Luck on the Line by Zoraida Cordova

overpriced gadget. “Oh! This is the phone Stella uses for opening business. Food and liquor distributers, Chef James, and McKenna the pastry chef are all on here.”
    “But you always have that phone.”
    Felicity blushes. “Stella already has enough to worry about so I hold on to it. But since you don’t have a smartphone she said to give it to you for the time being.”
    She sets it on my outstretched hand. It’s heavier than it looks. What have you gotten yourself into? I ask myself. My stomach floods with a nervousness I’ve never felt before. It’s not that I shy away from responsibility. I’ve been in charge of bars before. Sure, I like to have fun, but I know I’m still working. This is different. It’s the millions of dollars that have gone into a building that is somehow falling apart from the inside. It’s my mom’s sudden departure. It’s the reason I’m here in the first place. It’s James’s face on the palm of my hand. Literally.
    He’s calling. His number flashes under a face that hits my stomach like a wrecking ball.
    It rings a few times before Felicity chuckles nervously again. I think I’m in shock. I have to be because I’m not moving. I’m paralyzed at the thought of James calling my mother to talk about me. No, he wouldn’t! No matter what last night was, if anything it solidified our secret of drinking at The Star after hours.
    When it’s clear I’m just not moving, Felicity carefully extracts it from my hand. Felicity has too much patience. “Hi! Chef James. We’re still on schedule for the tasting menu selections. Lucky and I will be at The Star around noon. We’re going to look at some textiles for the designer first—Oh, uhm, well, Stella won’t be available for the next couple of days.”
    I chew on my thumbnail and watch Felicity’s facial expressions. She’s nodding sympathetically as James’s deep voice goes up a few octaves. I can make out, “What the hell? When did this happen?”
    “It was really last minute and she’s so, so sorry. But there’s still lots to do so we’ll just have to carry on in her temporary absence.”
    I decide that the reason my mom’s life is so functional is because of Felicity. She slouches and her clothes make her look thirty-five, but she really does care. I wonder what drove her to this kind of business, where people can be terrible.
    When James’s tirade on the phone is done, she says, “Okay! See you soon.”
    She slides the phone off and then hands it back to me.
    “I hope you don’t mind,” she says, edging the shopping bag on the counter towards me. “But I thought perhaps you’d like to wear this when we run errands today.”
    Translation: I know you’re not going to listen to me, so please, please, please, put on something that won’t offend investor types. I reach in skeptically.
    “I’m getting all kinds of presents today,” I say, examining the structured black blazer before sliding it on. It fits well. Really well. “And it isn’t even my birthday.”
    The phone in my hand rings once again. The number is a Boston area code, but there’s no name attached. A wave of panic crashes over me. It’s like I forgot how to pick up a fucking phone. Wait, what’s my name again? I’m irrationally angry at my mother, but I wish she was here at the same time. I don’t think I’m the right person for this.
    “That’s probably the guy with the fabric,” Felicity says, urging me to pick up.
    “Hello? This is Lucky Pierce.”

Chapter 13
    For four hours, Felicity and I look at textiles. Four hours of different thread counts, of patterns that make me dizzy. Four hours I’ll never get back.
    “I’ve worked at bars covered in graffiti, old bras, and every license plate in the USA tacked on to the wall. Explain to me why we need to buy fabric that’s $100 a yard.”
    “Stella wants the best.” Felicity flips through a book of fabric that is meant to go on the wall that is currently charred. She stops at a