Love, Lies & Large Fries – Part 1

The first time Peter called Sasha beautiful, he was looking at a cheeseburger.

“Beautiful,” he said as she set down his tray.

Her heart jumped before she noticed his eyes were on the bacon.

“Your break meal.”

“And you remembered no pickles.”

“You mention it every time.”

“Because people keep putting pickles on things.”

He smiled. Sasha straightened the napkins beside his tray so she would have somewhere to look.

At twenty, she could count a register, settle a complaint, and find the right lid for any cup without checking. None of those accomplishments helped when Peter smiled at her.

“Sit with me.”

“I have to finish the sauces.”

“You have a break too, you know.”

She did. It was printed on the board. She had assigned it herself.

Sasha took the chair opposite him.

Her apron was clean, her uniform pressed, her curls tucked neatly beneath her cap. She liked looking put together. She would have liked it more if the company shirt had been designed with any acknowledgment that a woman might have a rounded stomach as well as breasts.

Peter had complained once that his sleeves were tight.

She had been sympathetic while enjoying the evidence.

He nodded toward the leaflet protruding from her pocket. “What’s that?”

“A course.”

“What kind?”

“Baking. Evening classes.”

“You should do it.”

“You haven’t read it.”

“I’ve eaten your coconut cake.”

She smiled despite herself. “There’s a deposit. And I’d need two evenings free.”

“Have you asked Denise?”

“Not yet.”

He opened his mouth, and she pointed at him.

“Before you start, have you called about that apprenticeship?”

Peter looked down at his burger.

“Exactly.”

“My uncle only gave me the number last month.”

“Were you waiting for it to mature?”

He laughed, then shrugged. “I’d have to start at the bottom.”

“You said you liked fixing things.”

“I do.”

“Then call. Find out what they expect.”

“What if I’m no good?”

Sasha leaned forward. “Then you’ll be an apprentice who needs teaching. I think they allow for that.”

He watched her for a moment. She could never tell what those quiet looks meant. They made her want to say something foolish and hopeful, so she usually found him another napkin.

This time, Denise saved her from the decision.

“Everybody, this is Nicca. She’s joining the afternoon crew.”

The young woman beside the manager wore the same uniform as Sasha, with considerably less difficulty. She had a shapely figure, bright eyes, and the easy confidence of someone who expected to be welcomed.

“Hi, everybody.”

Then she saw Peter.

“Well. Hello to you especially.”

Peter grinned.

Sasha tucked her leaflet away.

* * *

Nicca was nineteen and learned quickly.

That was inconvenient. Sasha would have preferred to dislike her for a professional reason.

Nicca asked sensible questions about the register. She remembered the meal combinations. When a customer complained that his fries were too hot, she said, “We can give them a minute,” so seriously that Sasha had to turn toward the drink machine.

“Was that wrong?” Nicca whispered.

Sasha shook her head, still trying not to laugh.

For almost two hours, they got along.

Then Peter passed with a box of cups.

“Where do you want these?”

“With me,” Nicca said.

“The cups?”

“We can start there.”

Sasha pointed toward the stockroom. “Second shelf.”

Nicca watched him go, then leaned closer.

“Is he single?”

“As far as I know.”

“You two have anything going on?”

Sasha’s fingers stopped above the register.

There was room for an honest answer. Nicca had left it there deliberately.

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“All right.”

Nicca returned to practicing an order.

Sasha waited for another question. For Nicca to understand that saying nothing was happening did not mean she wanted nothing to happen.

But Nicca had asked. Sasha had answered.

By the end of the shift, Nicca knew Peter’s schedule, favorite drink, and relationship status from Peter himself.

Sasha had known him eight months.

She still wasn’t certain what his favorite color was.

* * *

There were reasons Sasha thought Peter might like her.

He sought her out during breaks. He showed her pictures of the shelf he had repaired in his mother’s kitchen. Once, when she worked through lunch, he brought her a meal and stood beside the register until she took it.

There were also reasons to be uncertain.

Peter smiled at everybody. He was tall, handsome, and agreeable enough to make a routine request for ketchup feel like a promising introduction. At twenty-one, he seemed content to get through his shifts, collect his pay, and let the future organize itself.

Sasha found herself organizing pieces of it for him.

She reminded him about appointments. She helped with tasks he should have mastered. When he forgot something, she fixed it before Denise noticed.

Sometimes she resented how naturally he accepted this.

Then he would save her a chair, or ask why she looked tired, and she would begin again.

One afternoon he showed her a photograph of an air-conditioning unit his uncle had helped repair.

“They had to take half the thing apart to find the problem.”

He explained it badly, using sauce packets to stand in for parts he couldn’t name.

Sasha listened anyway.

When he finished, he looked almost embarrassed.

“Sorry. That probably wasn’t interesting.”

“You looked interested.”

“Most people stop me after the first minute.”

She pushed the sauce packets back into their holder.

“You should ask if you can go along next time.”

His face brightened.

Then Nicca came over with her phone.

“Peter. Put your number in.”

Sasha’s hand tightened around a packet.

“What if I give you the restaurant number?” he asked.

“Then I’ll call and ask why you’re frightened of beautiful women.”

Peter took the phone.

The sauce packet burst across Sasha’s palm.

They both turned.

“Faulty seal,” she said, and went to wash her hands.

* * *

The first time Sasha sabotaged Nicca, she had nearly a minute to change her mind.

Denise had moved Nicca from the sauce station to the counter.

“Tell her she still needs to finish and sign the sauce checklist before she goes,” Denise told Sasha.

Sasha nodded.

Then she turned the corner and found Nicca beside Peter, laughing at something on his phone. Her hand rested on his forearm.

Sasha stood with the message ready in her mouth.

She walked away.

At closing, Denise found the unfinished checklist.

“Nobody told me I still had to do it,” Nicca said.

Sasha kept wiping the counter.

She could have spoken. She could have called it a mistake and put it right before it became something worse.

The warning was only verbal.

That was what she told herself on the bus home.

The second time, she promised Nicca that Peter would cover the front while Nicca fetched supplies. Once Nicca had gone, Sasha sent Peter outside to help with a delivery.

Denise came out of the office to find customers waiting and nobody at the counter.

The third time, Sasha agreed to move Nicca’s break on the board.

She didn’t move it.

By then, she could no longer call any of it an accident.

She told herself Nicca needed to concentrate on the job. That everybody was tired of her flirting. That Peter was only being friendly.

The explanations worked best when Sasha was busy.

At night, she lay awake.

* * *

Denise placed a written warning on the desk.

Nicca read it standing up.

“I followed the instructions I was given.”

“Sit down, please.”

“Does sitting make this sound more reasonable?”

“It will make it easier to write your account in the comments section.”

Nicca sat.

After Nicca finished writing, Denise opened the staff handbook.

“We’re reviewing the conduct rules. I need to be certain you understand what’s expected.”

They covered attendance, register coverage, approved breaks, and conduct toward coworkers.

Then Denise tapped another paragraph.

“Romantic relationships between current employees are prohibited. A violation can result in dismissal.”

Nicca looked up.

“Any employees?”

“Yes.”

“Even on different shifts?”

“Yes.”

Nicca leaned back. “That’s optimistic for a place full of people in their twenties.”

“It’s still the policy.”

“And if nobody knows?”

Denise looked at her over her glasses.

“Then they’re breaking a rule I don’t know they’re breaking.”

“Right.”

“Nicca.”

“I understand.”

She signed the acknowledgment.

Outside, Peter was reaching to adjust the television above the dining area. His shirt lifted, revealing a narrow strip of stomach.

The policy did not become more persuasive from this angle.

As far as Nicca was concerned, it didn’t matter unless you got caught.

Then she saw Sasha beside the break board.

Her smile disappeared.

* * *

“You said you changed it.”

Sasha turned.

Nicca held the folded warning in one hand.

“My break,” she said. “You told me you changed it.”

“I thought I did.”

“That’s different from what you said yesterday.”

Sasha adjusted a magnet on the board.

Nicca watched her fingers.

“And Peter says you sent him to the delivery. After you told me he’d cover the counter.”

Sasha looked toward the office.

“Look at me.”

She did.

“You’ve been doing this because of him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Then tell me I’m wrong.”

Sasha opened her mouth.

Nothing came.

Nicca gave a short, disbelieving laugh.

“I asked you if you two had something going on.”

“We don’t.”

“Then you’re getting me written up over a relationship you don’t even have.”

Sasha’s face burned.

“I’m trying to work.”

“And I’m trying to keep a job.”

Nicca walked away before Sasha could answer.

For the rest of the shift, Sasha could feel the folded warning wherever Nicca carried it.

* * *

On Friday, Nicca asked Peter out in front of Sasha, two customers, and a man waiting to use the restroom.

“Saturday. Seven. Harbour Grill.”

Peter glanced toward Sasha.

She was labeling boxes. The one in front of her contained straws. She wrote STRAWS with unusual concentration.

“You asking or announcing?” he said.

“Which one gets me dinner?”

Sasha could feel him looking at her.

She kept writing.

“Sure,” Peter said.

The marker squeaked.

Nicca smiled. “Wear something nice.”

Sasha tried to cap the marker and missed.

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