Chapter 13. Service.

  Damp hair sticks to my forehead like tendrils of apple scented cleanliness while Tara parades around the kitchen getting ready for work. She sips coffee loudly while bouncing between the fridge and her backpack, depositing an apple here, a water bottle there. Daniel follows her like a confused and clingy squire.

  “Are you always like this right before a shift?” I brush my hair as I take in the scene in front of me “You’re being all spacy and manic and stuff.”

  “Only when I stay up all night babysitting” She sets her coffee cup down and peers into her backpack one st time before mentally tallying something and zipping it up.

  “You didn’t babysit me! You recorded bckmail of me for whatever nefarious pn you’re gonna come up with!” I slide a coaster across the counter toward her, it skids to a stop a few inches away from my fingers.

  Tara shoots me a gre and I take that as I sign that I’m being an ass. I crawl my hand to the offending coaster and return it to its rightful pce in the stack. The stool scrapes lightly against the tile floor as I stand. Sock covered feet give me no traction so my journey to the front door is all miniscule steps and careful turns.

  My cmp onto my feet as I yank the ces taught, giving me that traction I’ve oh so dearly missed. I’m still wearing my clothes from work yesterday, Tara never gave me a chance to stop at my house before we came here. Half & half sptters across one sleeve and the other is tacky with some unknown sweetsmelling substance I dare not investigate.

  “Tara, could I please borrow a long sleeve or a hoodie or somethin? I’ve been spttered.” I ask sheepishly while poking my head out of the foyer.

  “Yeah just go grab something, make it quick, I want to get to work and get the morning prep done.” She dumps her coffee into the sink and rinses her mug. Backpack slung over her shoulder she shoos me toward her closet.

  I hop into Tara’s room like it would help me be quick, I reach out for the first bck hoodie I see and- Tara sps my hand.

  “Not bck. Pick something else.” She says with a scowl. Her hands are already shuffling through her closet. She was never going to give me a choice, was she? Her hands nd on one hoodie in particur. Far brighter than anything I’ve bought for myself in the st five years.

  “You want me to wear fuschia?” I ask. My fingers rub against the sleeves, it’s soft, really soft actually. I don’t hate the feeling. It’s a nice hoodie, but that color hurts my soul.

  “It’s not fuschia, it’s mauve,” she corrects while shoving the impressively soft hoodie into my arms “c’mon, get changed. We gotta go.”

  A sharp tug at the hem of my shirt, my hands already moving. My day-old long sleeve Slipknot tour shirt drags over my still damp just-brushed hair and floats to the floor with an inaudible flop. My vision goes entirely mauve as I pull on Tara’s loaned hoodie. Knuckles push their way out of the sleeves and I ftten the garish fabric around my waist. The contrast between my torn bck jeans and the immacute pastel hoodie is too much for me. I pout hard.

  “Don’t compin. You’re supposed to thank people when they lend you things,” Tara pushes on my shoulders, forcing me to and out of the front door as my boots scuff zily against the tile like a petunt child.

  “Thank you Tara for lending me a hoodie that smells of vender instead of spoiled milk and coffee sweat.” I grumble while Tara locks her door

  “Oh right. For once in your life you smell like flowers and fruits. Get over it, dumbass.” A ugh erupts from her as I lead the way down toward the shop.

  Leaves crunch underfoot as her giggles fade into a comfortable silence. Chirping birds and footsteps are the only intrusion on this quiet commute, it’s nice. A handful of times I catch myself nervously pulling at the estic waist of the bright hoodie while I get lost in thought about Casey. This is something Casey would wear, not me. I hope I can fix what happened. I hope Casey isn’t hurting too bad… if I can’t fix it entirely, I at least want her not to hurt.

  “I don’t care…” The words escape me without notice and I keep my eyes on the leaves, making sure to step on the crunchy looking ones as we walk.

  “What?” Tara asks, snapping me out of my daze.

  “Huh?”

  “You said you don’t care. What don’t you care about?” Tara presses on and jabs me in the arm with her elbow, “Honesty, remember? What’re ya thinkin about?”

  My teeth sink into my lips as I try to word it. Shit I forgot lipstick. “Hey, do you happen to have any lipstick?”

  Tara rolls her eyes and unslings her backpack, hand diving into a small side pocket, returning with a tube of lipstick. I happily take it and the cap comes free with a pop. Scarlet stares back. I catch myself wanting to gre at Tara but I stop myself. Instead I just apply the lipstick and pass her back the tube. I check my application with my phone and sigh. “You’re trying your hardest to add as much color to me as you can today, aren't you?”

  “No, but it’s fun seeing you in something other than bck and gray." She leans forward to get a better look at me. “I like this color on you, but I’ll be honest, the bck lipstick looks better on you. What’s on your mind? I ain’t gonna let you skip over that.”

  My teeth press into my cheek as my thoughts scatter and my mind tries to cover its tracks. I shove my hands into the warm shield of my pockets. I find myself walking a half step closer to Tara. My arm brushes hers as we walk. Eyes remain scanning for the crunchiest of leaves as thoughts finally start to form into a coherent expnation.

  “I said I don’t care… I don’t care if I don’t get Casey in the end,” I say with shaky words “I just want to make her not hurt, or not be embarrassed or whatever she’s feeling. I want the old Casey back even if she’s not mine.”

  Tara elbows me hard in the ribs but neither of us stop walking. “Shut the fuck up. Don’t do that martyr shit, Brooke. You and I both know you’re better than that and it’s just that stupid isotionist mindset you’ve cultivated over however many years. You and Casey are gonna be fine. You just have to figure your shit out.”

  An ache forms in my chest and heat rises to my cheeks as I bring my chin to my chest. Embarrassment. I have never been verbally spped so hard in my life. My thoughts cloud and scatter once again. The wind blows a few nice leaves out from beneath my boots as we arrive at CrunchBucks. Tara’s keys jingle and chime while I roll a pebble back and forth under the toe of my boot. The door opens and a rush of cold air conditioning washes over us both as I follow her into the shop.

  “I didn’t intentionally say it as mean-”

  I cut her off before she can take it back “You’re right, it is bullshit martyrdom.” I walk over to the left side of the store and pull chairs off the tables, setting them on their legs. “I’m having a pity party for myself these st few days rather than fi-” I clear my throat harshly “rather than fixing things.”

  I can feel Tara's eyes burrow into the side of my head as I continue taking chairs off of tables. My thoughts seem to calm on the subject. Spiral defeated. The air fills with the beat of soft jazz pying on the overhead speaker, signaling that it’s six in the morning. Tara finally stops staring me down and moves to the back to bring out pastries for the dispy. Once all the chairs are arranged neatly I step behind the counter and pull out a rge clear tub of tea bags. Three tea urns, three tea bags.

  “You’re not on the clock, get out of there.” Tara shouts from the back room.

  I turn on the tea urns then scoot myself from behind the counter and wait on a barstool. She steps out of the back room and sets boxes on the counter with a huff, almost sending the stack tumbling.

  “Excuse me, ma’am? I’d like to pce an order please, I know you’re not open yet but I’m very important.” I say with my best impression of a Karen.

  She ughs and starts unstacking boxes of pastries “That was pretty good, it’s like you’ve practiced being self absorbed or something.”

  “Ouch! I am not self absorbed!”

  “What do ya want?”

  “Can I please get a ‘Casey special’ and a bagel with cream cheese?” I give Tara puppydog eyes in the hopes that she doesn’t make me wait until the store is actually open.

  “I fed you at my pce.” her hands position each pastry in the gss dispy exactly where they’re supposed to go according to the corporate yout, two trays of everything bagels, one tray of pin, two trays of various doughnuts and then one full tray of bear cws on the bottom.

  “It ain’t for me, loser. One’s for Casey and one’s for Brian in the hopes he lets me in the store before they’re officially open.” The words come out as a surprisingly shy mumble while I pick at a hole in my jeans.

  I feel too bright, I feel naked. What the hell even is mauve?