Mr. Edwards made this sound that was part sigh, part laugh.
“Can you . . .”
“Yeah.”
I had been back and forth from the store to the stock room so many times, I was surprised I hadn’t worn a groove into the floor. I grabbed the broom and dustpan off the wall and snagged a couple towels off the shelf.
“I can clean that up for you,” I said to the pair of older men, who had managed to knock two gaiwans off their table. Shards of white porcelain and long green leaves of oolong lay in a forlorn puddle of wasted tea on the floor.
One of the men nodded at me but didn’t make eye contact. I swept up as best I could and knelt down to get it all into the dustpan, but as I did, I heard something.
A terrible something.
A ripping sound.
I scooped up the last few pieces of gaiwan and sopped up as much as I could with the towels, but there was so much.
“I’ll be back with a mop. Sorry.”
“Could we get some more of your Da Hong Pao?”
“Um. Sure.”
I tugged my shirt down behind me with one hand and hurried into the back.
Something terrible had happened to my pants.
I hid behind the door and felt my pockets to find the problem.
The edge of the box knife I’d been using was still sticking out, just enough to poke a hole into my jeans. A hole that had stretched and expanded, bit by bit, every time I bent over or squatted, until my jeans had finally experienced a non-passive failure.
I glanced toward the door and then reached my hand inside my pants just to make sure nothing felt bloody.
What was I going to do?
I heard a commotion outside, in the store, so I grabbed a roll of packing tape off the shelf, ripped off a couple pieces, and patched my pants together as best I could.
I hoped no one would notice.
I grabbed the mop and more towels and went back out.
“There you are,” Landon snapped when I emerged, waddling slightly so I wouldn’t make the rip worse. “What took you so long?”
“Uh.”
Landon’s cheeks were red, and his brows were creased.
“Someone almost tripped over your spill!” Landon’s voice was sharp as a box knife. Everyone turned to look at us: Kerry at the register, and Alexis at the tea bar, and the customers in line.
I’d never heard Landon use that voice before.
I felt like I’d been kneed in the balls again.
My eyes prickled as I mopped up the rest of the tea. I wiped my face against my shoulder and sniffed.
I had to get back on my hands and knees to get the last of it up, an operation that was destined to further damage the structural integrity of my jeans. The packing tape tugged on my leg hairs, and when I stood back up, I felt cool air against my inner thigh.
Great.
“Sorry about that,” I said to the table above me. I cleared my throat and squeezed my legs together to hide the damage to my jeans. They were already sipping on new cups of Big Red Robe.
“It’s fine,” they said without even looking at me.
I nodded at the floor.
“Enjoy your tea.”
STRUCTURAL INTEGRITY
I wanted to cry.
I mean, I was crying. A little bit. But I wanted to cry more.
I locked myself in the bathroom so no one would see me.
I’d had bad days at work before. My old job, at Tea Haven, had Corporate-Mandated Clearance Sales once a quarter, which had been way worse.
But I guess I thought Rose City would be different.
I thought it was going to be about serving people the finest teas, and helping them discover new favorites. Not profit margins and import taxes.
I had this feeling for a second.
Like I didn’t like working at Rose City.
But that was ridiculous.
I sniffed, kicked off my shoes, and slid out of my damaged jeans.
They were utterly destroyed. The rip had lengthened along the inseam, up to the crotch seam and down about twelve inches. Frayed edges waved in the air like tiny blue anemones.
I closed the toilet lid and sat on it in my underwear (a pair of green square-cut trunks with a shiny black waistband) and pulled my phone out of my jeans pocket to check the time.
I had another hour on my shift.
What was I supposed to do?
Someone knocked on the bathroom door.
“Darius?”
It was Landon.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” I said.
It was quiet for a moment. And then Landon said, in a softer voice, “You mad at me?”
“No.”
I wasn’t mad.
Just hurt.
And embarrassed.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you. I didn’t want my dad to get upset.” He tapped the door. “Are you gonna come out of there?”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
I cleared my throat.
“Darius?”
“I’ve got a hole in my jeans.”
“I’m sure we can fix it.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Just let me in?”
“I’m in my underwear.”
“It’s okay.”
I sighed.
And then I got off the toilet seat and hid behind the door as I unlocked it and swung it inward.
Landon squeezed through the gap and then closed the door behind me. He looked down at the shredded jeans in my hands.
And then his eyes kept going, down toward my underwear.
My leg hairs stood on end.
Landon’s eyes snapped back up to mine.
“I don’t think we can fix them,” he said.
“What am I going to do?”
He almost glanced toward my underwear again. Like maybe he didn’t realize he was doing it.
“Alexis might have some safety pins or something. And I think we have an apron somewhere. You could cover up with that.”
My lip quivered.
“Don’t be embarrassed.”
“I’m not,” I said.
“You are.” He stepped closer to me, so close he pressed my hands—still holding my jeans—back against me. “But you don’t need to be. It’s just me.”
He leaned up to kiss me, but I scooched back.
Landon’s face fell. “You are mad at me.” He rocked back onto his heels. “I said I was sorry.”
“I . . .”
“It’s like I can’t ever do anything right for you.”
“That’s not true.”
“Then what?”
“I mean. Yeah. What you did hurt.” I hated how my voice wobbled. “I was already cleaning up and you just yelled at me in front of everybody. Instead of helping me out or . . . like, doing it yourself. And I’ve been trying to keep up with everyone needing ten things at once, and I barely got any sleep for worrying about my dad, and it’s been a really tough day. Okay?”
I took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling.
Landon looked at his feet.
The silence between us hung fragile and tender.
“You’re right,” he whispered at last. “I’m sorry.”
He used his thumbs to wipe away the tears at the corners of my eyes.
“Why are you worried about your dad?”
“He’s having a depressive episode.”
“He is?”
I nodded.
“He’ll be okay.”
“Are you, though? Okay, I mean.”
I shrugged.
“I guess.”
Landon studied me for a second. He reached up and brushed my hair off my forehead.
“You stay here for a little while. All right? Just . . . take a break. And I’ll bring you something to wear. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“I really am sorry, Darius.”
He stood on his toes to kiss me on the cheek, and then rested his palm against it.
“It’s okay.”
He unlocked the door, but then he turned around, his cheeks turning pink.
“Just so you know.” He glanced down again. “I really like your underwear.”
My own face went to Red Alert.
And for a second, I wondered what Landon looked like in his underwear.
He gave me a quick, shy grin, and then he closed the door behind him.
Landon came back with an apron and some safety pins, and we pinned my jeans back together as best we could.
He didn’t say anything else about my underwear, but he kept glancing at me as we worked.
Somehow, being with Landon in my underwear, I felt even more naked than I had with Chip in the locker room.
“Thanks,” I said when my jeans were as repaired as they could be.
“No problem.” Landon leaned in and kissed my shoulder, something he’d never done before. It was just a quick peck, but it felt like a lot more than that. “Seems like a shame to get all dressed again, though.”
“Stop,” I said, but my skin broke out in goose bumps.
I had this idea. This image of us making out in the bathroom.
But then the image turned to someone knocking on the door, interrupting us, and getting in trouble (or at least suffering a Level Twelve Embarrassment).
I slid my jeans back on, tied the black apron around my waist, and stuffed my feet back into my still-tied shoes.
I didn’t want to risk bending over: The safety pins could only do so much to reinforce the structural integrity of my jeans.
“I talked to Alexis. She said she’ll switch with you at the tea bar for the rest of your shift.”