Resolutions by Jen Knox

Author:Jen Knox
Format: epub

I cling to my reservations about moving out of Mom’s before I graduate, but over the next few weeks Allie's forward momentum is addictive. She visits fourteen apartments, two rooming houses, and a basement rental in the suburbs. The rent seems too high everywhere, but I've decided that I'm coming with her after all, a fact Allie has taken for granted this whole time. Of course, we haven't told Mom yet, but Allie says that with no leads on a place to stay, why bother just yet?

"I'm in therapy," Allie says, out of nowhere, while we're at work. It’s rare that our shifts overlap. Allie is at the register, a head cashier on management track (“I was hired with a purpose and a journey, Molly May,” she’d said after getting turned down for management at the outset), and I am loading a woman's cart with cloth bags. The woman stares at Allie with a curious smile, examining her head scarf, which is adorned with penguins and stars—neither shape particularly apparent unless you’re paying close attention.

"When do you have time for that?" I ask.

"Mondays, before work. It feels good to release some of the shit." She looks at the woman. "Sorry."

"Hey, no worries. Good for you, hon," the woman says as she takes her receipt. She smiles warmly at each of us before rolling her cart away. It is the first time I forget to ask a customer whether she wants help outside, and I worry she could be the mystery shopper who comes quarterly.

I haven't told Allie because I know she'll give me a hard time, but I want to move up the ranks at Swifts too. The Customer Service desk appeals to me, and the idea of selling lottery tickets and solving problems beats lugging carts in the rain any day. I’ve asked Rose about it a few times, and since she has seniority, she says she’ll put in a good word.

"Do you talk about the attack?" I ask, as I try to catch the customer's attention with a wave as she turns the corner outside. With automated cash register stations, few customers come through our aisles, and the odds of mystery shoppers has gone up considerably.

"I talk about everything."

"Already? What have you said about me?"

"It's like a birthday wish, therapy. You can't talk about it after, not outside of that room. If you do, the spell is broken."

“Then why’d you tell me?”

“So that you know I’m doing something to get help. I know you’ve been worried. I was a basket case; don’t act like you haven’t noticed.” For the first time in an hour there are no customers, so my sister turns to face me and begins straightening bags. "Your hearing is getting better, you know that? I used to have to yell."

"It's not supposed to. It's just supposed to plateau. I'm getting good at reading lips, filling in the blanks," I say. According to my doctor, I have at least 70% hearing loss in my right ear,

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