Late to the Party - Kelly Quindlen Page 0,18

off their hangovers. They were groggy and slow-moving, and JaKory wouldn’t stop talking about how much he was craving hash browns. I snuck them out through the basement so my family wouldn’t notice their obvious hangovers.

“Feels like there’s an elephant on my head,” Maritza said, hanging over her car door.

“Two elephants,” JaKory groaned, rubbing his eyes.

“Yeah, and nothing even came of it,” Maritza grumbled. She peered at me from beneath her messy hair. “We missed you, though, Codi-kid.”

She said it sincerely, almost like she’d forgotten our heated conversation from the day before. Maritza had always been good at glossing over our sore spots. Usually I appreciated that, but something in me had switched this time.

“Yeah, y’all mentioned that last night,” I said brusquely.

Maritza looked hard at me. It was clear she realized I wasn’t over our argument yet. “Well, it’s true, we really did miss you.”

There was a hanging silence. I didn’t care to say anything back.

JaKory’s eyes went soft. He came over and wrapped me in a hug. “Forgive us, okay? We needed to try something new. Obviously nothing worked out, but at least we gave it a shot.”

I returned his hug half-heartedly and backed away from the car. “Y’all get going. I’m gonna be late for work.”

Maritza looked like she wanted to press the matter, but for once, she let it go. “And I’m gonna be late for my coffee-within-fifteen-minutes-of-waking-up window,” she said. “Come on, JaKory.”

“Ugh,” JaKory said, tucking himself into the passenger seat, “I can’t fathom drinking a scalding-hot coffee right now.”

“So let’s get iced ones, genius,” Maritza said, snapping the door shut.

I watched them pull away from the curb, still squabbling, and as I walked down the driveway to my own car, I couldn’t help but feel relieved that they were gone.

* * *

I worked at a retail store called Totes-n-Goats. It was a small boutique in a shopping plaza where the main clientele consisted of suburban families and where the developers decorated the lampposts with signs like STEP INTO SUMMER! At Totes-n-Goats, we sold purses, patterned handbags, and pretty much anything that featured a decorative animal on it. I’m not sure who had the genius idea to combine these two things, but many women in the area seemed to love it. They’d come in to buy hand towels with alligators on them, salt and pepper shakers shaped like bunny rabbits, even lip balm with owls on the label. One lady came in every week to ask whether we’d “gotten our paws” on any gazelle items yet.

My proper title was “Sales Associate,” but I’m not sure it was all that fitting, considering I never spoke to customers if I could help it. “Creeper Who Lingers in the Back of the Store and Gets Flustered When Customers Ask for Help” might have been a better title. I think the only reason they kept me around was because I knew how to work the register and I never complained when they asked me to pick up another shift.

That Saturday was the start of Memorial Day weekend, so we were expecting heavy sales. My manager, Tammy, made me follow her around the store after we opened. She wanted to coach me, once again, on how to approach customers with a “bubbly” attitude.

“Smile bigger, Codi, bigger,” she said, pointing her fingers at the corners of her mouth. “You can’t look like you’re on your way to the dentist.”

Tammy could be patronizing sometimes, but I knew she was grateful that I’d agreed to pick up extra shifts that weekend. Two of the other sales associates, who were in college, were going to the lake to celebrate the long weekend with friends, and they’d called out last minute.

“Thank Jesus we can count on you,” Tammy said, smoothing a zebra sticker onto my name tag. “You’re not another one of these young people who put partying and friends over showing up and being responsible.”

I didn’t reply. A group of kids my age was hovering in front of the store window, passing a cigarette between them. They were laughing and smacking each other’s shoulders, obviously enjoying an inside joke.

Tammy followed my line of sight, and her face darkened immediately. “Oooh, these yahoos,” she muttered, marching toward the door. “Come on, Codi.”

“Oh, no, I’ll just—”

“You need to learn how to handle these situations,” she said, tugging me by the arm.

We spilled outside the door. The group of kids looked up, not bothering to hide their cigarette.

“Y’all are loitering,” Tammy said, hands on her hips, “and