My first real customer. I smile and look up then relax as I realize who my customer is.
My dad.
"Welcome to Perk Me Up!" I tell him in an overly formal tone. "Can I help you?"
He walks up to the counter and surveys the scene. "You look good as a working woman," he says, looking proud.
"Cut the crap. What do you want?"
I hear a gasp beside me. Oops, it's Maria. And she can't see I'm talking to my dad instead of a real customer. "Amy!" she chastises.
But when she reaches me, she breathes a sigh of relief.
"Boy, you've got tough employees," my dad says, then gives Maria a wink. "Okay, Amy, give me a large cup of your house coffee, black, with a shot of espresso."
"You're never gonna fall asleep," I tell him.
"Good. I've got a lot of work to do tonight."
It's a wonder my father isn't a lawyer. He never tells me the specifics of his work. I guess it's cool that he's got a top-secret job, so I don't bug him about working late.
I pour the mixture into a cup while Maria watches me closely. She smiles as I finish; then I hand it to my dad. He takes a sip right away, not even waiting for it to cool off. "Best-tasting coffee I've ever had in my life," he tells Maria, his overzealous reaction totally obvious.
I roll my eyes. "Aba, go sit down already."
"Why don't you join him," Maria says. "Your shift is over.
"I've only been here an hour. How can it be over?"
"That's our deal," my dad chimes in. "An hour a day on the weekdays, three hours on Sundays. I didn't want it to interfere with your schoolwork."
Eight hours a week isn't so bad, especially because I'll still have my Saturday nights free.
I hand Maria my yellow apron, but she says to bring it back tomorrow when I work. Then I grab my purse from the locked cabinet and sit down with my dad at one of the tables.
My dad takes out mail from his briefcase and starts rummaging through it. I'm craning my neck to see if there's a letter from Avi. It's been over two weeks since I've gotten one. It's unlike him.
"Well?" I ask.
My dad has this mischievous smile that gives it away. I hold my hand out. "Give."
He holds out a letter and I snatch it out of his hand. My heart skips a beat and my stomach feels like little butterflies are flying around inside me as I run my fingers over the return address.
Since Avi and I have this long-distance relationship, I get insecure. When I'm in bed at night, thinking about how much I miss him, I wonder: Did he forget about me? Has he met someone else who's cuter or nicer or just...doesn't have as many hang-ups as me?
I'm feeling a bit better as I rip open the letter, but then notice my dad staring at me...gauging my reaction.
"Why don't you read it out loud," he suggests.
"Yeah, right," I say sarcastically. I stick the letter in my pocket, I'll read it later when I'm in bed...alone.
"Wait!" Maria calls out as we're about to leave. She's holding a backpack. "Do you know that boy who was sitting on one of the chairs over there? He left this."
"It's Nathan's," I say. "I'm sure he'll realize it and come back to get it."
"Don't be silly, Amy," my dad says. "You can return it to him on the way home."
8
***
Deborah was a great prophetess of Israel, even led Israel for a time (fudges 4:4). She ordered a man named Barak (relation to me, perhaps?) to take ten thousand men into battle. Barak told Deborah that he'd only do it if Deborah came with him. Kind of parallels my life, doesn't it? Also reinforces that men need women to back them up.
***
I want to protest, but the backpack is being shoved into my hands. "Dad, I'm sure he'll come back to get it once he realizes--"
"Amy, don't be a snob."
My mouth opens wide in shock. My own flesh and blood just called me a snob. I head out the door and into our condo building entrance. I wave to the doorman, who buzzes me into the elevator banks.
"Amy, come back here," my dad says.
I put my hands on my hips. "I can't believe you, of all people, called me a snob."
My dad never backs down. I guess being an ex-commando makes you act like a tough guy in your personal as well as army life. Occupational hazard. "Just because he doesn't look like the kids you hang out with doesn't mean you can't be friends with him."
"Dad, he told Kyle Sanderson I joined a dating service because I couldn't get a date for the Valentine's Dance." Who's the snob now?
My dad looks concerned; his eyebrows are furrowed as he contemplates this new piece of information. Taking a deep breath, he tells me, "Then confront him about it."
Spoken like a true Israeli.
We're in the elevator, which has just reached our floor. Stepping off, I turn around to face my father and hold out Nathan's backpack (which weighs a ton, I might add). "You give it to him. Then you can ream him out for spreading rumors about your daughter."
"We'll go together."
Ooh, partners in crime. "Fine."
"Fine."
I follow him to Nathan's aunt and uncle's condo right down the hall from us. My dad knocks obnoxiously loud, like he doesn't know the power of his own strength. That's my dad.
Mr. Keener opens the door, but doesn't invite us in.