Chapter Text
Sixty Three cents.
That's my tip, on a forty-dollar tab. Well, technically, Thirty-Nine dollars and thirty-seven cents. The guy paying dropped two twenties onto the messy table. He and his friends left the surface smeared with mustard and covered in crumbs from their plethora of half off appetizers.
He didn't even sign the receipt, just left his number. With a winky face and “Call me, Pigtails”
“Ugh, as if.” I sigh.
I would've considered it if he left something like: 'Sorry for grabbing your ass every time you walked over to refill our drinks'
But alas, no such luck.
I am merely a cute little server girl here at Agni’s Sports Bar. I did wear pigtails tonight, though it didn’t improve tips the way I’d hoped. Even with the short skirts and cropped tops, men still hold out on the bigger tips, unless it’s game night. Or a fight night.
I clear the table, stacking dishes in a Jenga like pile, carrying everything one handed while I hand over the stacked receipts and cash to the host.
I look at the clock, 12:16 am. We closed at midnight, but there are a few very drunk stragglers still nursing drinks at the bar. Luckily the bar tenders are wrapping up their tabs and calling cabs. Continuing my path to the kitchen, I set down my stacked tray on the counter, along with the others.
Suki pauses in her scrubbing, stretching her arms above her head with a groan, “Please tell me that’s the last tray.”
“It sure is.” I sigh, “They left a huge tip though.” I say sarcastically.
“Big spenders,” She winks, running her hands along her very pregnant belly. “How’d the hairstyle go?”
I shrug, “Not as well as I’d hoped, but better than usual.”
She steps over, pulling a curl taught, “Braid them next time, and pull out little pieces to curl around your face like a school girl. They’ll go nuts. You’ve already got a round young face,”
Suki holds said face in both hands.
“Use it.” She winks.
“That’s so gross” I giggle. “Men are so gross”
“Quite so.” She turns back to the suds filled sink, “Except your brother.”
I snort, “That’s debatable. Have you smelled Sokka’s dirty socks?”
She laughs at that, “Fair point.”
I grab a fresh rag and start wiping down the tables, my feet aching in these stupid non-slip shoes. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting everything in that harsh white glow that makes everyone look like they're dying.
"So when are you going to tell me what's really going on?" Suki asks, not looking up from the dishes. "You've been extra snippy all week."
I pause mid-wipe. She knows me too well.
"Nothing's going on."
"Uh huh." She gives me that look—the one that says she's about to go full big sister mode even though she's technically my sister-in-law.
Dad's been trying to hide the stack of bills on the kitchen counter, but I see them. I see how his shoulders slump a little more each time he comes home from visiting Gran-Gran.
"I'm just tired," I lie, attacking a particularly stubborn ketchup stain. "And broke. Always broke."
The truth is, I need something that pays real money. Fast. The retirement home sent another notice last week about Gran-Gran's account being past due, and Dad's fishing boat needs repairs he can't afford.
Sokka's got his own family to worry about now, though we’re all stuffed into Dad's two bedroom apartment ever since their landlord sold the entire block of units they were living in to Agni Corp.
"Finals are next week and my brain is fried," I add, "I haven’t had a full night's sleep in over a year."
Suki nods sympathetically. "Your physio certification is almost yours, though. Just one more week of hell and you'll have that fancy piece of paper from Oma University."
"If I survive," I mutter, pulling out my phone. "Between night classes and juggling three jobs, I'm running on fumes."
"Three, when did you get a third?" Suki raises an eyebrow.
"This place, the clothing boutique at the mall, and last week I got a position stocking at Kyoshi Jewelers." I start typing a text to Jet. "The jewelry gig is easy at least. No customers to deal with."
"You're insane," Suki says, but there's admiration in her voice. "I can barely handle being pregnant and working here."
I hit send on the text to Jet:
~Me : Outside in 10?
"Speaking of insane, how's my brother doing with baby number four on the way?”
Suki rolls her eyes. "Panicking. As usual."
My phone buzzes.
~Jet : On my way.
"Jet's coming," I tell her, "We should finish up."
⊹₊⟡⋆⟡₊⊹
Twenty minutes later, we're standing outside in the cool night air. My feet are screaming after an almost ten-hour shift, and all I want is to collapse into bed, even though I know I should review my notes for at least an hour before I go to sleep.
Jet's beat-up sedan pulls up to the curb, hip-hop blaring through the open windows. He doesn't bother getting out to open doors for us. Not that he ever did.
"Thanks for the ride," I say as Suki and I slide into the back seat.
The car smells like cheap cologne and weed.
"Yeah, about that," Jet says, meeting my eyes in the rear-view mirror.
His hair is still ridiculous, but I'd be lying if I said he wasn't attractive. That was never our problem.
"This is the last time."
"What?" I frown. "Why? You said you’s help me out until I save enough for a car. Remember? I practically wrote your final essay for you."
"Shay doesn't want me driving other girls around anymore." He shrugs like it's nothing. "Says it's disrespectful."
"Shay? Your girlfriend of what—two weeks?" I can feel my blood pressure rising. "Suki is pregnant and married. To my brother. And I've been helping you with your course work for months, even after you—"
I stop, not wanting to dwell on those memories, I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves.
"We have an agreement Jet, you promised me." I keep my voice as even as I can manage, "Tell Shay she has nothing to worry about. Besides, we both know there's nothing going on between—”
"Look, it's not my problem how you get home," Jet snaps, cutting me off. "I'm just telling you to find another ride."
"The buses stop at ten," Suki points out. "We work late almost every shift, you agreed to help us out."
Jet shrugs again. "Not my problem. Figure it out on your own."
I bite my tongue until I taste blood. I want to scream that I've been working three jobs while studying full-time, that my family is one missed payment from being homeless, that he owes me.
For not holding what he did to me against him.
For all the nights I stayed up with him. Helping him write his papers and study so he didn’t fail out of college and lose the trust fund his parents have lined up for him for when he gets married.
But I swallow it all down, clenching my jaw so hard my teeth ache. The drive is painfully silent except for Jet's music blasting through the speakers. I stare out the window, counting streetlights to keep from screaming at him.
When we finally pull up to our apartment building—a dingy three-story walk-up with peeling paint and security doors that haven't actually locked in years—I don't even wait for him to fully stop before grabbing the door handle.
"Thanks for nothing," I mutter, “You ass.”
I slam his car door with every ounce of strength I have left, savoring the loud bang that echoes through the quiet lot. Suki gives me a sympathetic look as she closes her door with considerably more grace.
Jet peels away from the curb, tires squealing—before we even reach the front steps.
"Men," Suki sighs, rubbing her lower back as we trudge up the stairs.
"I can't believe I ever dated that jerk," I growl, fishing my keys from my bag. “He’s fucking useless! Fuck! Suki, what are we going to do?”
"We'll manage," Suki says, though the exhaustion in her voice tells me she's not sure how. "We always do."
The moment we open the apartment door, we're greeted by a chorus of excited squeals.
"Mommy! Auntie Kat!" Three small bodies launch themselves at us.
Kala, the oldest at six, wraps her arms around my waist while four-year-old twins Koda and Kaya cling to Suki's legs.
"What are you all still doing up?" Suki asks, her voice a mixture of love and exasperation as she looks over their heads toward my brother.
Sokka stands in the hallway, still in his work uniform, hair disheveled and dark circles under his eyes. He winces at Suki's tone.
"I am so, so sorry," he says, crossing the room to kiss her cheek. "Mr. Sen's computer crashed while he was in the middle of some important financial thing, and he wouldn't let me leave until I recovered everything. I just got home twenty minutes ago. We only just now finished bath time."
"It's almost one in the morning," Suki sighs.
There's no anger in her voice. She understands. We all do.
"I know, I know." Sokka looks genuinely pained. "Dad had to leave for the docks at ten, and I promised I'd be home before then, he got the neighbor to watch them until I got home."
I ruffle Kala's hair. "Have you guys eaten dinner at least?"
"Grandpa made us fish stew before he left," Koda says proudly, lifting her tiny chin. "And I helped!"
"I set the table!" Kaya adds, her small round face beaming.
Sokka scoops up the twins, one under each arm. "Alright little wolf pups, bed time.”
Suki lifts Kala, the six year olds legs hanging on either side of her large belly, “Say goodnight to Auntie Kat.”
A chorus of goodnights drifts down the hall as they take the children to their room.
I drop my bag by the door and collapse onto our sagging couch. My feet throb as I kick off my shoes. The apartment is small—too small for seven people (soon to be eight)—but somehow, we make it work.
The living room doubles as my bedroom at night, with a pull-out couch that kills my back. Dad shares the smaller bedroom with the kids, while Sokka and Suki take the larger bedroom. They’ve been slowly turning half of it into a nursery. Last month we found a bassinet on the curb. Sokka managed to fix it up enough to be usable.
I drag myself up from the couch, knowing if I stay a moment longer, I'll fall asleep. And I can't afford that luxury tonight. Not with finals coming so soon.
"Just one more week," I mutter to myself, setting up my textbooks and notes at our small dining table.
The laminate is peeling at the corners, and there's a permanent ring stain from where Sokka once left a hot pot.
I pull my hair out of its pigtails, massaging my scalp where the elastic bands pulled too tight. My eyelids feel like they're lined with sandpaper, but I force them open as I flip open the heavy text.
From down the hall, I can hear Sokka and Suki's muffled voices as they wrangle the kids for bed.
"But I'm not tired!" Koda protests loudly.
"Shh, you'll wake the whole building," Suki chides gently.
"One more story, Daddy?" That's Kaya's voice, using the sweet tone she reserves for when she wants something, she learned it from Sokka.
"Nice try, kiddo," Sokka responds. "It's way past bedtime."
I smile to myself. Those kids are the reason we're all working so hard. They deserve better than this cramped apartment and hand-me-down clothes.
⊹₊⟡⋆⟡₊⊹
Almost another hour passes as I highlight another passage about rotator cuff rehabilitation when I hear the front door open. The familiar heavy footsteps tell me it's Dad before I even look up.
"Hey," I say, smiling softly as he shuffles in.
Dad looks older than his fifty-two years, his face weathered from years on the water, deep lines etched around his eyes. His clothes smell of fish and salt, and his shoulders slump with the weight of too many worries.
Just like Sokka’s.
And Suki’s.
And mine.
"You're still up," he says, setting down his lunch sack on the counter. "It's late, Katara."
"Finals," I explain, gesturing to my books. "How was work?"
He sighs, "The catch was decent. Not great, but decent." then adds, "Stopped by to see your Gran-Gran on my way home."
My heart clenches. "How is she?"
"Same." His voice is flat, "She asked about you."
Guilt washes over me. I haven't visited in two weeks. Between work and school, there just hasn't been time.
"I'll go this weekend," I promise.
Dad nods, but doesn't press. He knows I love her. If we could afford it, she’d be here, with us, receiving full time care and cuddles from her great-grandkids.
"There's some stew left if you're hungry." I offer.
"Already ate at the docks. Bato brought extra."
He’s lying. I can tell.
“The kids can finish the stew for breakfast,” he notes, filling a glass with tap water and gulping it down. “What’d you and Suki have?”
I shrug, “Just food from the restaurant,”
I’m lying too.
I gave Suki my ‘company provided’ meal to go along with hers. She needed it more than me, eating for two.
Dad leans against the counter, studying my face. Those eyes, identical to mine in color but weathered by decades of worry, see right through me.
"You didn't eat, did you?"
I sigh, pulling out the handful of coins from my pocket and spreading them on the table.
"Sixty-three cents. That was one of my big tips tonight.” I pull out the few crumpled bills from the other pocket, “Twenty-seven dollars and Sixty-three cents for nearly ten hours on my feet. After working at the mall all morning."
I run my fingers through my loose curls.
"And Jet just told us he can't drive us home anymore. His new girlfriend 'doesn't like it'."
"That little..." Dad mutters a curse under his breath that would make Gran-Gran wash his mouth out with soap. "Did you have to walk home?"
"No we were fine, he drove us tonight, but we need to figure something else out." I tap the coins absently. "We need gas in the car, but even if we had it, I know you can't pick us up that late."
Dad rubs his face, and in the harsh kitchen light, I can see every line of exhaustion etched into his skin. "The car's running on fumes. I was hoping to make it to payday before filling up."
"I know." I swallow hard. "I'll figure something out."
The sound of footsteps draws our attention as Sokka appears in the doorway, his hair in loose curls around his shoulders. He’s changed into his pajamas. He looks as tired as I feel.
"Suki fell asleep with Kala," he says softly. "Poor thing couldn't keep her eyes open. Kala was asking for a story and Suki just passed out mid-sentence."
Dad nods. "She needs her rest."
"I heard about Jet," Sokka continues, looking at me. "What a jerk."
I shrug, trying to act like it doesn't matter. "It's fine."
"It's not fine," Sokka counters, leaning against the doorframe. "You two can't walk home that late, and the buses stop running at ten."
We all fall silent, the weight of our collective problems filling the small kitchen. The clock on the microwave blinks two fourty-seven AM.
I should be studying. Dad should be sleeping before his five AM wake-up. Sokka should be in bed with his pregnant wife.
"I could take the bus to work," Sokka says, his face brightening with that familiar problem-solving expression. "Dad, you could use my bike to get to the docks. It's not far, and you wouldn't need gas. Then Katara and Suki could take the car to work."
Dad frowns. "The bus costs money, son."
"Less than gas," Sokka counters. "And I can pick up an extra shift at the computer shop. Mr. Chen mentioned they needed weekend help."
"You already work six days a week," I protest.
Sokka shrugs. "It's just until the baby comes. We'll figure something else out then."
Dad sighs heavily, looking between us. "I don't like it, but we don't have many options right now."
I push my textbook aside. "I could try to pick up more hours at—"
"No," Dad and Sokka say in unison.
"You're so close to finishing school," Dad continues, his voice gentle but firm. “You focus on that."
I want to argue, but the determination in his eyes stops me. We all know this is our best option, even if none of us like it.
"Fine," I concede. "But only until finals are over. Then I'll pick up more shifts, I might be able to get another job at the mall, I saw signs in one of the other clothing boutiques."
We hammer out the details of our new arrangement, a complicated dance of schedules and timing that leaves little room for error. By the time we finish, it's nearly 4 AM, and my eyes are burning from exhaustion.
I still haven't studied.
⊹₊⟡⋆⟡₊⊹