The Mechanic

ONE

"That will be $123."

"I know, bitch. I'm not blind I can see your screen."

I gritted my teeth, trying really hard not to roll my eyes. Why are some customers such assholes?

The teenage girl gave me her credit card. I swiped it fast and gave it back to her along with the bag of jeans she bought. She took them with a crumpled face and rolled her eyes to China.

"Thanks, bitch," I murmured in a low tone. If only I could say it out loud.

"Oh God," Leslie grunted beside me, putting a pile of dresses on the table next to my counter. "That kid is such a fucking brat! Do you see these clothes? She tried all of these! She asked for all the dresses we have but ended up buying two jeans! Two jeans, Jade! And she treated me like her fucking servant!"

I blew out a sigh. "She gave me an attitude, too."

Leslie shook her head. "Kids are so problematic nowadays."

"Not all. Count my younger brother out."

"Dirk is not included, of course. He's a very good kid," Leslie said tenderly. She took in a deep breath and stared at the pile of clothes. "I should start hanging and folding these if I want to go home in time."

"I'll help you," I volunteered, leaving my counter. "There aren't customers around anyway."

We started with our work. We put the dresses in their right racks, which exhausted us a bit because there was a total of thirty different dresses. Unbelievable.

There was still an hour left before the shop would close, so we decided to sit in the corner and eat some sandwiches. Leslie and I were the only people in the shop because Marty was on a sick leave.

"By the way, Jade," Leslie said, wiping the crumbs of bread on the corners of her mouth. "Let's go to the bookstore before we go home."

"Bookstore? Why?"

"Because I need to buy a pair of shoes," she answered in her sassiest tone, then glared at me. "Duh, Jay! Why do people go to the bookstore?"

"I'm not an idiot. My point is, you never liked reading," I replied, which earned another glare from my dearest friend.

"I do read. If the book is interesting."

I laughed a little. "If you say so."

"How's your mom?" she asked, and the fun disappeared just like that.

I bit my lip. "She's okay, for now."

"When's the surgery?"

"Uh, I don't know. I mean, we don't have the money yet. The doctors said it should be done in two months or cancer will spread to other organs," I explained, my voice cracking a bit.

Leslie wrapped her arms around my shoulders. "I'm so sorry if I can't help."

"Oh please. You helped a lot already," I said, squeezing her hand. Months ago, because of my mother's several medications and hospital visits, my family ran out of money. We didn't know what to do. But Leslie knew. She sold her antique necklace which her grandma gave her on her 18th birthday. She did that just to help me and my family.

"I wish I could help more," she murmured.

"Don't beat yourself up because of my problems, Les. Everything will be okay, I know it will be," I told her, faking the extreme positivity.

But inside my head, thousands of questions were swimming. What if the surgery would never happen? What if we can't find a way to afford it?

What if it would never be okay?