The Bright Side

Chapter 6 - Part 1

TRISTAN

"Mum, I'm done. I'm going now."

It's not that late yet and still light and Sky and I want to skate the esplanade, show off a bit. He came by to pick me up from work and is waiting at the counter behind me.

Mum's sitting at the desk, working herself through bills and orders and receipts, her reading glasses half slid down her nose. She turns her head towards me and eyes me over the top rim of the frame.

"No, Tristan. I'm sorry. Both waiters called in sick and I can't find a replacement. We have five reservations tonight. Plus, no page boy."

Which basically is just a reminder that I'm useless, because really, when did we ever have a page boy? Page boy is synonym for Tristan.

"Mum, no!" She damn well knew that I had plans for this evening and I really don't care how busy the place is today. "Get hold of some maids. What about Maisie? She's waited before." "Maisie's got enough on her plate already. You do it."

"Mum!" I hold up my cast at her. "I'm not that good at telekinetics."

"Now that's not my fault is it?" she snaps and takes her glasses off, wedging them into her teased hairdo. It's a stalemate. We stare at each other, neither willing to give in. Mum taps her fingers against her elbows.

"Maybe I can help?" Sky's voice is quiet from behind me.

Mum ponders a moment and then her face lights up like a Christmas tree.

"Have you ever waited before?"

"Umm, no. But I'm known to be an excellent luggage carrier."

"Perfect, Sky. You'll start with the luggage and Tristan will help you with the waiting. How long are you free tonight?"

"Well, since you just cancelled my plans... the whole evening."

"Are you free for adoption?" Mum makes sheep's eyes at him and gets up to go around the desk.

"I'll ask Mum." Sky's chewing his lips as if he could eat the smile off his face.

"You think you can handle three boys, Mum?" I chime in.

She puts her arm around my shoulders and hugs me tight.

"Who said I'm going to keep you, pumpkin?"

I shove Sky into the staff room and gesture towards my locker. While he's changing, I print out a name tag for him.

"There you go."

I hand Sky the name tag and he attaches it to the black vest he's wearing over one of my spare white shirts.

"The dickie's crooked." I pull it straight for him and Sky moves around in front of the mirror and eyes himself from every angle. The shirt is a tad bit too tight around his chest and since we couldn't find him a pair of trousers he's still in his black jeans and sneakers.

"I look like a dork." He runs his fingers through his hair. It's weird to see him without his beanie.

"True." I lie, because he totally pulls it off. "You'll do, though."

We head out for the counter and there's already a guest waiting.

"Good Afternoon, Mr. O'Sullivan." I smile at him; he's such a pleasant man.

From the information on his passport, he's about sixty, but in good shape. There's not much hair left on his scalp, but he's not one of those men who desperately try to hide the fact that they're not twenty anymore. His whole personality radiates dignity and finesse; he's the incorporation of my very own idea of a gentleman.