Soon enough, I’ll be a mere train ride way from the village where my grandparents grew up. For most kids, college means escaping your roots, but I want the next phase of my life to be about rediscovering mine. I’m not sure what it will all mean for me and Wes, but lately, he has a hard time giving me an answer when I ask him when exactly he plans to come back from New York. I love him. I really do. But realistically, I also know that I’m not like my moms. I am not going to marry my first boyfriend, no matter how perfect and wonderful he may be.

I get through the rest of my shift by popping a couple of Advil and doing my best to charm the customers with a joke or a compliment. And Angie does the same. I know for a fact that I wouldn’t survive this job without her, and I’m so grateful she never got as sick as me. Ten days at home with mild symptoms and no lingering side effects. She claims it’s her blood type, but I think her will is just much stronger than mine. She’s also the only person I’ve told about my Mexico plans, and we’ve already daydreamed about her coming to visit.

“We’ll drink margaritas as big as our heads,” she says, wide-eyed.

“With top-shelf tequila,” I add. I leave out the fact that my family has a complicated history with alcohol, because why spoil a fantasy?

After we wrap up with our last customer, Angie puts the CLOSED sign on the checkout counter conveyor belt and we hurry to the stockroom to clock out.

“We survived another day,” Angie says, a smile on her face.

“Just barely,” I reply. “I thought dad bod was going to murder me in cold blood.”

“Girl, do not let Family Guy get to you. If he was getting it on the regular, he wouldn’t be so salty about waiting in line. Not our problem.”

“That’s who he looked like! Peter Griffin but with less hair! Thank you!”

We walk out to the parking lot together until we have to go in separate directions to our cars. Angie practically floats as she walks up to her beat-up yellow VW Beetle while I sluggishly make my way to my moms’ car. When I get there, I find Elena napping at the steering wheel. I rap my knuckles on the window, and she startles awake.

“Sorry,” I say.

“Don’t be. It was just a little cat nap.”