NIKKI & JOE, CASUALLY | updates every monday

22: warning: slippery road ahead

            Santana's guitar riffs greet me as I unlock the employee entrance into Spectrum. I pick up the lemon crates, try to balance them all at once which obviously fails, and stumble back into the street. Once I have all the cardboard in the recycling, I hold the door for Caleb to wheel through. He pushes himself into the dressing room while I clock in and carry on into the club space.

Warmth blossoms in my chest when I find Joe seated at one of the tables. She hums along to (De Le) Yaleo, unable to curb the need to dance even sitting down. She holds a book open with her forearm as she breaks off a piece of muffin. Her eyes peel from the page at the drag of my trainers and she smiles, tooth gems on full display.

'You're here again. How are you here as often as I am? This isn't even your real job.' Giggles bubble from her. Her eyeliner is purple and pink today with shimmer in the inner corners. Her gaze hardens. 'Seriously, though. You work too much.'

I shrug, hooking my spray bottle into my waistband so that I can lift stools down from the tables surrounding her. 'I dunno what to do with myself now that my brother's not here. When they lived with me, he took up ninety per cent of my free time—not that he spent that much time with me, I were just too worried to do owt myself either. And now...' I make a vague gesture with my arms, letting them flop to my sides. 'And I always need money. Might as well work.'

'When do you sleep?'

'I won't sleep anyway.'

'Is everything okay?' The concern in her voice tugs at summat below my lungs.

I nod, honestly. Because everything is okay: Cece's first month back in school has gone well, I just got paid, the date with Michael went well, and nowt bad has happened to anyone in my immediate circle. 'I just stress.' I accept her sympathetic smile before I spray the table with disinfectant and wipe it down.

'You do know the shift doesn't start for another ten minutes, don't you?'

'I'm here, anyway...'

'Do you always have to keep yourself busy?' The smirk is audible.

'Like I said,' I say, wiping down the next table, 'I stress.'

Joe nudges the chair opposite with her trainer. 'Come sit.'

I feign reluctance though internally I'm bouncing with excitement. Invitation to sit received! I do, placing the disinfectant spray bottle on the table in front of me.

Joe shuts her book, training the ray of her attention on me. 'What do you do when you're stressed?'

'At uni, I'd get high. Then I realised it's probably not a good idea to be high every day. Now I work, or I work out, or I cry in my car. Though I suppose I could just cry in my house...'

I used to cry in my car so Cece wouldn't hear me. Not cause I'm embarrassed or owt like that. The opposite really—if I want them to feel safe expressing their emotions, I have to do it first. But I don't want him to know just how often I cry; piling on more guilt won't help anyone. Don't change the fact that sometimes I well need to bawl my eyes out.

Santana's guitar strums through our silence, not awkward but I couldn't describe it as comfortable. I sense Joe crocheting various sentences and dropping them. Her words from last Saturday sprout in my memory: "your emotions aren't an inconvenience to me".

But we're at work and I'm well worn out. They may not be an inconvenience to Joe, but my emotions definitely are an inconvenience to me. Fucking exhausting, innit!

I take mercy on her. 'Did you choose the music?' I ask and Joe nods. 'I love this album. I play it to my plants all the time.' Why've I said that, then? 'Yeah, that sounds a bit screwy. But they say you're supposed to sing to your plants so why not also introduce them to the wonders of Carlos Santana, right? You think I'm mental.'