Flood

“Spencer Zachary Vance, you get down here this instant!”

I groaned as my mother’s voice rose from downstairs. I sighed and heaved myself out of my computer desk, throwing my highlighter down on top of my business textbook. I descended the stairs slowly, trying to buy as much time as possible.

“Hello, Mother,” I said cheerfully, giving her my best smile.

She narrowed her eyes and held up two slips of paper. Oops.

“You want to explain to me why you were speeding and driving drunk?”

I sighed. “Look, it’s no big deal. I was at a party with Norman and Patty and she broke up with me.”

My mother pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re still hanging out with Norman?”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not a teenager anymore!”

“But you’re still underage, Spencer! You’re lucky you know the police officer or you could lose your license! Have you seen these totals?” I shook my head. “For both, it’s roughly $1,000.”

“Ouch.”

“Yes. And, do tell me, do you make that much cleaning up after basketball games at OU?”

“Mom,” I snapped. “I get that you don’t like I’m going to OU, but-”

“That has nothing to do with it, and you know that. If you want us to pay for this, you’re going to have to work it off in the restaurant.”

My jaw dropped. “The restaurant!?”

“Yes.” We heard a car pull up the driveway and I started to go up the stairs. “Don’t you move!”

“Come on, Mom. He doesn’t need to know!”

The garage door closed. “Yes, he does.”

“He does what?” my father asked, putting his briefcase down on the countertop. He frowned between the two of us. “What’s going on?” She passed him the two tickets and I sighed, throwing myself into one of the kitchen chairs, waiting for the yelling. “Spencer, look at me.” I did but he didn’t yell right away. “Why are you doing this?” I just shrugged. “Are you trying to land yourself in jail?”

“No,” I snapped. “I’m trying to get out of this damn state!”

“Do not swear at me,” he snapped back. “After you graduate college you’re more than welcome to leave.”

I threw my hands up in the air. “You’re locking me up in this state and wonder why-”

“We’re paying for your college tuition and letting you stay here,” my father interrupted. “The least you could do is follow our rules.” He held up the tickets. “If you want us to pay for this, you’re going to work for it. I’m not popping for you anymore.”

My jaw dropped at the two of them. “You’re serious, aren’t you? You really want me to work at the restaurant?”

My mother shrugged. “It’s either that or jail. Which would you prefer?” I glared at them. “Okay. You start tomorrow after your last class.”

-

I glared at the back of the restaurant, gripping my steering wheel.

“Just ditch,” Norman said over the phone.

“You and I both know that won’t work,” I grumbled.

“Patty wants to get back together with you.”

“Yeah, well, she also wants to fuck around. Not going to happen.” I groaned. “My mother is coming out to get me. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Good luck, man.”

I got out of the car and locked it. As it beeped, it was another reminder that I got a lot of financial assistance from my parents. I prayed she wouldn’t bring it up. She handed me an apron.

“You’ll be bussing tables today,” she said and glared when I was about to complain.

“Fine,” I snapped. “How long am I stuck here?”

“Until close.”

“You close at 10!” I yelled indignantly. “When am I supposed to do my homework?”

She rolled her eyes. “Stop being dramatic, Spencer.”

I groaned and tied the apron on angrily. It was only 3 which meant I would be stuck in here for seven fucking hours.

“Spencer! It’s been a long time!”

I looked up to see Theresa smiling at me. She was in her 50’s and had been with my mother since the start of The Southern Belles. She even helped get it on its feet when a tornado ripped it apart. I forced a smile on my face and picked up a bucket.

I went out through the side door and looked around. The Southern Belles was 20 years old. The floor and tables were all wood and all of the walls save for one were exposed brick. On the brick walls, pictures were hanging of my mother and other people in the community building the restaurant. As much as I hated to admit it, being here was inspiring.

The fourth wall was my favorite. The base was white but it had a few green vines twisting all over it and many different colored flowers. While it was my favorite, it also made me sad. My Aunt Amy had painted it but she had committed suicide five years after the restaurant opened. I could still remember her funeral and the amount of pain my parents went through.

I shook the memory off and went around to clean up after people who had left. I cringed when I came across a table that had a highchair. Food was smeared all over it and the top was sticky from spilled juice. As I scrubbed angrily at the spot, I heard loud giggling.

Annoyed, I turned. Some girls from my college were sitting, looking at another girl’s laptop. I frowned. I hadn’t seen the other girl around school. She had pretty blond hair and green eyes. She looked up and our eyes met for a brief second before I returned to the useless scrubbing.

“It helps if you use this,” my mother said softly, handing me a spray bottle. “And no gawking at the customers,” she teased and, in spite of my anger, I smiled a little.

“Like you have any room to talk,” I teased back.

My parents had met when my mother was a waitress at the restaurant that used to be here. She shoved me a little and went back around to talk to the guests.

I was on my feet for about two hours before the college girls had left. I looked in frustration. They left more of a mess than the kid! Trying to keep my composure, I started piling the dishes and cups into the tray. That’s when I saw a charging chord and wallet. Frowning, I opened the wallet for a name or number.

All I found was a student I.D. and a few dollar bills. They were already pulling out of the parking lot so I decided to take it to school with me tomorrow and give it to her then.

Finally, it was time for closing and I hung my apron up gratefully. I got my phone out to check my messages, walking back out to my car.

“Can we talk?” My mother was leaning against the hood and I nodded, putting my phone back in my pocket. “Look, I know you’re mad-”
“No, you guys were right,” I sighed.

She faked a gasp. “I need to write the down in the calendar!” I chuckled, sticking my hands in my pockets. “The point is that responsibility is something you have to learn early. Ryder had to learn it when he was a teenager and I had to when I was your age. It’s what made us who we are today. We want you to succeed like we have.”

“Mom, I’m not like you two. I don’t want to be a business owner and I definitely don’t want to live in Oklahoma anymore.”

She frowned. “What is that you hate so much about this state?” I didn’t answer. “Well, I’ll see you back at the house. I need to lock up.”

She kissed my forehead and went back inside. I got in my car and started it, waiting until she was safely inside before driving home.