Chapter 10
Fall
Tara watches me, features sharp and pissed off. Coffee spshes across my hand leaving a scalding trail.
“Fuck, stop looking at me like that, Tara.” I snap as I reach for the cold tap on the sink.
“Dummy, you crushed that girl. It ain’t gonna be as simple as ‘sorry I broke your heart after this wonderful date’ you dense bucket of milk”
“It wasn’t even a date” my tone dripping with shame while cool water rolls over my burn.
“To her it was!”
To her it was.
The ache in my chest intensifies. I know she’s right, I know I fucked up.
“I’m gonna make it up to her. I don’t know how but I’ll figure something out.”
“No. Last time you ‘figured something out’ you stomped on it. Your head is full of pudding” she spits the words at me and gets in my face “quit thinking. You suck at it.”
“Damn, Tara.”
“Don’t damn me.”
“Bite me”
“Bite yourself." Her tone sharp before slipping into her customer service tone without skipping a beat as she holds up a coffee "One order for Megatron. Megatron, your coffee is ready.”
“Is this about the happy geeky girl that always comes in after me?” Megatron asks with a slight frown, coffee cup slipping into his hand like every other morning
“Yes. Her name was Casey, and thanks to dipshit over here, she will never grace our shop with her presence ever again.” Tara speaks the truth like I’m not even here.
I y my head against the cold tile backspsh and watch the water roll off my hand, watch it swirl into the drain. The ache in my chest starts to feel more like an ice pick. Tears cw at my eyes, I bite my cheek so they don’t fall. It doesn’t help.
“Smoke break.” I say as I bolt outside to my comfortable picnic table.
“You just clocked in!” Tara shouts after me.
The picnic table squeaks under the my weight. My hands shift into my apron and slide out my cigarettes and cell phone. A cancer stick makes its way and sits neatly between my lips as I scroll through the st fifteen messages I sent Casey, inbox colder than the gss screen. At least, until I scroll up far enough and find the first selfie she sent me.
The happy version of Casey stares back at me, her cheek mushed up against that jerk- I was the jerk, not Brian. Fuck.
I stuff the cigarette back in my pack. Mulch crunches under my feet as I stand. I interce my fingers on my head. How would Casey fix this? By not fucking up in the first pce, moron. Fresh morning air fills my lungs, salt trails its way down my cheeks as I feel that somewhat unfamiliar shuddering in my chest. It’s been a long time since I let myself cry like this.
Knees wobble and ankles give. I find myself crouched with my forehead against the rough worn woodgrain of the picnic table. I don’t fight the tears anymore, I welcome them.
Minutes pass and my tears slow to a trickle, the shuddering in my chest calms and I feel a hand start to gently rub my back, small circles.
“What’s going on, Brooklyn?” The unmistakable voice of a worried mother coos behind me.
My worried mother.
I bring the rough fabric of my apron to my cheeks and wipe the tears as best I can before standing up and giving my mom a deep hug, face buried in her neck like I used to do when I missed her. Her hands hone in on my back and she holds me while I calm down.
“I just-“ sniff “I just burned my hand, no big deal. What're you doing here?”
“I told you the other day I was gonna stop by and see Tara. She didn’t burn you or anything did she?”
I shake my head and pull away from the hug, gently wiping my tears with my thumbs. The burn on my hand is barely even a pink mark anymore. Her eyes see right through my story.
“You want to talk about what really has you wasting a smoke break crying against a picnic table?” She’s testing the waters with a slightly teasing tone. It’s too soon.
I simply shake my head again as the hiccups start. I hate the cry-ups.
“It’s…” hic- “it’s just I hurt a friend. I don’t know how to unhurt them. I didn’t mean to.” Tears start flowing again and I sit against the upper portion of the picnic table. “Now they don’t even come by the shop anymore, it feels so empty now-“ hic-
Her fingernails comb through my hair, plucking strands back into line as I calm myself back down.
“Brooklyn, you’re a smart girl. You know what we do when we break things? We get the glue and do our best-“
“-because people aren’t repceable” I chime in unison with her words, considerably more calm than before.
“Come on, you’re on the clock and I want a tte.” She says softly
Mom presses a kiss to the top of my head and I give her one st hug.
“Be the glue, not the bull.” She whispers.
I ftten my apron and stuff my cigarettes back into my apron before leading my mother into the building. Tara beams at my mom, genuinely excited to see her. I cut off her path and pull her into a hug with a whispered apology before releasing her.
Mom and Tara catch up for a few minutes while I focus on coffee. Columbian coffee pours into a steel shaker, one single scoop of whipped cream, a half tablespoon of caramel syrup, a handful of ice. My eyes drift to a particurly cracked tile along the wall as the ice rattles against the shaker, the space between the tiles grows and shifts. Eventually I zone back in and pour the coffee into a tall gss and slide it to mom.
“It’s not what you ordered, but you’ll like it.” I say ftly as I lean on the bar and wait.
