-✧-Going Solo-✧-

  

“Tina are you okay?” she looked severely worried.

 

Liz probably thought I hit my head on something---which I did, on the door frame. 

 

“Yeah, I’m fine. We got some extra uniforms in the back…come on.” 

 

 

I helped her up out of the same stiff position she had fallen into. As we walked past the counter, Caitlin gawked at us. 

 

“You can go home now. Oh don’t worry we got everything under control.” I grinned sheepishly. 

 

We walked into the changing room/closet area and changed into our white frocket shirts, royal blue aprons and black slacks. I had no idea what inspired my mom to choose these uniforms.  As I popped the last button into place, Elizabeth’s classical “Baby” ringtone sang from the crevices of her zebra striped drunk tank pink Coco Chanel handbag.  

 

“Oh shoot!” she proclaimed with a dramatic facepalm. “I was supposed to watch Leon tonight! Mom must be pissed!” 

 

Leon was Liz’s ten-year-old brother, who required frequent babysitting as both of his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Campbell, worked night shifts at the St Jude’s in town. Elizabeth sighed heavily, reaching down to scoop her iphone out of that ridiculous instrument which she called a “purse” ---and may I correct her now; that thing was not a purse---, stormed out with frustration and left me to guess whoever and whatever she was arguing with on the other end.  

 

Three minutes later, Elizabeth came back in flustered and shaky. What happened? I bit my lip sympathetically as I silently watched her change back into her original outfit. She then looked down at her wrecked clothes, stifled a sob and deflated down onto a short wooden stool.  God, she was dramatic. 

 

“Hey um… you can borrow one of the uniforms and give it back tomorrow if you want.” I said, trying to break the awkward silence. 

 

“Yeah okay.” She sniffed.  

 

After Liz changed, I agreed to let her go home and take care of Leon. We hugged and parted, me to the kitchen, Elizabeth to her car.  Yippee I thought, taking in the kitchens new splatter-paint job.  After using handfuls and handfuls of paper towels, and bottle after bottle of cleaners, the room was almost sparkling. Lucky for me no costumers had shown up yet, which meant I still had enough time to put my hair up in a net, turn on my favorite radio station and start baking a fresh King Cake.

 

The End

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