Selena arrived at Miller's Laundry before sunrise. The streets of Queens were still hushed, the city not yet at full volume. She parked her car along the curb, the dashboard clock glowing a soft 5:37 a.m. Her bones ached from another night curled up in the driver's seat, and the sweater she'd draped over herself had done little to keep out the chill.
But she was here. That was something.
She sat for a few more minutes, watching as the sky turned from indigo to gray. Across the street, the neighborhood grocery store was already unlocking its doors for early deliveries. Her bladder nagged first, followed by the sour taste of morning breath and the heaviness of a full night without proper rest.
She grabbed her canvas bag, pulled her jacket tighter around her, and crossed the street.
The grocery store lights buzzed overhead as she slipped inside. A sleepy clerk behind the register barely glanced at her. The bathrooms were near the back, past shelves stacked with cereal boxes and laundry detergent. She used the toilet, then washed her hands and splashed cold water on her face until the puffiness under her eyes calmed a little.
Digging into her bag, she pulled out a small compact mirror, a travel toothbrush, and a few essentials—BB cream, a brow pencil, mascara, and tinted lip balm. Just enough to look like someone starting fresh, not someone who had spent the night parked under a flickering streetlamp.
She brushed out her hair, then changed in the stall—black jeans, a clean navy-blue tee, and her most decent sneakers. She tucked her old clothes into the bag and walked out with her head a little higher.
By the time she returned to the laundry shop, the sun had begun to stretch through the buildings, golden and soft. The front of Miller's Wash & Fold still looked sleepy, the lights off, metal gate rolled halfway down. The glass windows were spotless, and there was a hand-painted sign taped to the door that read: Open 7 AM - 5 PM.
Selena leaned against the brick wall and waited, arms wrapped around herself.
A few minutes later, a familiar red SUV pulled up and parked behind the building. Sam stepped out, holding a paper coffee cup and wearing a well-worn denim jacket over a gray T-shirt. His eyes lit up slightly when he saw her.
"Hey," he said, unlocking the front door. "You beat me."
Selena shrugged with a smile. "Didn't want to be late on my first day."
Sam pushed the door open, motioning for her to follow. "Come on in. I'll give you the tour."
The inside of Miller's Wash & Fold smelled like fabric softener and fresh cotton.
It wasn't like the laundromats Selena had grown up seeing—coin-operated machines and strangers waiting on benches. This was different. A narrow hallway led into a spacious back room lined with rows of commercial-grade washers and dryers. Baskets were stacked neatly, each labeled with a customer's name. There were shelves of detergents and spot removers, a folding station, and a long table with an iron and garment bags hanging nearby.
Selena blinked, taking it all in.
"This isn't self-service," Sam said, walking behind the counter. "People drop off their laundry, and we handle everything else—sort, wash, dry, fold, and bag."
"Like in Asia," Selena murmured, half to herself. "I used to live near a place like this."
Sam smiled. "Yeah. Jennette's idea. She said people would pay more if it meant never having to think about laundry again."
He opened the register drawer and took out a small folder. "Mind if I take a quick look at your ID? Just for paperwork."
"Sure." Selena pulled her wallet from her bag and handed over her driver's license.
Sam jotted something down and handed it back. "Cool. Now, come on, I'll walk you through how we do things."
The next hour passed quickly.
Sam showed her how to sort the laundry: whites, colors, blacks, and delicates. He pointed out the pre-treatment sprays, explained the temperature settings, and demonstrated how to fold towels so they looked like hotel linens.
"Customers get picky," he said with a grin. "We've had people call to complain because their shirt wasn't folded the 'right' way."
Selena chuckled. "No pressure, huh?"
"You'll get the hang of it. You're already way ahead of the last guy I tried to train. He thought whites and reds could go in together."
She winced. "Laundry rule number one, never mix those."
"Exactly."
Once they finished loading the first few machines, Sam pulled out a second clipboard.
"I do deliveries mid-afternoon," he said. "So if I'm not here, you'll hold the fort. Nothing too crazy, people dropping off or picking up. I'll show you how to ring things up."
He gave her a quick tutorial on the register. It was simple enough, just select the weight, add any extras like ironing or same-day service, then print the receipt. Selena picked it up fast, asking smart questions and even correcting a typo in the customer log.
By noon, she was already moving like she'd worked there for weeks.
At 4 p.m., Sam returned from deliveries, a sheen of sweat on his brow and two garment bags slung over his shoulder.
"All done," he announced, setting the bags on the counter. "You survive?"
Selena emerged from the back room, wiping her hands on a towel. "Barely. But I think I folded a fitted sheet without crying, so that's a win."
Sam laughed and headed to the register. He closed out the drawer, counted the cash, and made a few notes in the ledger. Selena, meanwhile, swept the back room, emptied the lint traps, and restocked the detergent bins.
By 5 p.m., everything was clean, quiet, and in its place.
They both stood by the front door, keys in hand.
"You did good today," Sam said. "Jennette's gonna be happy."
"Thanks," Selena replied, her voice soft but proud. "It felt good. Being useful again."
As he pulled the door shut behind them and locked it, he glanced at her sideways.
"So… where you staying?"
Selena tucked a stray hair behind her ear. "Nowhere yet. I was gonna start looking tonight. Find something short-term to get me through the first few weeks."
Sam nodded slowly. "Where'd you sleep last night?"
"In my car," she said simply.
His brow furrowed, but he didn't press. Instead, he slid his hands into his jacket pockets and offered a quiet, "Good luck with the apartment hunting."
"Thanks."
She started to turn toward her car, but then hesitated.
"Hey, Sam?"
He looked back.
"Really. Thank you. For giving me a shot."
He gave a small smile. "Everyone needs one. Just pay it forward when it's your turn."
She nodded, then walked across the lot toward her car. Her legs were tired, her feet sore, and her shoulders aching in a way they hadn't in months, but it was a good kind of tired.
The kind that comes from working. From being part of something.
From starting over, one folded shirt at a time.