Read Life of the Party Online

Authors: Christine Anderson

Tags: #romance, #god, #addiction, #relationship, #cocaine, #overdose, #bible, #jesus, #salvation, #marijuana, #heroin, #music fiction, #rehab, #teen addiction, #addiction and recovery, #character based, #teen alcohol abuse

Life of the Party (5 page)

BOOK: Life of the Party
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I flopped down
on my bed with a sigh, fraught with dismay at the thought of a
“Marcy dinner” in my near future. Don’t get me wrong, she’s my
sister and I do love her, but come on. For one thing, she’s in med
school, which my parents just rant and rave about. They brag about
her to all their friends. She has this real hotshot boyfriend, a
surgeon of some kind, who was all magna and summa when he graduated
a few years ago, but he’s nearly as old as my father, in my
thinking anyway. They live in the city, in this high rise, modern
blah blah … anyway it’s really swanky. To top it all off, Marcy is
gorgeous, with her dark eyes and athletic build and immaculate
sense of fashion and togetherness. Her jaw would have dropped in
tremendous delight if offered the outfit I was currently wrinkling
to the best of my ability.

I sat up
suddenly and smiled to myself. I had just been gifted with the most
amazing idea. I nearly laughed at myself and my genius, hopped off
my bed, and eagerly got to work.

 

 

“Mackenzie!
Come down to eat!” Mom called up the stairs.

“Okay, I’ll be
right down!” I called back, smiling in anticipation. I looked in
the mirror and made a few last minute adjustments. The outfit I had
just created looked pretty good in my eyes, something I would
possibly wear out with the guys. The bubblegum pink top was now the
owner of a great black skull that sat across my chest, actually
pretty good, a credit to my old art classes and a faithful black
Sharpie. The grey skirt I left basically alone, only adding a few
well-placed rips—which of course had to be fixed with an
overabundance of safety pins. Beneath those were some fishnets I
had worn for Halloween one year, and to top it all off, I put on
some heavy, old black army boots that had been hanging out in the
bottom of my closet. They were Riley’s from his short stint in
Cadets, which his mother forced him to quit when someone stole his
brand new and very expensive boots.

He had really
hated that group.

After just a
dab more eyeliner, I bounded happily down the stairs and into the
dining room.

“Good evening,”
I announced. Marcy, Greg and my father looked up at me, ceasing
their conversation, their eyebrows raised. My mom stopped cold in
her tracks and glared at me.

“Mackenzie
Anne, what have you done to your clothes?” She demanded, setting
down the potatoes.

“What, this?” I
asked in amazement. “I just added my own artistic flair. You should
be encouraging my flair, you know.”

“Do you even
know how much that outfit cost? Look at it now, it’s ruined.”

“Well, then
save yourself the trouble next time, mom. Really.” I sat down at my
place, very satisfied with myself. I hoped she’d get the hint.
Marcy and Greg exchanged a look of disapproval, and Dad sat
thoughtfully. He looked very tired.

Dinner went on,
as Marcy recounted her amazing abilities in full, with Greg
interjecting any excellence she may have forgotten. I sat silently
through it all, pushing my food around on my plate. Marcy looked
breathtaking in her white buttoned blouse and grey blazer—her dark
hair, recently bobbed, pin-neat and perfectly curled at her
jawbone. Her flawless skin was made-up just right so she looked
gorgeous without seeming like she tried to. Greg at her side sat
dapperly in a blue sweater with a white collar, and I nearly
expected him to pull out a pipe and expound on theology.

But then I
noticed it. How could I not before? How did my mom not see? I
looked at her quickly to make sure she hadn’t developed a sudden
case of blindness. Now that I had seen it, it was impossible to
ignore. Shining and gleaming in the dim lights of the dining room,
there, upon Marcy’s left hand, sat a ring of extraordinary size and
carat.

“What’s with
the ring?” I blurted suddenly, totally interrupting their
conversation. Marcy looked hard at me and then blushed into a
smile, beaming as she held up her hand for my parents to see.

“I was going to
announce it … properly … but, Greg asked me last night! We’re
getting married!” She exclaimed.

The noise my
mother made then cannot even be described. It was something like a
train whistle combined with the high-pitched scream of a teakettle.
My ears actually cringed at the sound. She jumped up and covered
her mouth and grasped Marcy in a tight hug, enthusiastically
proclaiming her approval and excitement. Dad smiled broadly and
clinked his wine glass against Greg’s.

“Congratulations, son. It’ll be an honour to have you in the
family.”

I just sat and
watched the madness ensue. Finally, when the initial excitement
settled and only brief bursts of high-pitched noises were exploding
from my mother, Marcy looked over at me. She smiled.

“What do you
think, Mac? Aren’t you happy?” She asked cautiously. Everyone
turned to watch my reaction.

“Absolutely.
That’s awesome. Congratulations.” I held up my water glass in
unenthused cheers. “Can’t wait.”

“And,” Marcy
smiled again, “We’d like you to be in the wedding.”

“Me?” I was
sincerely surprised. “Why?”

“‘Cause silly.
You’re my little sister. Who better?” She reached across the table
and squeezed my hand. I couldn’t help but be touched by the offer,
especially since I’d given Marcy nothing but attitude for the last
few years. I smiled at her.

“Sure, that
sounds great.”

Greg chuckled.
“Unfortunately for you, we’re leaving the skulls out of the décor.”
He smirked and sipped his sherry. “Unless you would like black and
white for a theme, dear?”

All those
around the table laughed then, as if it were the funniest joke
they’d heard in ages. Then Marcy gushed, turning to my mother and
describing in full her actual theme and color choices, which she
had already decided on, even though they’d been engaged for all of
twenty-one hours. I sat back and sneered at Greg. What a dick. Who
under the age of fifty drinks sherry with their meal anyway? And
his hair. He looked like a game show host from the early eighties.
Dick. I made a mental note that when—no—if—I ever got married,
black and white would make a definite appearance. Oh, and Greg
wouldn’t be invited.

“So,
Mackenzie.” Dad interrupted my future revenge scheme, wiping at his
mouth with his napkin and plunking it onto his plate, a motion that
followed the end of all his meals. He took a drink of wine and made
sure he had my attention.

“Yes?”

“Did we decide
anything? About the job?”

“Oh, yes,
actually, we did.”

“We did?” Mom
turned mid-flower discussion. “But I haven’t spoken to Doug yet
about—”

“Don’t bother;
Riley’s getting me a job.”

There, right on
cue. The face.

“Riley? Where?”
Asked the scrunch of disapproval.

“At the
restaurant he works at. Um … something Wheat … Red Wheat, I
think?”

Stunned silence
followed. Someone scoffed, and I can’t be sure, but I think it was
Greg. Dick.

“What?” I asked
in amazement. “What? You tell me to get a job, so I get one, and
now you sit here like I just told you I’m running away with my
lesbian partner or something.”

“Well,
Mackenzie.” Dad shook his head. “This wasn’t exactly what I had in
mind.”

“What did you
have in mind? A job that I work at and pays me money? ‘Cause this
is one of those jobs.”

“I just thought
…,” he trailed off.

“You sure you
don’t want a job at the hospital? It won’t be a problem; I could
call right now ….”

“Mom! Stop! I
don’t want your damn hospital job.” I got up from my seat. “You
guys are friggin’ impossible.”

But there was a
smile on my face as I strode up the stairs, back to my room.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER
5

 

It smelled like
hot oil and musty cloths. Like pizza sauce and spices and strong
brewed coffee. Like Descaler and mop water and Italian salad
dressing. I stood hesitantly at the entrance to the waitress area,
overwhelmed by the pungent aromas as I waited for Sophie, who had
just disappeared through a set of swinging doors into a hectic
chaos beyond. She had bid me wait for her so she could “show me the
ropes,” her arms laden with plates on her way to the dish pit—like
six plates between two arms. I wondered if I would ever be able to
do that. And if I’d have to pay for the plates I broke.

As I waited I
tried inconspicuously to look for Grey through the narrow glass
window on the door, but all I could see was a hairy knuckled hand
dumping fries into the deep fryer. I looked around the seating area
instead. The Red Wheat was a typical family affair restaurant. The
carpet was a faded burgundy/hunter green combination of swirls and
flowers, oak woodworking framed the white sprigged wallpaper, the
tables were burgundy topped and surrounded by wooden chairs with
green seat pads. It was homey and comforting though—not cheap or
tacky—and since most of the seats were filled with patrons, I took
that as a good sign.

“Okay.” Sophie
re-emerged then, smiling quickly and wiping her hands on her soiled
black apron. “Sorry to make you wait. I don’t know why Ralph always
insists the new people come during supper rush. Its really
inconvenient but I suppose it’s a fast way to learn ….” Her speech
trailed off and she was moving again, whisking around the
restaurant, taking orders, clearing plates, refilling coffee. I had
no choice but to follow close behind, feeling awkward and out of
place while trying to seem preoccupied and knowledgeable.

Sophie didn’t
exactly help my discomfit. She would point at me with her pen and
clarify “trainee” to all her customers, who would in turn smile
sympathetically at me and nod with understanding. Between tables
she would explain as we walked, talking a mile a minute about menu
choices and writing orders and making the most efficient use of our
time.

As we came into
the waitress station there was another girl there, tall and blonde
and pretty, leaning on the counter and talking to one of the cooks
through the long narrow window where food orders were placed. She
giggled and played with her curly hair—obviously flirting. And
then I recognized her.

“Hello
Charlene.” Sophie frowned and Charlie straightened up. I smiled. So
Charlene was her real name.

“Oh, hey Soph.
Oh hey—I remember you.” She smiled at me then. “From the other
night, like a week ago. Mackenzie, right?”

“Yeah that’s
me.” I nodded.

“I’m glad you
two know each other.” Even then Sophie didn’t stop moving. She
placed her order and went to the fridge to make a salad.

“Mackenzie, I
need two large Pepsi’s please. Charlene, you’re late.”

“Yeah sorry, I
was like, waylaid.”

“Well, table
seventeen needs ketchup and table nineteen needs a refill. Are you
sure that outfit is work appropriate?” Then Sophie paused, taking
in Charlie’s ensemble, and I looked over mid-Pepsi-pour to get a
good look as well. She had on tight black Capri’s and cute strappy
sandals, with a white halter-top deep cut down the front. She
looked really, really good, but not like a waitress. I looked down
at myself, dressed in nice black pants, black skate shoes and a
long sleeved striped green Henley—and felt like a Hutterite in
comparison.

“What’s the
matter with my clothes?” Charlie asked. Sophie shook her head and
raised an eyebrow.

“It’s not for
me to say. Let Ralph tell you if he has a problem with it.” Then
under her breath, she laugh-muttered, “Yeah right.”

“Did Sophie
explain to you about our uniforms?” Charlie laughed. Sophie shot
her a look and left the waitress area, a ketchup bottle in one hand
and coffeepot in the other.

“What
uniforms?” I asked Sophie, following closely behind with the
Pepsi’s. I didn’t want to be stuck alone with Charlie and forced to
make polite conversation.

“We don’t have
any.” Sophie explained. “You can wear whatever you want,
tastefully, mind you. Keep in mind that whatever you wear will be
ruined eventually.”

I smiled.
Perfect. Another use for my mom-bought wardrobe.

 

 

My luck ran out
at the end of the night, when Sophie announced she was leaving us
to close up, this proclamation coming just as suddenly as the rest
of her actions had. She did look worn though—her thin dark hair
falling loose from the severe, tight ponytail she wore at the exact
center of her head, the slight smudges under her eyes making the
rest of her narrow face appear even more peaked. But she smiled at
me before she left.

“You did good
tonight, Mackenzie. If I didn’t have to be here first thing
tomorrow I’d stay and teach you some more. You show promise though.
Remember, only two free refills, right?”

“Right.” I
nodded, accepting Sophie’s praise. The restaurant was obviously her
life and she clearly knew what she was talking about. I wondered
how old she was. And when she became a waitress. And if she had
done it just to show her parents a thing or two.

“Just you and
me, hey?” Charlie leaned against the counter, grinning when Sophie
finally left. “Take a moment. Have a drink. Sophie’s always rush,
rush, rush. I don’t think it’s necessary.”

“It was busy.”
I felt the need to defend the poor woman.

“Yes, it was.
But it’s not now. Take a load off.”

I shrugged and
joined her at the counter with a drink, trying to clandestinely
place myself in direct view of the kitchen. I hadn’t had even a
second to scope out the situation back there, apart from Rory the
hairy knuckled line cook and the dish-pit full of grade seveners.
Now I peered through the take-out window, searching for Grey as
casually as I could. He was nowhere to be seen, but I did spot
Riley, hard at work ladling pizza sauce onto dough. He leaned over
with concentration, his eyebrows knit and his tongue pointing out
the right side of his mouth, like it always did whenever he was
super focused. I wondered suddenly if he did that when making out
with someone. Super random.

BOOK: Life of the Party
11.16Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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