BROWN SKIN | BOOK 1

|| C H A P T E R . 4 ||

I wasn't use to waking up in an empty house with eerie quietness.

Normally, I would see Aunt Sheilah walking around, giddy, with quick feet in her step, nothing but a long shirt and thin panties on. A crease around my mouth leveled out the animosity and disgust thinking about what could have happened before. But even then, Uncle Wesley would trail behind her with pure amusement at her behavior.

I couldn't remember the last time my parents admired each other like that.

My stomach weren't growling for food this morning and it was really not on my mind currently to eat anyway.

When Mom said she had "things taken care of" the manager respectively accepted my position in the previous restaurant Mom worked for when she was younger. Apparently the manager glanced through my high accomplishments and skills in my history, quickly qualifying me once she recognized my last name for their company.

I called out André and Simone's name, but no one responded back. Only the mere echo of my own.

Taking a napkin from the kitchen counter, I wrote a note to both cousins, informing them on my whereabouts and my name scribbled in doctor print.

Hopefully, they knew I wouldn't be back for a while.

It wouldn't be the first time I set my eyes on the classic restaurant, White Marbles, where Mom worked the majority of her time in her young adult years. It was only about twenty minutes down from the Dales' house and recurrent memories of their ordinary spicy dishes and syrupy meals left a familiar taste on the tip of my tongue.

Before I got the job, two other restaurants rejected my offer kindly, explaining they were running on a tight wage for employees and didn't need service from new-comers. Even Ben & Jerry's rejected me.

Not taking it too much to an offense, Mom did call White Marbles in advance when I was previously in school and they accepted my service without a doubt. Since they knew me from her stories so well, throwing me in the mix wasn't a bad idea.

It seemed like an easy set up for them to allow me to work there because they knew my mother rather than a traditional job interviewing. There was less competition the that way. The easy way.

The white light beamed against the cream walls presenting a more sophisticated and fancy setting. Several adults sat in dark wooden rectangle tables and bony chairs for privacy. A dazzling chandelier hung between two large leafy plants that dangled upside down with support like I recalled. Mazing through the furniture and mundane conversations, I found my way up to the off-white counter, so white it could be ancient porcelain and the black counter, aligned down, east and west.

I blatantly smiled at a few waiters and waitresses, the uniform people who wore similar outfits, black aprons with food stains and black clothing attire. They didn't give me much recognition and busied themselves with their own tasks.

I mentioned my name and the managers name up at the front counter to the first person I saw that looked at least friendly.

Her gray eyes lit dimly at my name and hearing it for the first time wasn't anything new to her as I rambled. Her hair inked a few inches away from her dark roots a reflected pastel gray.

The waitresses eyes showed no sign of happiness or flashed a spark in them and her existence smile was nowhere to be seen.

"How's it going?" She asked in a monotonic voice. No proper greeting but surely one like we've met before in a different life.

"Um, good I guess. It's early."

A waiter came by with old wrinkled cash in between his fingers, like where a cigarette would be placed, and simply slipped the wad in her hand.