Til Debt Do Us Part (Married At Midnight #4)

Chapter 16

Sixteen

Talia

"G et that!"

The manager of my second job, a high-end restaurant called Tusk, points out a table where the couple has just left. His brow furrows at me as he whips his hand in a circle.

"Can you move it? I need to have you working, not gawking."

"Of course," I say. I tug on the hem of my short skirt as I hurry to clear the table. I pull off the glasses first, then stack a pile of plates. I grab the glasses and plates and turn to carry them into the dishwashing area called the dish pit. Brian stops me, hustling up to me with a large tray.

"Get everything at once. Clear the entire table. I can’t believe I’m having to tell you this," he hisses. "Usually, when I train a new hostess, she is inexperienced. But I don’t have to tell them things that are common sense. I’m going to need you to do better if you want to keep working here."

He says it matter-of-factly, and the table to my right notices, turning their heads and arching their eyebrows. I feel my face heat as I bite my lip, feeling a wave of shame and sadness. I don’t want to cry in front of this entire room of people, but my manager is making it very hard.

Brian shoves the wide black tray at me, knocking it into my stomach so hard that I stumble backward. My breath is knocked out of me, but Brian just smirks at me, turning on his heel and threading his way through the busy, crowded dining room.

It’s seven thirty at night, and Tusk is absolutely jammed with people, every single employee thrumming with energy as they move about their business.

Gulping, I clamp my lips shut, determined not to show weakness.

As I stack plates and glassware on the tray, a vague memory swims to the surface of my mind. It’s the fleeting image of Dare leaning down to me and whispering that my face is too easy to read.

I thought that Dare was crazy and that he was making up rules for interacting with the Morgan family that would never apply outside of their fancy estate. But here I am, using some of the same emotional control that I have only recently discovered.

Who would have thought that Dare would be useful to me?

As I lift the tray onto my shoulder, I struggle under its weight. The thought that pregnant women aren’t supposed to lift anything flits through my mind.

Is that true? I don’t actually know. It’s just another thing for me to worry about.

After I rush the tray to the dish pit, I head back out front and make a beeline for the hostess stand. There is another hostess working, as is the usual schedule for hosts on the weekends, or so I’m told. I’m working with Anna, a gorgeous young blonde with a short black dress and the highest heels I’ve ever seen anybody successfully walk in. She spots me and gives me a disapproving look.

"Where have you been? I needed you to take over at the hostess stand so that I could go around the restaurant and ask everyone how their meal was. I can’t leave the hostess stand unattended."

Bowing my head, I find myself flushing once more. "Sorry. Brian asked me to…"

"Brian doesn’t know anything," she cuts in. "He thinks he does because he is the front-of-house manager, but he can’t even book a reservation. He is clueless." She rolls her eyes. "Okay, can you stay here while I do a round of the room?"

“Of course,” I say.

She looks at me out of the corner of her eye. "When you have a little downtime, you should put in an order with the kitchen for a meal. We don’t have time to eat while we’re here, but getting a boxed up meal is one of the only perks for us. We get fed, and we sometimes get a percentage of the tips. It depends."

Nodding my head, I make a note. "Okay. What are the rules for food again? We get seventy-five percent off or something."

"Actually, the hostesses get their food for free, up to one hundred dollars’ worth. It’s actually a really nice perk."

My eyebrows fly up. "Oh. That’s really nice."

"Yeah. On some nights, when the restaurant is slammed and everyone is in the weeds, it doesn’t seem like that great of an upside. It is not always enough to balance out the downsides. But you know." She flips her hair back and gives me a pasted-on smile.

"I’m only doing this as temporary work anyway. I think this is the second job of almost everybody who works as a hostess."

I nod. "I know it is for me."

Anna is already turning away, starting toward the first white linen-covered table, and asking them if there is anything they need.

One hundred dollars goes pretty far, even at Tusk. It’s a huge benefit for me, although I suppose that no one else needs to realize how much it will help me out. If I don’t have to feed myself, I could save whatever I normally spend on myself for groceries every week. Probably seventy-five dollars, give or take.

A couple walks by the hostess stand on their way out.

"Have a good night!" I call out for them. The woman glances back at me and gives me a cool smile. They are outside the doors before I can say anything else.

Pulling a menu out from beneath the phone and computer that sit on top of the hostess stand, I purse my lips and peruse. Steak, chicken, lobster, fish, all kinds of different salads... I’m going to eat well while I work here.

I am too busy trying to decide on what I’ll order first to notice that a tall, extremely thin, dark headed woman struts through the doors, trailing a string of four children behind her. She walks straight up to the hostess stand and slaps both of her palms down onto the stand. It startles me, and I jump, looking up at her like a deer in headlights.

"Excuse me," she says. She has a thick European accent, perhaps Spanish or French. I can’t exactly pinpoint it. "I need service!" she cries.

"Oh, of course. I’m sorry." Moving to the computer, I pull up the reservations screen. "Do you have a reservation?"

Her face turns angry, as if I have just challenged her somehow. "No. My family wants to eat. We are very hungry."

I swallow and look back at the packed restaurant. There isn’t a single empty seat in the whole restaurant. There are actually already people sitting in chairs that were brought in by the waitstaff from a back hallway. We are over capacity, even at the long marble countertop that serves as our bar. Every single seat was reserved months ago, and it is bordering on insanity that this woman doesn't understand that.

"Ma’am," I say. "Unfortunately, we don’t have…"

"No! That is not acceptable. We will eat now." The woman puts her arms out, and her children filter into her embrace. She looks at me as if she has somehow presented an argument that is undeniable.

"As you can see," I say. I turn and wave a hand to indicate the dining room. Our entire restaurant is full at the moment. "We are not taking walk-ins. There are guests with reservations all the way up until nine thirty.”

She arches her brow and crosses her arms. "That is unacceptable. I know chef André. He would be extremely dissatisfied if he knew that you were turning me away right now."

Casting a sneaky glance around, I try to get Anna’s attention. But she is off on the other end of the restaurant, beaming at a cluster of customers as they interact with her.

Chef André is both the chef and the owner of this establishment. But I don’t know him, and I don’t feel like heading back into the kitchen and asking him at this exact moment is really wise.

I steel myself and force a smile onto my lips. Looking at the woman, I bow my head. "I’m sorry. We are booked. Perhaps you would like to make a reservation for the future?"

She turns around, swinging a hand wide to indicate the empty benches in the foyer. "We can just sit there. No problem."

My brow furrows. "I don’t think…"

The woman once again slams both of her hands down on the host stand, making me jump. "You are an idiot! You are terrible at your job. They should not let you work here. I am not just going to leave here with my family. My family is hungry, and we want to eat Chef André’s food!"

"I’m sorry…"

"No!" She turns and points to the bench. "Go sit down, kids. We are going to eat here. Your mom said you would eat at Tusk, so you will eat at Tusk. Don’t make me do something rash."

The last part was obviously meant for me. I realize that at some point, her accent fell away and now she is talking with a normal American accent, possibly one that says she was raised in Boston.

"Ma’am, I don’t know what you want me to do. I can’t seat you. There is literally nowhere to sit in the restaurant. Those benches are not tables, they are a waiting area. What you are asking for is against the restaurant’s policies."

"You know what you are? You’re a bitch and a liar. We have seats right here." She waves her hand at the benches again. "Now get us some menus and some waters. Better yet, get us another person to deal with. Someone who doesn’t shake and tremble at every little thing that is said to them."

That’s the moment that Brian appears, straightening his navy suit and looking between myself and the customer skeptically. "What’s going on?"

I draw in a gulp of air and try to answer, but the customer cuts me off.

"Your hostess is a moron," she says through clenched teeth. "I tried to explain to her that I am a friend of chef André's. A close friend. But she says that she can’t seat us, even though there are plenty of chairs right behind me."

Brian tilts his head to the side. His lips purse, and he squints at me. I am so flustered. I can feel tears pressing at the corners of my eyes, threatening to descend. My face burns.

Brian smacks his lips and arches a brow at me. "Maybe you need to go on your break. Go take ten minutes in the back." His gaze narrows on me. "Now."

The customer looks at me with a little smirk as I walk away. I turn and duck my head, weaving through the tables, trying not to knock into anyone as my tears fall.

Heading into the back hallway, I run into Chef André. He is maybe forty years old; his dark hair is starting to thin on top, and his frame is angular and athletic. Someone once said to me that you can never trust a skinny chef, but I just try to smile, pretending that I am not crying as I try to sneak past him.

He approaches from the back door, having just been outside. He takes one look at me and exhales a long sigh, smelling like he just smoked a cigarette. "What is your name?" he asks.

I stop and wipe away my tears the best I can. "Talia."

"Okay. There are a lot of rules for working in a restaurant. But one of them is that there are no tears. Or rather, maybe that should be the number one rule. In any event, I think I will send you home early."

God, how embarrassing. I shake my head, trying to wipe away my tears. "I swear, Mr. André, I don’t normally cry at work."

He holds up a hand to stop my protests. "I’m too bored for you to keep talking. Also, I have to get back to the kitchen. Listen, I want you to go home, calm yourself down, and when you come back, bring a better attitude. You must do better the next time you come to work."

I look at him with wide eyes, not even sure what to say. He looks at me, his expression intent. "I need you to say that you understand what I’m saying to you."

I gulp in a breath and nod quickly. "Of course. I understand. It’s just…"

He waves a hand, dismissing me. "Okay. Don’t let it happen again, Talia. One time, I let it slide. Two times and you’re out. You understand?"

I nod, a little stunned. He rolls his eyes and turns on his heel, heading down the hallway toward the kitchen.

I want to scream. I don’t because I’m afraid I’ll lose my job. But I can feel pressure building in my throat, heated by rage. I don’t normally think this about people, but that chef can go fuck himself. I take a deep breath and remind myself that I need every penny I can get at this point. That’s assuming that I keep deferring my decision about my pregnancy and run out of time to make a rational choice. It’s only been a few days since I found out, but it feels like it’s been a thousand years.

I pull out my phone, unsure who to text. It’s a short list that I have to choose from. Olivia, Aunt Minnie, a few other work contacts... or Dare, I suppose. God, if I wanted my day to get worse, I could definitely call him.

Instead, I text Olivia and ask her what she is doing. She texts back right away, asking if I’m done with work. And then before I can answer, she follows up that question with an offer to drive me home. I wipe my eyes and text her back. We plan that I will just meet her at my house.

I catch the bus home, and my stomach rumbles as I walk the few blocks to my house. I live in a fairly prosperous part of town, but my house is just on the other side of a very rich neighborhood. I walk down the street, seeing the familiar row of little bungalows. They have yet to be torn down and rebuilt, so if you just looked at my street, you might think you were in the post-World War II USA. Well, if you squinted a little and ignored the dingy, worn-down quality of the houses on my street.

Just as I trudge up my front walkway, heading to my little drab green bungalow, I see that Olivia is in fact waiting for me on the front porch steps. She looks up and raises a pizza box in the air, wiggling her eyebrows in invitation.

Running the last few steps up to her, I help her up and then hug her hard. She laughs and balances the pizza box with one arm as she embraces me. "That bad of a night, huh?"

"You have no idea. The people who eat at Tusk are so wealthy and entitled. In fact, I am pretty sure that Dare Morgan must hang out there all the time."

She smiles. "Well, that really stinks. But on the upside, I did bring you dinner. Are you hungry?"

"I am starving. I got sent home before I had a chance to order anything at the restaurant."

Unlocking the front door, I let myself in and carefully hang up my heavy overcoat by the front door.

The front door leads directly into the crowded living room. It only has a TV and the couch, as I have been cleaning and throwing away all the clutter that Aunt Minnie brings home on a regular basis.

Olivia closes the door behind her and pulls up a battered folding table, setting the pizza down. She shoos me over to the couch. "Sit down. Take a load off. I’ll grab the plates."

A wave of exhaustion hits me suddenly and I nod. "Okay. But just because I have been on my feet for like twelve hours straight today between working at the bookstore and at the restaurant. That’s the only reason I am going to let you feed me expensive takeout."

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. "It’s Carl’s Pizza. Nothing fancy at all. I just got mushrooms and pepperoni. And because I went to the store and picked it up, it was like fifteen bucks."

I collapse on the couch and stick my feet out, grimacing at the way they are throbbing. When Olivia returns with a stack of cloth napkins and two thrift store plates, I fix her with a solemn look. "Fifteen dollars is a lot to blow on one meal."

She hands me a plate and a napkin and sits down beside me. "First of all, no, it isn’t. You’re just cheap. Second of all, this pizza will probably last me at least one more meal, if not two."

She opens the pizza box, and the most amazing smell ever wafts out. She places two slices of pizza on her plate before turning the box to face me.

I try to be economical and only pull one slice out of the box. But she points to it with a stern look. "Take another slice. Really. I insist."

"You’re spending your money on needless things!" I protest.

"The key word there is my money. Let me spend it how I want to," she chides me. "Come on, I’m being generous. Let me enjoy the moment."

I heave a sigh and lean forward, taking a second slice. Olivia already has a huge mouthful of pizza, so I give her a quiet smile. "Thank you, Olivia. This is just what I need right now."

She giggles. "It’s what we all needed, deep down."

The pizza smells amazing as I bring it to my lips. I am eating with my eyes as much as I am preparing myself for such a decadent treat. Take-out pizza is not something that is usually on the menu for me, that’s for sure.

But the second I put the pizza slice in my mouth, I feel my belly gurgle. I was starving literally half a second ago. But now that my mouth is closed around the tip of the pizza, taking in a mushroom, my hunger has shifted to nausea. Before I can even take a solid bite, I retch in my throat.

I fling the pizza away from my face, spitting the chewed-up remnants into my hands. A wave of nausea hits me, and I retch again, pressing my nose into my arm.

Olivia stands up, alarmed. "What’s going on? What can I do?"

I cough, shaking my head, and run to the bathroom. I barely have time to dump the chewed bits of pizza in the sink before I throw up a little bit of burning liquid. I retch for another minute and then step back, feeling perplexed.

Why did the pizza make me feel so sick, so suddenly? I have no idea. It takes me another couple of minutes to clean up after myself in the bathroom.

When I walk out of the small bathroom and emerge into the living room, I am hit by the smell of pizza once more. I gag and turn towards the kitchen, covering my nose and mouth with my hand. "The pizza… Can you…"

"Oh God, yes." Olivia is on her feet, carrying both the plates and the pizza box. She takes them outside, leaving the door open and letting the room fill with cold air. I drink in gulps of the fresh air, trying not to vomit.

Olivia sticks her head in the front door, looking at me with concerned eyes. "Are you going to be okay?"

I nod. I hold my mouth in just a certain way that seems to be keeping me from throwing up and I just ride out the wave of nausea until it passes. At last, I sit down on the couch again and sink back, looking up at the ceiling and letting my head fall back.

"Oh my God. If that’s a sign of pregnancy, maybe I don’t want to deal with it right now." I'm half-joking, my remark not really meaning anything. But Olivia shuts the front door, looking at me carefully as she takes her seat again.

"Does that mean you have made up your mind about it?"

I look over at her, shaking my head. "No. I was just kidding. I haven’t made up my mind one way or the other."

"Well," she sighs and looks around the room, as if deciding how much to say. She has a tendency to nag and I really appreciate her clear attempt to reign it in now. "You know you are going to have to decide one way or another eventually."

She’s rustling her overcoat off and throwing it over the arm of the chair. Standing up, I take her coat and hang it beside mine.

"I’m going to make myself some dry toast. You want some?"

She shrugs. "Sure. I could go for some dry toast. Why not?"

She follows me into the small kitchen. Everything in here is a shade of brown. Brown ceramic tile on the counter and floor, with light brown near the cabinets. I wrestle a loaf of bread from the pantry cabinet and place two slices in the toaster. Then I turn, leaning against the counter.

Olivia leans against the opposite counter and crosses her arms, looking me up and down. "Okay, here’s the thing."

She quirks her head, curious. "I’m listening."

"So, I definitely want a family. Like I said before, I really want to have a bunch of kids. And now I am wondering... What if this is the only chance I will ever have to get pregnant? What if I never conceive again after getting an abortion?"

She purses her lips. "That is not really a common side effect or anything. In fact, it’s not even a rare one. It’s possible, but in the same way that it’s possible that you might win the lottery without even buying a ticket. You know? Not unthinkable, but just really, really unlikely."

I exhale a sigh. Our toast pops up, and I offer her a piece, grabbing her the peanut butter and a knife. She spreads peanut butter on her toast and looks at me.

"It makes me nervous," I say finally.

"People go on to have really beautiful children after an abortion. Don't let a lifetime of fear mongering and incomplete information make your decision for you."

I take a tiny nibble of my toast, nodding slowly. "You’re right, of course."

"I am a scientist by nature. I seek the truth."

"And I am very glad to have inner circle privileges. But… here’s the thing: telling Burn Morgan that I am pregnant with his child? It seems… I don’t know, unfathomable. Especially after I met his fiancée."

Olivia looks at me, her eyebrows arching. "Tell me more about that."

"Oh yeah. Burn and his fiancée Daisy were at the Morgan estate the other night. So, I realize that in sleeping with me, Burn was essentially cheating on Daisy. Actually, he was not doing anything essentially. He was just plain cheating. And now I’m supposed to show up with news that literally no one wants to hear?"

"Well, it’s your decision. But if you want, I will go with you to tell Burn. Whenever you decide to do it, that is. Because if you decide to have this baby you definitely have to tell him."

"How am I supposed to show up with this news that no one wants to hear? What is Burn going to think? He is going to think that I’m a burden. He’s going to think that me and my child are both an albatross—a weight around his neck pulling him down into the water. And I don’t want anyone to ever feel that way about me. I don’t want my child to grow up thinking that they are imposing on someone. No way. I’ve done that my whole life."

"You may have felt that way, but realistically, you were never a burden. You couldn’t have been. Without you, who would have kept Minnie from drowning in her own mess?"

For a moment, I think that Olivia is referring to Aunt Minnie's loan from a loan shark. But that’s when Olivia gestures around her, to the disaster of a house that I’ve spent so much time cleaning.

"I guess," I say apathetically.

"So?" Olivia asks.

I give a slow nod. "Yeah. I think that I can’t stop feeling a little bubble of excitement in my heart at the thought of having a baby. I know that it will probably be chaotic. And probably not the best childhood that I could’ve provided if I had only waited a few more years. But…" I motion with my hand. “How can I get rid of this bundle of cells when I have such a deep yearning for a child?"

She gives me a tiny smile. "I don’t know. I don’t know if you can."

I push off the kitchen counter and hug myself. "I am not going to do it, then. I’m not going to have an abortion. I’m going to keep the baby."

Olivia’s squeal of glee shocks me a little bit. She lunges at me from across the kitchen, wrapping me in her arms and squeezing me tight. "Yes! I knew you were going to decide that."

I break away. "I will need help triangulating where Burn is going to be. Maybe in the next two or three days?"

"Wow, you are taking this very seriously. I appreciate your total commitment."

Olivia pulls out her phone and scrolls for a minute. "So, I found Burn on Instagram..."

"You what?"

"Just let me have this moment. I found him on Instagram, and according to his post from today, the whole family is gathering at the Morgan estate tonight for yet another charity ball. That’s probably your best chance."

I blow out a shaky breath, and my heartbeat skyrockets. The very thought of having to tell Burn that he knocked me up is unnerving, if nothing else. "Okay. Okay. You’re going to have to help me figure out what to wear to tell Burn that his one-night stand got me pregnant and I am keeping the baby."

Olivia beams at me, as though I just told her that she won the lottery. "I thought you’d never ask. Come on, come to my house. Let me dress you up. Then you can go in style."

I shake my head and roll my eyes, but I let her pull me out of the room.