Rituals

Karly got out of bed and padded into the bathroom for a quick shower. She dried her long brown hair and pulled it back into a neat ponytail, then applied her makeup. Just a touch of eye shadow, a little mascara, a soft smear of lipstick.

That accomplished, she began her daily ritual of squishing herself into a B cup bra that was nearly stretched past its breaking point. Pity the poor guy who tried to unhook it― like handling a loaded gun. (Not that she had any guys hovering around. But still.) Wrestling with her bra every morning was admittedly stupid, but Karly was too stubborn to give in and buy a C cup. She harbored a serious suspicion that there was a direct link between cup size and grades. Her sister was a D cup and look where that got her. There was also the troubling matter of semantics. It seemed the larger her breasts grew, the less they were referred to as breasts at all, but boobs, a word she detested, or —God Forbid— tits.

She slipped into a plain white blouse and sandwiched her hips into a black denim skirt. The fabric pulled against her thighs, inching up rather than staying modestly above her knees but there was nothing she could do about it. When interviewing, dress as though you’ve already got the job, she’d read somewhere. White blouses and black skirts were what waitresses wore. She gave the mirror a quick glance, lied to herself that she looked fine, and left her bedroom for the kitchen.

She found her mother in her familiar morning stance: standing with her back to the room, staring out the kitchen window as she smoked her first cigarette of the day. Her mother had rituals of her own, and Karly knew better than to interrupt. Her mother worked two jobs, and on Tuesdays and Thursdays her schedule was especially rough. The receptionist’s desk at the assisted living facility from nine to four, followed by the swing-shift at Walmart, cashiering from four-thirty to midnight. This was her only quiet time of the day.

She poured herself a glass of orange juice and sipped it silently as she waited to be acknowledged. Finally her mother exhaled a thick stream of smoke and turned. “You going by Linda and Ronnie’s?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Good. I picked up a couple of things for them. You can drop them off.”

Karly glanced at the kitchen table. An enormous package of diapers and a coupon for Ronnie’s favorite beer. Perfect. “If they don’t have money for diapers, what’s he doing buying beer?”

“Don’t you start on him, Karly.”

“I’m not—"

“Yes, you are. I don’t hear you complaining when he keeps that pickup of yours running for free.”

True enough. He was a good mechanic. She’d give him that. Karly swallowed her retort about the more obvious failings of her sister’s husband. It was a pointless topic to pursue, anyway. No matter what she said about Ronnie, her mother’s response was always the same: At least he married her, didn’t he? As though knocking Linda up and not immediately leaving town somehow qualified him for sainthood.

She steered the conversation into what she hoped would be a more productive area. “I’m applying for that job this morning. Remember the one I told you about? At that new diner in Manchester?”

“Seems a waste to drive thirty miles. There are waitress jobs right here in Benton.”

“Yeah, but they won’t tip the way the tourists in Manchester do.”

“I guess that’s so.”

Her gaze moved over Karly’s skirt and blouse. She took a last drag, exhaled deeply, and then ran the cigarette butt under the faucet before tossing it in the trash. “You’ve got the right build for tips, that’s for sure. Never did care much for waitressing myself, but I guess it’s as good a way as any to earn money.”

“I should make enough to pay for those drafting classes I’m taking down at the CCV. Then with whatever’s left I can help out around here or maybe put some away for college.”

“College is expensive.”

There was a long pause and Karly thought her mother was going to say more, but in the end she simply shrugged. “Well, good luck, baby. If it don’t work out, something else will. I got a bus to catch.” She picked up her purse and left.

Not exactly an inspiring motivational speech, but Karly hadn’t expected one. She grabbed the diaper package, her purse and keys, and headed out the door, pausing only long enough to crumple Ronnie’s beer coupon and bury it in the kitchen trash.