Love Me Back Read Free

raises his shoulder to rub it off. Don’t cry, José, don’t cry, says Christopher. José says I’m sorry, Chris, it’s just so sad how ugly your mom is, but Christopher doesn’t answer because another server comes into the kitchen through the door at the opposite end. Sup Chris, says the new server, then Sup Kelly, Tare-Bear to two women who are standing in a corner talking while they do their makeup. Hey Josh, says Christopher,guess what we got here. Josh is punching in on the time clock by the office. Mr. George sticks his head out and says Don’t punch in unless you’re working. I’m working, I’m working, says Josh. What do we got, Chris?
    A fucking virgin, everybody. Chris grabs my hand and yanks it up into the air like I won a boxing match. This is Marie, and today’s her first day in a restaurant. Welcome to hell, baby. He laughs a sadistic laugh. He has beautiful beautiful teeth. I pull my hand down and look toward the office but Mr. George is on the phone, his back to us.
    Don’t look at him, says Christopher. You gotta make it with us. He don’t know shit about how to wait tables.
    I nod. I know, I say, I was just looking at the clock.
    Uh-huh, says Christopher. There’s only two times in a restaurant: before and after. You walk in, you white-knuckle it, try not to fuck up till it’s over and then it’s over. You made money or you didn’t.
    God, leave her alone, Chris, says one of the women. Ignore him, she says to me. He’s so full of himself it’s disgusting.
    Christopher walks toward her so I follow him. What’s disgusting, Tara, he says softly, is how full of me you’d like to be. Fuck off, says Kelly. Tara yells toward the office, Raj, Chris is harassing me again! but then both women start giggling. Don’t worry, sweetie, Kelly says. He’s all talk. That’s not what she said last night, says Christopher. Kelly rolls her eyes. Fine, you win, she says. I would rather fuck myself with an OG bread stick but you can pretend if you want.
    Don’t believe anything he says, she tells me as she pushesopen the kitchen door with her back, pulling her hair up into a ponytail.
    How old are you, anyway, asks Christopher, leading us into a humid room off the kitchen where a man in a plastic apron says Hola. He is using a big nozzle on a spring to spray some large metal pans in a deep sink. This is the dish pit, yells Christopher over the noise of the water and the clanking of the pans. And watch out, they haven’t put down the mats yet. You got good shoes? He leans over and pinches my pant leg away from my knee, lifting the hem so he can see my black canvas sneakers. He has three fingers behind my knee, and when he closes his hand his thumb is so high up on my inseam I look at him to see what it means. He looks at me back and squeezes as he says Those won’t work. You need some nonslip soles or you’ll wind up on your ass wearing cannelloni. Payless in the mall has some cheap ones.
    I’ll be eighteen in two weeks, I say, adding a year. He whistles. He puts an arm around my shoulder and yells at the dishwasher, pointing at me with his other hand, Hey José, es una bambina!
    Stop, I say. What? he says. I just said you’re a babe. I know what you said, I say. Ella hablas español también, he yells at José. No me llamo José, says the dishwasher. He sticks out a wet red hand. Mario, he says. Marie, I say, shaking his hand. Ah, Maria! he says. Somos gemelos! I smile. Mucho gusto, I say. Come on, says Christopher, enough fucking around. Let’s get to work.

    The third man I’d ever had sex with was an ex–corrections officer who is six-four and the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen or ever will. It may seem rash to hand out that superlative to someone I met as a teenager, but perfection cannot be perfected. His teeth were perfectly square, even, and white, his smile dazzling beneath thick blue-black hair, his eyes a brilliant unseen color of bottle green backlit with navy, his olive skin so smooth