Last Olive Bistro ✓

Chapter 17: Gratitude

I helped Rory land a couple part-time jobs at a Mediterranean restaurant and an ice cream shop pretty quickly. Both were on the same block, which helped him balance the two schedules, and both were fairly close to Times Square so that the tips would make the suffering worthwhile.

Morgan was awake early as she had to finish up some documents and email them to her boss. I couldn't imagine how stressed she was all the time, because it made me uneasy just watching her work nonstop. In a way, I was thankful I wasn't in an office job, even if it would have made more money. I'd much rather leave my work behind at the end of the day.

She already had coffee brewed when I woke up, but I couldn't drink it—she made terrible coffee. I'm not sure if she knew how to measure the grounds and water proportionately, because she always made a full pot and then drank less than half of it. I never said anything, and especially not when she was so stressed out with her work duties.

I washed myself up, threw on a pair of jeans and an oversized t-shirt, and darted across the street to grab a strong cup of coffee. The shop was unusually quiet, so I decided to hang out awhile and give Morgan her space to work.

The calm, relaxing atmosphere was just what I needed to allow my mind to meditate. The hissing of the espresso machine, the light chatter of employees, and the mellow jazz which played softly in the speakers above my head—everything about time seemed to stop as I sat by the window and sipped the coffee.

A few teenage girls skipped down the street, an elderly couple helped each other into a taxi, and a delivery guy on his bicycle zipped down the bike lane, almost colliding with a businesswoman distracted by a phone call. I never tired of the typical New York scenes, and I began to wonder why I was so apathetic.

My job wasn't anything special, but sometimes I wished I was someone important. But that's just desiring power, and too much of it is a toxic thing. Maybe I wanted better pay, but that would only be wanting material things, and I had all I needed. I also dreamed of having a place of my own, but I was lucky enough to live with my best friend so that I was never lonely, and another friend who actively worked hard and could inspire me to do the same. The apartment was bare minimum, but at least it had hot water to take a shower in every night.

The more I practiced gratitude, no matter how big or small, the more I began to question myself, for the better. What was I truly missing in my life? Anyone on the outside looking in would say that I had it pretty damn good.

My phone buzzed with a text and it jolted me out of my mini meditation session. It was Angela.

It read, "Come at 2 today."

I sighed and turned my phone face down. The imaginary hole in my life broke open again, but I forced myself to be grateful.

I hate this job... but I have a job.

It doesn't make enough money... but some money is better than none.

Another missed night out with my friends...but I have friends.

The tumbling thoughts ran through my mind like a car crashing down a hillside. Perhaps I should be grateful for each time that happened, that I made it out alive.

~ ~ ~

I said goodnight to Payton as she hung around to close up and wait for her ride home. I walked out with Tony and we headed towards the subway.

"How was your date with Mr. Lewitt?" he asked.

"It was really nice. He took me to some fancy French restaurant and brought me home."

My feet ached, still feeling the ill-effects of the heels from said date. Now my feet were encased in what used to be plush sneakers, the kind made for standing most of the day, usually doctors and nurses bought them. They were the only other clothing item ever made an investment in.

"When are you guys going out again?"

I bit the inside of my cheek; I was tired of this question only after being asked it twice. "We'll see, I'm not sure."

A minute of silence passed, which was nice for me because I had dealt with Angela's screaming in my ears all night. Yu-gin called off and no one else could fill in, so I spent half the night running from the dining room to the kitchen washing dishes. No matter how fast I went, it wasn't fast enough for her and somehow I was always doing the wrong task at the wrong time.

"He's super interested in you, you know that?" Tony asked, but more of a remark.

My cheeks heated up. "I guess so. He comes around enough."

Tony chuckled quite loudly, but toned it down after he broke into a horrendous coughing fit. "He's not being weird by coming around. He's checking you out. I'm just shocked it took him this long to ask you on a date."

Of course Tony would be able to read people due to his extensive bartending career. He was better than any psychologist. On one hand, it was a good thing because I couldn't read Jacob too well, and was grateful for his intel. On the other hand, it terrified me how much Tony knew, and how much he would and would not tell me.

"But why me? I'm not exactly a Victoria's Secret model, or a Rockette."

He scoffed and threw his hand up as he spoke. "You don't need to be. Geez Chloe, not all men are interested in who you believe are the most gorgeous women on Earth."

"Gorgeous and accomplished," I corrected.

"You're strong, and he sees that," Tony said. "He's seen you take Angela's wrath, even right in front of him! You don't even flinch. You've never complained once, nor said no to anything. You've lasted longer than most people at this place—you may even be second next to me. So give yourself some credit, kid. You're a tough cookie."

I breathed out, letting all of his pep talk sink in. I accepted that it was mostly true, however all the complaining I did was inside the recesses of my mind where no one could hear. But still, in the two years at the Last Olive Bistro, I'd seen plenty of folks blow up at Angela and storm out. I somehow stuck around.

"Thanks, Tony. I'm glad you can see the things I can't."

We reached the subway but parted ways. He took another line further down the block. As I made my way down the steps, I paused on a landing where a homeless man and his dog were sitting on the ground. I pulled out a $10 tip from a customer and handed it to him. He bowed his head and smiled, and the dog perked its head up.

I was grateful to be going home to an apartment, no matter how small it was. I was grateful for a soft bed. I had to be more grateful—it had to be a conscious decision—which required living in the present. It would continue on through my meeting with Jacob the next morning.