"We need to talk."
There it was again. The phrase that had ruined my morning and was now circling back to ruin my night. I bit the inside of my cheek, bracing myself for whatever was coming next.
Lisa's eyes flicked to Ricky, then back to me. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, no one said anything. The silence was thick, suffocating.
"You saw something earlier," she said finally, her voice low and deliberate.
I didn't respond. There was no point. We both knew what I'd seen.
She sighed, leaning forward, her elbows resting on the desk. "Look, Vernon, I don't know what you think you saw, but—"
"I know what I saw," I cut in, my voice sounding more confident than I felt. "You and Ricky—"
"Stop." Her tone was sharp, and I immediately regretted speaking. She glanced at Ricky, who was staring down at his shoes, his face pale. "This isn't about that."
I blinked, confused. "Then what is this about?"
Lisa's eyes narrowed, and she leaned back in her chair again, crossing her arms once more. The silence stretched out, thick and heavy, before she finally spoke.
"I think it's time for you to move on, Vernon," she said, her voice soft but firm. "This job… it's not working out."
My heart stopped.
"Wait, what?"
She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "You're a good worker, but… we've got some new people coming in, and we need to make some changes. It's not personal."
Not personal? My mind was spinning, trying to make sense of what was happening. I'd been with this restaurant for years, worked my ass off, stayed late, covered shifts, dealt with rude customers, cleaned up after everyone else… and now, this?
"You're firing me?" The words tasted bitter in my mouth, disbelief lacing my tone.
"It's just business, Vernon," she said, her gaze cool and detached. "I'm sure you'll find something else. But we need to move forward."
I could feel the anger bubbling up inside me, but I swallowed it down, forcing myself to stay calm. My eyes flicked to Ricky, who still wouldn't look at me, and then back to Lisa.
"I know why you're doing this," I said quietly, my voice shaking with barely controlled rage. "You're scared I'll say something about—"
"I said it's not about that," Lisa snapped, cutting me off again. Her calm façade was slipping, and I could see the tension in her jaw, the way her fingers drummed nervously on the desk.
But we both knew the truth. This had everything to do with what I'd seen. She didn't want me around because I was a liability now. A threat.
"I'm not going to say anything," I said through gritted teeth, trying to keep my voice steady. "I just want to do my job."
Lisa's expression softened for a moment, like she almost believed me. But then she shook her head, her lips pressing into that thin line again.
"It's already decided," she said firmly, standing up from her chair. "You'll get your last paycheck tomorrow."
I stood there, frozen, my mind racing. This couldn't be happening. Not now. Not today.
But it was.
Lisa moved past me, opening the door to her office, the conversation clearly over. Ricky scurried out behind her, not saying a word, his shoulders hunched. I followed them both, the numbness spreading through my limbs, making it hard to breathe.
The restaurant was eerily quiet now. The kitchen staff had mostly gone, and the few stragglers were finishing up, their movements slow and tired. The clatter of dishes being put away, the low hum of the dishwasher, the muted buzz of the overhead lights—it all felt distant, like I was underwater, drowning in a sea of disbelief.
As I walked through the dining room, past the empty tables and chairs, the memories of the day swirled in my mind like a storm. My girlfriend leaving me this morning, Lisa firing me tonight… it was too much.
I stopped at the front door, staring out at the darkened street beyond. The city was quiet at this hour, the neon lights of nearby bars casting faint, flickering shadows on the sidewalk.
I stepped out of the restaurant and into the cool night air, the door swinging shut behind me with a soft creak. It was one of those nights where the temperature wasn't quite cold enough for a jacket but not warm enough to feel comfortable.
The streets were quiet, the faint hum of distant traffic the only sound breaking the stillness. Overhead, the city lights flickered, casting long shadows across the sidewalk, and the occasional gust of wind rustled the few remaining leaves on the trees lining the road.
The faint scent of rain lingered in the air, a reminder that the weather had been teasing us all day but never quite delivered. I shoved my hands into my pockets, feeling the weight of my phone pressing against my thigh, but I didn't pull it out. Not yet. I wasn't ready to face reality. Not just yet.
Instead, I started walking toward the bus stop, my footsteps the only sound echoing down the empty street. It was a fifteen-minute walk, just enough time for me to stew in my own thoughts, which, unfortunately, were still stuck on repeat.
Fired.
I kept hearing Lisa's voice over and over again, the way she'd looked at me like I was just another problem to be dealt with. The way Ricky had avoided my eyes, like he knew I was about to get screwed but couldn't do anything about it. Well, wasn't that nice? Today really had to hit me with the double-whammy. First, dumped for being too available, and now fired because I happened to catch my boss and one of the waitstaff getting too available for each other.
I laughed to myself—a hollow, humorless sound that didn't quite fit with the quiet night. "Guess the universe thought I was just having too much free time."
I kicked a stray can as I walked, sending it skittering across the sidewalk and into the gutter. My white hair, still slightly damp with sweat from the long shift, whipped against my forehead, sticking to my skin.
I brushed it back absentmindedly, the feeling all too familiar after years of dealing with questions about it, and dying it black to blend in. Kids at school had thought it was cool at first, but it didn't take long for the novelty to wear off. Then came the stares. The comments. "Is that natural?" "Did you bleach it?" "Bro, you look like some kinda anime character."
I smirked at the memory. If only life was like one of those anime shows. Maybe then I wouldn't have just lost my job because of someone else's bad choices.
The walk to the bus stop felt longer than usual, like the weight of the day had somehow stretched out time, making each step more sluggish, more deliberate. When I finally reached the small metal shelter, I collapsed onto the bench and stared out at the empty road. The bus would be here in about five minutes, give or take, and I could already see the faint glow of its headlights in the distance.
I pulled out my phone, the screen lighting up the dark as I swiped to unlock it. For a second, I hesitated, my thumb hovering over the banking app. Did I really want to know how bad things were? I'd been avoiding checking my balance for weeks, telling myself I'd get another paycheck soon enough to cushion the blow. Well, that was off the table now, wasn't it?
With a resigned sigh, I opened the app. The numbers stared back at me, unforgiving and bleak, at least from my perspective. After all, there was only so much one could do with this amount after paying a bunch of bills.
Current balance: $7207.89.
"Whew," I muttered under my breath. "Rolling in it... Absolutely swimming in luxury."
I laughed again, this time a little more genuinely. When life hands you lemons, you throw them at passing cars, right? Or maybe that was just my version of coping. Either way, it didn't matter. I had enough for the next few days if I kept things tight, but beyond that… well, I didn't really have a plan.
Then again, when had I ever had a plan? Orphan life didn't exactly come with a guidebook, and after bouncing around foster homes for years, I'd learned early on that making long-term plans was a waste of time. People came and went. Jobs came and went. Everything came and went.
Except me.
I was still here, wasn't I? Despite everything.
The bus pulled up with a hiss of air, the doors folding open as the driver gave me a nod. I stepped inside, tapping my card against the reader, and found a seat near the back. The bus was mostly empty, just a couple of other late-night stragglers like me, their faces worn and tired.
One woman sat with her head resting against the window, eyes closed as if she could sleep through the gentle sway of the ride. Another guy in a hoodie and jeans scrolled through his phone, earbuds in, completely oblivious to the world around him.
I settled into my seat, staring out the window as the city rolled by in a blur of streetlights and darkened buildings. It was quiet out here, the kind of quiet that made you feel like the world had shrunk down to just this one moment, this one bus, this one ride home.