Tonight, We Collide

Tara had left Pete in his play pen in the back kitchen. He would be asleep in a matter of minutes, his ears used to the bustling kitchen.

She tied her apron on and took a pen and pad from her pocket. She looked down, counting the tiles like she always did, and stopped at a booth. She put on a fake smile, but instantly dropped it when she saw two familiar faces in the booth.

“Holy Shit! Tara!” The one cried before tackling her. Tara was baffled, but awkwardly patted the man on the back.

“Hi Patrick,” She said solemnly, her heart breaking.

“What are you doing here? I thought you’d be making millions by now with your amazing mixing skills.” Patrick said sitting himself back in the booth.

Tara looked back the kitchen out of habit, the sleeping boy barely visible.”

“Oh,” Patrick drawled. The man next to him smiled. “Hey Tara, long time no see eh?”

“Hi Joe,” She said, restraining tears.

“Um, I really need to take your orders-”

“Oh right! Well I’ll take a coffee, eggs, bacon, pancakes, oh! And some toast?” Patrick said innocently.

Tara wrote the order down furiously. She looked up at Joe, signaling him to order.

“Ditto” He said. Tara sighed at the easier order. She smiled at her son as she attached the order to the line and pushed t back into the kitchen.

Tara’s boss walked over, a grimace on his face. “Tara, I told you, you can’t have him back here.”

“I know, and I’m sorry-”
“I’m sorry too Tara, I can’t have this anymore, its against code, I have to fire you.”

Tara felt tears hit her cheeks. She put her hands on her face, “Mr. Walsh-”

“Tara, here’s your pay, and a little extra, I’m really, really sorry.”

Tara only nodded and grabbed Peter from his play pen. She walked past the booths, her son’s sleeping head lulling itself into the crook of neck.

She was almost to the door when Patrick stopped her. “Where you going Tar?” He asked.

Tara knew her make up was running, but she only sniffled. “I’m off shift, see you,” She walked out the door briskly, her sons light snores echoing in her ears.

She stopped at the bus stop. She set her son in her lap, and held his head in her arms. Tara let fat tears fall down her cheeks. She had lost her job. She wasn’t going to make rent. Which would mean she would be out of a home. Tara held her son tightly, not wanting to have to even think of going to her parents for help, or worse, putting Pete in a foster home.

The tears came heavier at the thought. Her financial status had worsened in the past month, and she feared for her son.

“Tara?” Tara wiped away her black (from eyeliner) tears away from her eyes.

“Yes?” She croaked.

“That’s Pete’s son isn’t it.”

Tara only nodded and held the sleeping boy closer to her body. Patrick sat down on the bench, and forced Tara into a hug, her tears staining his shirt.