. Just not now.”

“Dad . . .” I say, joining him out of the car. “Is it about your friend? Is it the café? Is something wrong?”

“Nothing. Everything is okay,” he says, putting his hand on my shoulder. “Let’s go work.”

Dad unlocks the door and turns on the light. I’ve always liked the café early in the morning. It’s peaceful—quiet, clean, undisturbed. In less than an hour, that won’t be the case.

I methodically start wrapping silverware in dark red napkins and put them on the tables. I put out mason jar water glasses. I arrange the menus in a half circle. Everything is automatic—it’s what I’ve always done.

I’ve been helping for as long as I can remember. At first it was just putting the silverware out. Then it was setting up. Then it was seating people. Then it was taking orders, serving food. Now? Now I know how to order dishes and food from the wholesalers. Now I know how to take complaints and accommodate. Now I know how to take over.

“Pen,” Dad calls from the back.

“Yeah?”

“Waitress, section two.”

“Got it.” And that’s what I’ll be doing today.

An hour later and we’re deep into breakfast and my face is hurting from smiling so much.

“Penny, we haven’t seen you around all summer!” Ms. Summers, a regular for years, says when she sees me. She’s around seventy, but I can’t tell with all the makeup and the purple-gray hair.

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