Chapter 15.

  Here be dragons.

  Cold concrete wicks away the warmth from my legs while I watch squirrels pying in the trees. Maybe they’re fighting? I’m not a scientist. Deliciously acrid menthol flows down my throat and out of my nose. A folded fuschia-mauve hoodie ys on my p providing a small spot of warmth against the morning air. The sun just barely begins to peek out between the trees as I let my thoughts trail to cozy dreams of domesticity that I’ll never tell anyone I ever had.

  “What the hell is in that cigarette?” Footsteps speed up and keys jingle as Tara's shadow stretches over me. “You’re here before open and you’re smiling? You’ve got to be on drugs.”

  She wears her usual khaki scks with rolled legs, she’s wearing one blue sock and one purple sock. Dark circles ring her eyes like she hasn’t slept and her voice sounds rough like marbles.

  “I’m not on drugs, I just slept well is all.” I roll my cigarette and extinguish it before pressing my hands against the ground and rising to my feet with a small hop. “Also, I looked it up. This hoodie is fuschia. Idiot.”

  A ugh drips from Tara’s face before she can stop it. She pushes the door open and motions for me to walk in first, I don’t argue. The air inside is heavy with the smell of stockpiled coffee beans and a hint of industrial degreaser. I walk to the punch clock and tap in my employee number with a few chirps from the machine and make my way to the lockers.

  Tara glides into the break room after me and drops her backpack on the table, I can feel the handful of thoughts racing through Tara’s head as she quietly judges me. I ignore her with a smirk while I stuff the hoodie she loaned me on top of the lockers. I pull my navy-blue apron off the rack and slip the rough fabric over my neck, I tie it behind my back effortlessly while waiting for Tara to speak.

  She just shakes her head and unzips her backpack. She digs through the bag and pulls out various items in a practiced order. Her water bottle goes in the fridge, lunch right beside it. Apron goes around her neck, candy into the left apron pocket, cellphone in the right, and finally a notepad nestles into the center pocket with a pen speared through the spiral binding at the top.

  “Only nerds use journals, nerd,” I slide out a flimsy folding chair and pnt myself across the table from where Tara is getting ready for the day

  Tara scoffs, “Right, nerds. Bud, if you used a journal growing up you wouldn’t be nearly as fucked in the head as you are. You might actually have some-” She visibly winces and stops sorting through her utility-apron “Shit I’m sorry, that’s really mean. I didn’t mean that at all.”

  I shrug “It’s all good, I can tell by your mismatched socks that you’re tired and cranky. But that ain’t gonna ruin my good mood” I say through an uncontrolble smile while tapping my boot against the table leg

  Tara snaps her fingers and points out of the breakroom “Go start prep for the day, stock the dispy bags.”

  “Yes ma’am acting manager ma’am!” I give her a mock salute and stand up quickly, my chair kicks out from beneath me.

  I walk my way to the doorway of the break room and stop

  “Tara, I know I’m not the most… emotionally avaible friend in the world, but I can listen real good.”

  My fingers trace the doorframe for just a moment. When no response comes I continue on my way out of the break room.

  My boxcutter glides easily across the fifth box of coffee bags. The cardboard draws the moisture from my hands like a sieve as I load the dispy shelves behind the counter. Columbian, then hazelnut, then french vanil. Or was it french vanil then mocha then hazelnut? Tara interrupts my traffic jam of memory and sits on the counter behind me. Her hands rub together and she doesn’t look anywhere but the floor. I keep stocking the shelves until the fifth and final box is empty. I toss it aside and sit on the counter next to her, not speaking, just being next to her.

  “My grandmother isn’t getting out of the hospital.” Tara says on a shaky breath

  “I’m sorry to hear that, is it the pneumonia?” I ask while pcing an arm over her shoulder.

  “Doctor said the pneumonia is pretty much gone but- she’s old. She can’t bounce back from it. So they’re keeping her in the ICU.”

  I wrap both my arms around her shoulders and squeeze her tight, resting my forehead against her temple. I have no idea what to say. I just hold her. She shudders a little in my arms and I hold tighter. The urge to tell her ‘it’ll be okay’ is huge. Her grandmother is dying, it won’t be okay. Shut the fuck up Brooke. Dampness soaks into the bck fabric on my shoulder. A choked sob pierces my ear, too loud, too close. Deal with it.

  I hold on and squeeze her closer to me, shifting off the counter to stand in front of her. How do I comfort you? I rub her back the way my mom rubs mine when I’m breaking apart. Be the glue, not the bull. Sobs turn to whimpers and whimpers eventually turn to shaky breathing. She pulls out of the hug and nods her head a few times. My thumbs wipe the trailing tears from her cheeks. She lets out a choked ugh. Huh?

  “You look so uncomfortable right now.” Her ugh turns into a full on gigglefit

  “I’m comforting you!” Heat rises to my cheeks as her ughter continues

  “You did good, Brooke. You just… you are so far out of your comfort zone. Thank you though, seriously. I love you, girl.”

  I grunt and return to my pile of cardboard, bde slicing through the tape and boots stomping the empty cubes into compcent, ft, things.

  A knock at the door of the shop interrupts my processing. When I see it’s Brian I step out from behind the counter and open the door, poking my head out.

  “We’re closed, no stoners allowed.”

  “You wound me, Brooke.” He giggles “I’m here for a Casey Special and a bagel. She said she’s not coming by your work yet. ‘It’s too soon’ is what she said, whatever that means.”

  My expression must have twisted into a vile expression as he spoke because the look on Brian’s face is one of pity or fear, I can’t tell which.

  “Come in, I’ll make it for her.”

  I bolt past the counter to the back and gather my supplies. I fill a cold steel mixing cup with coffee and ice and add a dash of strawberry syrup. Vibrations from the blender buzz up my arms and into my skull as the mixing bde beats against the side of the cup. Two small scoops of whipped cream and a slight drizzle of caramel over the top. The perfected Casey Special. I step out from the back and bag one bear cw and one everything bagel in separate bags and set them on the counter.

  “Does she not want to see me?” My hands pick at the edge of the veneer countertop.

  “I don’t think she doesn’t want to see you… I think it’s some kind of… like… on her terms thing.” Brian sounds like he’s in a waking dream. How did he manage to walk all the way over here?

  “Oh okay.” My teeth tease at the corner of my lip. “Alright. Her terms….Get outta here, don’t trip on the dragons outside.”

  “Dragons?”

  “Go! Before they get you.”

  Brian rolls his eyes and takes the two bags and coffee. The door wheezes closed slowly behind him. Tara gives me a look of pure confusion. She looks like she’s about to ask before she throws her hands in the air and walks away to continue our morning prep.