Page 2 of Tempted By the Safety

“Spencer.”

“I’ll think about it,” I say.

Amanda sets her wine down with the flat expression of a person who has heard it from me approximately fifty times and watched it mean no on all fifty. “Sure you will.”

Needing a break from this pointless conversation, I tell her I’m going to find the restroom and head for the back of the restaurant.

The hallway to the restrooms runs past the service areas, and about halfway down, the dining room noise drops away. That’s when I hear someone’s voice, pitched in that specific register people use for delivering bad news.

“—want you to know it’s nothing personal. Corporate’s cutting floor staff across all three locations. It’s a numbers thing.”

There’s an alcove tucked off the hallway, and I can’t see past the shelving, but two people are talking in it. The restroom is another twenty feet, but I stop walking. In my defense, reading situations I’m not part of is most of what I get paid for.

“Hey, no, totally. Numbers.” The second voice is Milo, and I can hear the effort it takes him to sound easy. “Numbers are numbers. Just… can I ask one thing? Because I’ve been here two years. Danny started six weeks ago.”

“Danny’s family.”

Small pause. “Right. Sure.”

“And look, it’s not only that. There’s the lateness. You’ve got two documented—”

“Two. In two years.”

“Documented is documented. Corporate looks at the file.”

“I was late because my mom needed—”

He stops, chopping it off himself, and I can hear the swallow from the hallway. And when he comes back, two seconds later, his voice has been ironed flat.

“You know what, it doesn’t matter. You’ve already made up your mind.”

“I have. And it’s effective immediately,” the manager says, and now his voice has relief in it, because the hard part is over and the kid made it easy for him. “You’ll get your last check today, and I’m happy to be a reference. I mean that, Milo. You’re one of the best I’ve had.”

Which is a hell of a thing to say to someone you’re firing instead ofDanny.

“Okay. So… you’re down a server for the dinner rush, then.”

“I guess we are, yeah.”

“Let me finish the shift. Close out my tables, help set for dinner.”

The pause this time belongs to the manager, and it’s the pause of a man being handed something he knows he doesn’t deserve. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know. But I don’t want to leave it all to Emily.”

Someone steps into the hallway behind me, and I make myself walk, because eavesdropping is not a look I want to explain. I push into the restroom, run the water, and stand there with my hands under it, staring at a mirror and thinking about rigged plays.

Because that’s what that was, the outcome decided before the conversation started. And I want to fix it, even though it’s not my field and not my call. There’s nothing to be done.

I hate nothing to be done.

It’s my least favorite sentence in the English language, and it’s currently sitting under my skin like an itch I can’t reach.

I shut off the water and walk back out, finding the alcove now empty.

At the table, Amanda has finished her wine and is scrolling through her phone.

She looks up when I sit. “What happened?”