Darius the Great Deserves Better - Adib Khorram Page 0,44
out, just enough to poke a hole into my jeans. A hole that had stretched and expanded, bit by bit, every time I bent over or squatted, until my jeans had finally experienced a non-passive failure.
I glanced toward the door and then reached my hand inside my pants just to make sure nothing felt bloody.
What was I going to do?
I heard a commotion outside, in the store, so I grabbed a roll of packing tape off the shelf, ripped off a couple pieces, and patched my pants together as best I could.
I hoped no one would notice.
I grabbed the mop and more towels and went back out.
“There you are,” Landon snapped when I emerged, waddling slightly so I wouldn’t make the rip worse. “What took you so long?”
“Uh.”
Landon’s cheeks were red, and his brows were creased.
“Someone almost tripped over your spill!” Landon’s voice was sharp as a box knife. Everyone turned to look at us: Kerry at the register, and Alexis at the tea bar, and the customers in line.
I’d never heard Landon use that voice before.
I felt like I’d been kneed in the balls again.
My eyes prickled as I mopped up the rest of the tea. I wiped my face against my shoulder and sniffed.
I had to get back on my hands and knees to get the last of it up, an operation that was destined to further damage the structural integrity of my jeans. The packing tape tugged on my leg hairs, and when I stood back up, I felt cool air against my inner thigh.
Great.
“Sorry about that,” I said to the table above me. I cleared my throat and squeezed my legs together to hide the damage to my jeans. They were already sipping on new cups of Big Red Robe.
“It’s fine,” they said without even looking at me.
I nodded at the floor.
“Enjoy your tea.”
STRUCTURAL INTEGRITY
I wanted to cry.
I mean, I was crying. A little bit. But I wanted to cry more.
I locked myself in the bathroom so no one would see me.
I’d had bad days at work before. My old job, at Tea Haven, had Corporate-Mandated Clearance Sales once a quarter, which had been way worse.
But I guess I thought Rose City would be different.
I thought it was going to be about serving people the finest teas, and helping them discover new favorites. Not profit margins and import taxes.
I had this feeling for a second.
Like I didn’t like working at Rose City.
But that was ridiculous.
I sniffed, kicked off my shoes, and slid out of my damaged jeans.
They were utterly destroyed. The rip had lengthened along the inseam, up to the crotch seam and down about twelve inches. Frayed edges waved in the air like tiny blue anemones.
I closed the toilet lid and sat on it in my underwear (a pair of green square-cut trunks with a shiny black waistband) and pulled my phone out of my jeans pocket to check the time.
I had another hour on my shift.
What was I supposed to do?
Someone knocked on the bathroom door.
“Darius?”
It was Landon.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” I said.
It was quiet for a moment. And then Landon said, in a softer voice, “You mad at me?”
“No.”
I wasn’t mad.
Just hurt.
And embarrassed.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you. I didn’t want my dad to get upset.” He tapped the door. “Are you gonna come out of there?”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
I cleared my throat.
“Darius?”
“I’ve got a hole in my jeans.”
“I’m sure we can fix it.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Just let me in?”
“I’m in my underwear.”
“It’s okay.”
I sighed.
And then I got off the toilet seat and hid behind the door as I unlocked it and swung it inward.
Landon squeezed through the gap and then closed the door behind me. He looked down at the shredded jeans in my hands.
And then his eyes kept going, down toward my underwear.
My leg hairs stood on end.
Landon’s eyes snapped back up to mine.
“I don’t think we can fix them,” he said.
“What am I going to do?”
He almost glanced toward my underwear again. Like maybe he didn’t realize he was doing it.
“Alexis might have some safety pins or something. And I think we have an apron somewhere. You could cover up with that.”
My lip quivered.
“Don’t be embarrassed.”
“I’m not,” I said.
“You are.” He stepped closer to me, so close he pressed my hands—still holding my jeans—back against me. “But you don’t need to be. It’s just me.”
He leaned up to kiss me, but I scooched back.
Landon’s face fell. “You are mad at me.” He rocked back onto his heels. “I said I was sorry.”