And then there was the long-term problem. If I messed this up now, and things with Jake didn't work out, what then? My job-history was already shaky, and I was a year past college graduation.
As it stood now, my resume was a mess, and it wouldn’t get any cleaner by screwing this up, too.
I recalled my brothers, sitting a few tables away. Knowing them, they were laughing their asses off. As for me, I felt like crying.
I was being stupid, taking this way too personally. It wasn't like the lady had slapped me or anything.
I paused.
Yet.
Damn it. Suck it up, Luna.
Reluctantly, I tried again. "I'm sorry about that drawing." My voice was shaking. I hated that it was shaking. This wasn't a huge deal. It really wasn't. Trying to rein in my emotions, I continued, softer now, "It was a joke, but it wasn't meant for you."
She pursed her lips. "Oh really? So it was meant foranothercustomer?" Her voice rose. "What kind of place do you run here, anyway?"
I stared at her, unsure what to say. I wasn't running anything. I was just a stupid bartender, thinking I could get my foot in the door of a larger company and, oh, I don't know, actually use my college degree – the one I'd beggared myself to get.
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
Thinking of everything – the college loans, my own stupidity, and all of my poor choices, not just since graduating, but for as long as I could remember – I felt the first sting of tears.
With an effort, I blinked them away.
I wasn't going to do this. I wasn't going to cry in front of a low-level bully and her captive audience.
Thiswasn'ta big deal. Really, it wasn't.
I squared my shoulders and tried again. "I amreallysorry," I told the woman yet again. "That drawing, well, it was meant for my brothers, who come in here sometimes." As I spoke, I snuck a quick glance in their direction and paused.
They were gone.
On their table, I saw a handful of bills, tucked under one of their drinks, payment for lunch, obviously. But wait, had they evenhadlunch?
Either way, they were missing a wonderful show.
I stumbled over the rest of my latest apology, and finished by admitting, "I don't know what else you want me to say, but Iamreally sorry."
God, how many times had I said that? It felt like a million, and I seriously doubted my ability to say it even one more time.
Finally, after a long moment, the woman gave me a thin smile and announced, "I guess that'll do."
My shoulders sagged. With relief? Or defeat? I didn't know, and I didn't want to speculate. Somehow, I managed to say in an embarrassingly weak voice, "Thank you. I'm glad to hear that."
Had I no pride?
Shit. Apparently not.
To my infinite relief, Melanie arrived with a tray full of drinks, giving me the chance to make my escape. Walking on auto-pilot, I trudged back to the bar, where Robert was waiting.
One look at my face, and he frowned. "That bad, huh?"
"It was fine," I lied. "She accepted my apology, so…" I shrugged, reluctant to continue. For some stupid reason, I still like crying.
God, I was being such an idiot.
He gave me a sympathetic look. "If you want to take a break, I'll cover for you."
I glanced toward the door, wondering if I should say exactly what I wanted to say. I'd done it. I'd apologized. I'd kept my job. So why wasn't I happy?
But I knew why.
And suddenly, I knew what I had to do. In a weird twist of fate, it happened to be exactly what I wanted to do.
How often didthathappen?
