Page 13 of Not My Friend
“Okay, let me see what David wants to do.”
I went to the restroom to give her some privacy and when I returned she was typing something on her computer.
“David authorized me to work overtime this weekend so we can wrap this up,” she said, not looking up from her files. “He wanted me to let you know he appreciates the extra time you’re putting in.”
“It’s no problem. Really. Let me make another pot of coffee.”
Kimberly grimaced. “I don’t understand how you guys have such shitty coffee here. It’s Seattle, it’s practically illegal to drink coffee that comes in a can.”
“Yeah, but that’s what’s donated to us,” I said lightly. “This is a nonprofit. We operate on a shoestring and take what we can get for free.”
It was nearly eight o’clock when we finally got through the last file. Despite how long it had taken, I was pleased with how things were going. My team’s files were in perfect order, and other than a few minor issues, we’d found very little that needed to be fixed. More than that, the ongoing case plan reports showed our families were making progress, good progress, in this program and thanks to our wrap-around services, when they left the program they were generally successful and self-sufficient. Or as self-sufficient as any of us were anyway.
“You’ve built a good program here,” Kimberly said as she packed up her laptop and files. “You should be proud.”
Her words made something warm glow in my chest.
“I am proud. It sounds corny, but we are really changing people’s lives here. Like our shelter manager Julia always says, we hold hope for people until they begin to hope for themselves again.”
I smiled proudly.
“This program is proof that people can recover from their shitty past and change for the better if they put the effort in.”
I’d changed for the better too. I hoped she could see that. Then again, this wasn’t about me. It was about my program and the people we served.
Just then my stomach gave a loud rumble, reminding me it was way past dinner time. Laughing, I pressed my hand against my belly.
“I’m starving. I could eat a horse.”
“Have you ever been to that pub up the street?” she asked, surprising me. “I’ve heard they have great burgers, but I’ve never been there.”
“The best,” I confirmed. “And their fries are perfect – soft on the inside and crispy on the outside.”
“Are they crinkle fries?” she asked hopefully.
“They are.”
Kimberly gave me a considering look before shocking the hell out of me. “Do you want to grab dinner? A burger and fries sound good right now.”
I blinked for a second, wondering if I’d misheard her.
“Just as friends of course,” she clarified.
She wasn’t my friend and I wasn’t hers. Not anymore. And maybe we’d never been friends before, but I was excited to be her friend now. Excited enough that I couldn’t think of why this might be a bad idea.
“I’d love to get dinner,” I said. “But I have to warn you, I’m going to need to get my own basket of fries.”
She raised one eyebrow. “Really?”
I nodded. “Yeah, that’s non-negotiable.”
She rolled her lips in to suppress a smile. “Got it. Everyone gets their own fries. Let’s hit the road.”
After a quick stop at my office to get my bag, Kimberly and I headed up the road to Benny’s Bar. It was one of those hole in the wall places that people gravitated to because the beer was cold, the attitude was unfussy, and the food was better than expected. It was a common after-work hangout for me and my coworkers, and when I walked in, the bartender greeted me by name.
It was a typically busy Friday night, but someone was leaving just as we walked in, so Kimberly and I snagged a cozy booth on the side of the room. The server came over almost immediately, and we both ordered burgers, fries, and beer.
“Still drinking that bitter ass IPA I see,” Kimberly teased.
