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I set down the soda refills, not wanting to get involved in what was going on at the table. They were watching their buddy with intrigue, and glancing at me at the same time. Mr. Nothing-Is-Too-Hot-For-Me was trying to toughen up to save face, but he ultimately had to reach for the water again.
“This’ll work better,” I said, setting the glass of milk in front of him.
He immediately took it, and half a glass later released a loud breath of air. “Yeah, that works much better.”
The rest of the table was still snickering, but I was honestly worried the guy was going to throw a fit about the incident.
“Holy shit, that was hot!” he exclaimed. “What the hell do you put in that stuff?”
“Ah, that’s top secret,” I winked. “But would you like another burger? —Without the hot sauce?”
“What for?”
“In case you’d rather taste it without the fire in your mouth.”
“Oh no, that was awesome. I think I’ve finally found a fire sauce that’s actually fire.”
I was surprised by his reply, but thankful at the same time. “I’ve never tried it, but I hear it gets easier to handle after each bite.”
“How come you’ve never tried it?”
“I’m not that dumb,” I joked.
The group laughed, and the same guy said, “You should try it.” He held the burger up.
“Nah, that’s okay. I’m not really the hot sauce-loving kind of person. I like to taste my food.”
“Brock puts hot sauce on everything,” one of them said. “Eggs, sandwiches, spaghetti...”
I grimaced because just the thought of it sounded gross. We did have customers who liked to put Tabasco sauce on their food, just not Clover’s fire sauce.
“Well if you’re a big boy and eat all your food, maybe I’ll bring you a souvenir,” I told Brock, and then I left them alone.
Had I realized they were going to stay for two hours, I might not have coerced them into the café. No, that’s not actually true, but my shift was over at two o’clock, and that’s when they wanted to order dessert. It was great—we liked customers to stay and eat—but normally I’d be able to leave once my shift was up. When Phoebe arrived, I had to explain why I couldn’t leave just yet, and she thought that was just hilarious.
“Is there anything else I can get for you?” I asked the table of guys (hopefully) for the last time.
“Your phone number?” Brock replied.
“Hmm, can’t seem to remember it,” I said, clearing the dessert plates.
The others laughed.
“Does that go for all of us or just him?” another guy asked.
I didn’t respond to that, and I refrained from making eye contact as I laid their bill on the table. I also pulled a small bottle of hot sauce from my apron and set it down. “There’s for your eggs, sandwiches, spaghetti and...whatever else you’re crazy enough to put that stuff on.”
Brock picked it up to look it over. “Really? Wow, thanks.”
“Sure. Have a great weekend, guys.”
And with that, I took my tray to the back and unloaded the dirty dishes for Mario to take care of.
“See you Monday, Nova,” he said to me. “Don’t get too crazy studying books all weekend.”
I rolled my eyes but waved with a smile. By the time I returned to the counter, the four guys were gone. Phoebe looked like she might have just rung them up, so I went to table ten to finish cleaning it up. I did a double take when I saw the fifty-dollar bill in the middle of the table.
“Phoebe, did those guys already pay their tab?”
“Yep, they just left. They also wanted to make sure you got your tip,” she said, pointing to the table.
“My tip?” I asked, holding up the fifty.
Her mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding me! What exactly did you do for them?” I rolled my eyes, but she only laughed and said, “Take it and run, honey, before they change their mind. See ya, Nov.”
And so, I left that day with my first fifty-dollar tip. I’d been left a twenty once or twice, and a ten on occasion, but never a fifty. It really made my day—my week, even—and I was very happy to stick it in an envelope to deposit at the bank with my other tips for that week.
I showered and put on some comfortable clothes. I’d originally planned on going for a jog when I got home, but I was too tired. Sitting in the family room with a book while my Uncle Scott watched baseball on TV seemed like a much better choice.
“Whatcha studying now?” he asked.
I closed the book slightly to show him the cover.
“Canine Reproduction,” he read. “Hmm.”
“Not interested?” I teased.
“Nope,” he replied. But then he smiled and said, “If only the time you read could count toward your field hours.”
“No kidding. Or even half.”
“Did you hear back from, uh...? What was the doctor’s name in Burbank?”
“Ross. And he’s already working with a student.”
“Well...I think you’ll have enough money for Davis. It’ll be okay.”
I appreciated his optimism, but I wasn’t in the position to even apply for a veterinarian school. I still needed to finish my credits in the pre-vet program that I started at Pierce. After that, I could apply for veterinary school and maybe be on my way to achieve my career goal.
It wasn’t exactly unattainable, especially if I could save up enough money for UC Davis when the time came. As it was now, ten credits at a time was not the quickest route to go. But three days a week was all I could give if I was also working at the diner full time to make it happen. My ideal job would be interning at an actual veterinarian clinic, or something in that field, but I still wasn’t able to get my foot in a door.
But working for my aunt had allowed me a place to live after my mom died. I didn’t have many options, and frankly, I just wasn’t in the position to even make any decisions at that point. So, when Meryl insisted I move from San Fernando to Santa Clarita, I just numbly went along with it. My mom and I had only lived in an apartment, but I didn’t have the money to go to school anymore let alone pay rent on my own.
After a few months had passed, Meryl asked if I could start helping at the café. I didn’t want to at first, but decided it was the least I could do to help pay for the room I was occupying in their house, and I was hoping it would take my mind off missing my mom. It took a couple months to get used to the diner life, but after a while, I kind of liked it. I enjoyed the people who came in and I liked the employees I worked with.
It took another year before I even considered returning to school, but now I commuted thirty minutes south to college three days a week and worked at the café whenever I could. It was a busy life, and I really didn’t do much besides school and waitressing, but all I could do was have my career goal in mind, and take it one day at a time.
My future was still to be decided.