Chapter 5

“Over here, kid, we need more beer!”

A man dressed in a business suit that seemed to be missing more buttons on his shirt called out. Half drunk and half his sanity gone, he called out to me like I owed him something. I mean, I did—his freaking beer.

“Coming!”

I yelled back, picking up a tray containing four bottles of Budweiser and rushing to whoever ordered them. The jolly fat man had dropped his tie on the table and jugged down the last drop of his previous drink. That was the fifth one already and the third order he was requesting. A file laid bare on the table, carelessly, while he struggled to open the next bottle of his to drown in. Poor guy must have had a tough day.

“LYLA!”

I heard across the crowd of customers.

“Lyla! We got an order for tables ten, four, and seven. Stop daydreaming and come help over here!”

“Coming!”

I yelled back, rushing to my post. Why the heck was the pub so packed tonight? It’s the middle of the week. Don’t these people have homes or wor to take care off. Taking the order for table ten, I faced the number of people occupying the pub. It stretched wide before me, an open sprawl of tables and laughter under dim, amber lights that hung down from high ceilings.

My feet were already sore from the non-stop running. My shift ended half an hour ago, but because we’re understaffed, I’m taking another three-hour shift of running all over the place. Conversations hummed here and there, laughter at every living corner, and the low rumble of someone belting out old rock lyrics from the jukebox in the corner. Elbows brushing, bodies leaning over tables, clicking of glasses, chairs scraping floors, and an occasional “Yeahhhhh” or “Yooooo” was heard. It was chaotic yet lively in its own way. It was overwhelming, sure, but on nights like this, it sort of made me ignore the other stuff I can’t really handle and made me enjoy just dealing with one thing—serving customers. A routine I gradually grew accustomed to.

Back at my post, Aunt Marie handed me the next tray of orders to be delivered, fatigue gnawing at my body. Noticing my expression, she raised her hand, relieving her palm and each of her fingers standing out. Signaling me to take a five after this.

Strolling to the back, I sneaked in a can of root beer and went out the store back door for my break. I was exhausted, beginning to wonder if I did the right thing by accepting a full-time work offer here. I was adapting to the routine, but I guess I’m going to get a burnout if this keeps up. Getting a chug from the can, a sweet exhale of relief escaped my lips.

“Tough night, am I right?”

Luca came toward me. He’s also a part-time employee like me, and most of all, his aunt owns the pub.

“You’re taking five?”

“Nah, sneaked out a bit. I hate people.”

“Don’t let your aunt get you or Gwen, especially Gwen. She’ll chew you out for leaving most of the work to her.”

“Aunt Marie can handle the pub all by herself if she wanted to. I just need the money is all.”

“Then work for it, lazy ass.”

“Hard labor ain’t right for me.”

A mocking laugh escaped my lips.

“Want some?”

I offered my can.

“That’s coming out of your paycheck, you know.”

“Who cares? Sue me. You gonna tell on me?”

“Hard pass"

We laughed, taking turns drinking the beer.

“Now it’s coming out of both our paychecks.”

I took in another chug.

“Fair enough. Wanna split it 60–40?”

“50–50, you damn scammer.”

I argued back jokingly.

It was cool, sweet, and had a little tangy feeling to it, just right for me. The day I clocked 18, there were no birthday cakes, balloons, or friends to celebrate it. No embarrassing pictures or humiliating composed songs that dads make for their daughters. Just me, a can of root beer, and a cupcake to stop myself from crying. That was the very first day I took alcohol, and it was free no less.

“LUCAAAAAAAA!”

We both heard from inside.

“Shit, gotta go. Gwen is out for blood.”

He jolted to his feet and rushed back in. A couple of arguments followed before the one calling his name came out.

“Eww, were you guys making out?”

“Shut up, Gwen.”

I hissed. She giggled.

“If you’re into my disgusting gene of a twin brother, I’ll have to be disappointed in you, Lyla. I thought you had good standards.”

“Believe me, I’ll be disappointed in me as well.”

“Aww, what’s wrong with me?”

Luca popped his head out the door.

“Everything.”

We both chorused immediately before laughing in harmony.

“Ouch!”

Luca squeezed his face in defeat before heading back in.

“Other than that, Aunt Maria said you have a guest.”

A guest? I looked at Gwen, questioning.

“She said they need to speak to you urgently, so come quick.”

I knew nobody in our neighborhood, let alone the whole of Chicago, who would want to see me in person. Maybe it’s a customer that didn’t like how I served them. Nonetheless, I’m curious to find out who in their bright mind knew the identity of Lyla Harrison.

Aunt Marie’s kitchen wasn’t grand or fancy, just two really big food trucks that had lost all their wheels. Both trucks were connected in the middle, forming a makeshift diner. It was divided into three sections. The first was the back door entrance, where we waiters changed for the day. Our stuff and clothes were all kept in our respective lockers. Next came the kitchen itself—the grills smoking, oil sizzling, ovens blazing at about one hundred and sixty degrees Fahrenheit, with two people working on orders. Aunt Marie, the head chef and manager, usually screamed her lungs out in here, but her absence made the kitchen feel oddly peaceful.

Pushing past them, I made my way to Aunt Marie’s office. A sign with bold letters reading “Cheif Marie” hung on the door. After knocking twice and hearing a faint “Come in,” I stepped inside, immediately catching a whiff of perfume I recognized but immediately despiseing it. My spine stiffened as I bit my lip and locked eyes with someone I hadn’t seen in over six years.

Dressed in her signature dark palette black dress, charcoal makeup, and deep bloody red lipstick—Romona Harrison sat cross-legged, facing away from Aunt Marie. Her gothic aesthetic perfectly embodied the image of an evil stepmother. Her disdainful expression as she talked to Aunt Marie suggested she was addressing a wild animal.

The moment I stepped in, her sharp gaze turned to me. Everything about her screamed perfect. Not just her style but her physique as well. Her collarbone, adorned with an emerald pendant necklace held by a silver chain, was sharp and prominent. Her jawline was straight and defined. Her slender hands petite but had a firm look to it. She looked dignified in a way that was both gothic and elegant.

“Lyla,”

Aunt Marie called, snapping me out of my trance. She smiled so sweetly it could melt anyone’s heart.

“This lady here says she’s your mother. I thought you said she was dead.”

“My real mother is,”

I corrected, swallowing a lump of coal.

“I’m her stepmother, actually,” Romona chipped in, her voice sharp but low, as always.

My birth mother died from cancer when I was six. A year later, Romona had swept into our home, questioning the parenting skills of a woman already six feet under. From my manners to how I ate, greeted people, thought, and even slept. Everything had a flaw, a twist, or a mistake in her eyes. Her rain of criticism was endless. Breathing in my own home felt suffocating with her around. Then the accident happened, and she vanished without a trace. I hadn’t seen her in over half a decade, yet there she was, barging into my life once more.

“Look at you,”

She said, tilting her head as her eyes studied me, amused. Her lips curled into a half-smile that felt more like a sneer. I held her gaze, unfazed and unmoved. I didn’t care how she found me; I just wanted her gone.

“You look rather pale, Lyla,”

Aunt Marie said, concerned. “Are you alright?”

“She’s fine,”

Romona answered for me without missing a beat.

“I shocked her with my visit, is all, Madam Marie.”

A little laugh escaped her lips.

“Would you excuse us, Madam Marie? I have some family matters to discuss with her.”

She looked at Aunt Marie, her smile sweet and disarming. A façade of modesty that masked her true nature. Oblivious, Aunt Marie excitedly stood, tapping me on the shoulder before leaving to meet the others outside.

The room’s air grew heavy. My body froze, unable to move. Aunt Marie had left me alone with the woman who had traumatized my childhood. For a minute, Romona simply stared, analyzing me from head to toe. When she rolled her eyes and stood, I flinched, which only made her smile. She still had an effect on me. She stepped closer, grabbing my chin with her cold hands.

“I’m surprised you held out for this long, Lyla.”

She turned my face side to side, smirking at the eye bags I’d developed. She examined my arms and body next.

“You’ve grown leaner as well. That’s good,”

she remarked before sauntering to the table and sitting down. I gulped, trying to rid the lump in my throat, before biting my lips and saying:

“Now you can fit into those dresses I got you perfectly,”

she added, looking proud.

“What are you doing here, Romona?” I asked, my voice steady. Her sharp eyes remained fixed on me, unbothered.

“How did you find me, anyway?”

I continued, bravely waiting for a backlash.

“It’s not nice to disappear and reappear in people’s lives whenever you please. If you’re going to disappear, it should stay that way.”

Her eyes locked with mine, and I knew I’d said enough.

“A few years of my absence, and all the manners I taught you are gone,” she hissed.

“I guess I didn’t teach you right. That will change. I am still your guardian.”

“I’m over eighteen, Romona. You have no control over me,”

I retorted.

I’d survived long enough without her. I didn’t need a slimy old witch like her. Her cunning smile widened, and her gaze turned darker, as if she was plotting something.

"Indeed, you are. But you’re not mature enough to understand how the world works,”

she said, her voice dripping with condescension.

“Oh, I think I understand plenty, thanks to the six years you left me behind,”

I snapped, my patience running thin.

“Romona, I don’t need you. I don’t want you. You left me to deal with the tough parts, and I did great. So please, disappear forever. Neither I nor my dad wants you back.”

Her expression hardened, unreadable and menacing. Her next words had put me in an undeniable trance.

“Lyla, your father is dead.”