“Not just like it,” Mel says, holding up another sheet of doodled scrap paper. “On this one, I drew you taking out the trash. Because now you’re going to go take out the trash.”
I roll my eyes. “Do these write ups stay in my personnel file, or do you submit them to local art galleries? There’s some latent talent just begging to be discovered here.”
“Keep it up, Not Tina, and I’ll make you scrub out the feminine hygiene box.”
“I did that yesterday.”
She huffs and I crack a smile. I guess there are perks to having the shittiest job. Nothing can get worse.
“Garbage. Now.”
I abandon our battle of wills, stowing the slip back in my pocket as I trudge down the hallway toward the back door. I prop it open, hoping Mel’s not vindictive enough to come behind me and close it. I’m greeted with the same sunshine as before, but it feels less triumphant given the swarm of flies and puddles of mysterious ooze that come along with it. I swear I hear you giggling behind me.
Pulling on an extra pair of gloves from my apron, I set to work. By the time the last can is empty, I’m sweating.
“God, I hope that stench is coming from the trash and not you.”
This is just like the time you lost your retainer and I volunteered to go dumpster diving outside our middle school cafeteria. You were freaking out something serious. It was the third one that year and your dad was going to hit the roof. But with a little determination and a lot of grease stains, I emerged victorious from the green monster with my prize.
The memory fades away, the vacuum created in its wake seizing my muscles. I shake it off, heading back inside with little resilience left to face another day in this awful place.
“I thought I smelled something,” Rod comments in his trademark bored tone. He’s foregone the traditional ball cap in lieu of a hideous pinstripe bowler hat. It looks shockingly similar to the ones I pulled out of Gramps’ closet after he died. We donated his wardrobe. Maybe Rod’s a fan of thrifting.
“Good morning to you, too.”
I duck under the counter, making a beeline for the sink. Soap is my only friend here.
“Rod,” Mel barks. “Can you do something about the music? If I have to listen to Rhapsody in Blue one more time, I’m going to stick my hand in the grinder.”
“What would that solve?” Rod asks, but nonetheless does what he’s told. The jazzy backtrack ceases, only to be replaced by some acoustic cover of a nineties pop hit.
Mel seems moderately pleased with the change in ambiance as she counts the money in the till out loud. I used to get frustrated when you did that. I guess not everyone can calculate quietly.
Once I’m free of the stench of yesterday’s squalor, I begin setting up the barista station. The espresso machine whirls to life with a hiss of steam. Hell, yeah. First try. I cycle through the steps of priming it.
“Make sure you grab the tamper from the back,” Rod reminds me, lifting the counter and stepping beside me. Why is it that I’m the only one that can’t work that stupid latch?
“Right.”
“We’ve got another newbie starting today,” Mel tells Rob. “If he’s anything like Not Tina, this is going to be the longest day of my life.”
“Who is it?” Rod inquires, fastening his apron over the most recent selection from his rotation of Hawaiian shirts. Everything about his appearance just screams seventy-year-old white guy from Florida.
“Does it matter? Claudine would hire a hobo if he batted his eyelashes. She said it was some yuppy from—”
Their conversation fades as I step through the swinging door into the storage area in search of the illusive final pieces to the station. I’m honestly not sure how I feel about another new hire. On one hand, no one can be as awful as Mel. She’s practically Satan in a push-up bra.
Rod isn’t terrible. He’s nice and doesn’t roll his eyes when I make a mistake. His choice of Superintendent-on-vacation wardrobe always makes me laugh. He’s also kind of a horndog, but I lack the required anatomy for him to try to bark up my tree.
Where the hell is that tamper? I don’t want to ask for help with such a simple task, but the longer I’m back here the more fuel I’m giving Mel to yell at me. And that’s really not how I want this day to continue.
“Swallow your pride, Tom-boy. Ask for help.”
So that’s what I do, pushing my way through the swinging door.
“Hey, Rod. Have you seen the—”
I stop.
The shutter of a camera sounds.
“Oh my god!” Reese squeals on the other side of the counter. It’s like someone is shoving a porcupine in my ears. “Look how cute you are in your little apron!”
“Knock it off, Reese.” Nick reaches for the camera but she’s too quick for him and snaps another shot.
Wait, why are they here? And why is he wearing a green apron that clearly does not have the name of a deceased employee on it? What the fuck?!
Reese babbles on, “Janet and Kev are going to shit themselves when I tell them. Our little Nicolas is growing up so fast.”
“What’s all that about?” I ask Rod, hoping this is all some sort of Outsider joke. I set the components I was able to find on the counter.
“That’s the new guy,” he mutters, shooting back a shot of espresso.
“You’re kidding.”
Why the hell would Claudine hire him? He’s an Outsider.
“A cute Outsider.”
“Wish I was, my good man. This is a disaster.”
No kidding. How am I supposed to work all summer with this jerk?
“The worst part is,” Rod leans in close, the smell of coffee on his breath. “I’m not the hottest guy here anymore. How can I weasel my way into a pair of yoga pants with that Adonis standing beside me?”
O-kay. Let’s decide which part of his statement should offend me more.
“Alright, Princess Paparazzi.” Mel steps between Reese and Nick. “Your little buddy’s got work to do, so why don’t you buy something or scram.”
“Oh my god, I get to be your first customer, Nick!” Reece returns her camera to the bag slung over her shoulder.
“Lucky me.”
“I guess we’re doing this.” Mel claps her hands. “You, with the apron, behind the counter. And you, with the annoyingly bubbly personality, in front of the counter. Let’s get it over with.”
Nick opens the latch to lift up the counter—seriously? am I the only one? Realizing I’m in the way, I scoot forward as far as I can into the espresso machine.
“Easy there,” Rod says with a chuckle. “When I told you to get familiar with your station, I meant in a platonic way.”
My laugh is halfhearted, attention homed in on Mel and Nick at the register. It’s this weird surreal kind of moment that makes me think I’m still dreaming.
“What’s good here?” Reese asks, glancing up at the menu. She reminds me of a cocker spaniel, crazy curls and head always tilted at an angle.
“Well,” Mel matches her pitch with a pained smile. “I’ve heard that our coffee is pretty good. So, I’d order one of those.”
“You don’t say.” Reese props her elbows on the counter. “Could you run me through my choices? Sorry to be a bother, but I really want to make sure I’m making an educated decision. Be sure not to leave anything out.”
The anger radiating off of Mel is palpable. Nick is trying not to laugh and the way that the corner of Reese’s lips keep twitching gives me the sinking suspicion that she may not be as ditsy as she first appeared.
Mel finishes reciting the menu through clenched teeth. “And finally, our signature Claudine’s Delight, topped with butterscotch crumbles.”
“Wow,” Reese breathes, straightening herself. “They all sound so good. I have no idea how I’m ever going to decide. Oh wait, I know. I’ll have this.”
She pulls a bottle of water from the basket in front of the counter.
“I’m really not a huge coffee drinke
r.”
Mel is primed to explode while the rest of us are struggling to keep it together.
“That will be $2.02,” Nick snickers, tapping the terminal.
Reece swipes her card without breaking eye contact with Mel.
This may be hilarious now, but Reese doesn’t have to spend the rest of the summer with Mel. I hope Nick thinks this little joke is worth it.
“Have a great first day, sweetie.” Reese twists the cap off of the water bottle, taking an exaggerated sip, she adds, “Mm. So refreshing!”
“See you,” Nick calls after her.
“How long do you think he’ll last?” Rod whispers my way.
I only shrug, busying myself with a sanitation towel as Mel starts drilling Nick with information at a thousand miles a minute.
“Five bucks says she eats him alive by lunch.”
“Where have you been?”
I stash my green apron behind me, leaning against the back of the couch. Mom sits at the kitchen counter. Her glasses reflect the glare of her laptop screen.
“Around.” I shove the apron behind one of the cushions when she’s not looking. “I found this adorable little coffee shop on the other side of town. You’d love it. So quaint.”
“I’m sure.”
Her typing resumes.
“Any word from Dad?” I ask, crossing to the counter. Mom’s not wearing makeup, which is weird. Wait, her hair is up too. When was the last time that happened?
“No progress, unfortunately. It seems to be a theme lately.”
“Still stalled?” I ask and lean against the bar.
“Beyond stalled. I don’t understand it. I can prosecute murderers in front of federal judges and media, but the moment I sit down in front of this stupid computer, nothing. Like I’ve control, alt, deleted my brain. So frustrating.”
“That sucks, Ma. I’m sorry.”
She lets out a sigh, closing her laptop. “I’m going to go cross-eyed if I stare at this thing any longer.”
At this rate, Mom will completely crack by the end of summer.
“Are you hungry, sweetheart?” She asks, sliding off the barstool.
I do a double-take. “Uh, Mom? Are you wearing sweatpants?”
She rolls her eyes. “They’re yoga pants and it’s none of your business.”
“Okay, if you’re some sort of alien that’s taken over my mother’s body, you’re going to have to step it up and try a little harder. She’d never be caught dead in yoga pants.” I shake my head. After my time spent with Rod at work, the thought of yoga pants is making me nauseated.
Mom stiffens, her steps becoming robotic. She says in a monotone voice, “Does not compute. Does not compute.”
“Alien, Ma. Not robot. Bless you, you tried. Thank you.”
She cracks up and I join in. It’s so much easier to breathe when Dad’s not around. When it’s just the two of us. Is it selfish of me to hope he stays tied up all summer?
“I’ve got some leftover soup if you’d like some,” she says, holding up a container of pale green liquid from the fridge.
My stomach turns.
“You know, I’m actually kind of tired. I’m going to go get ready for bed, if that’s cool.”
“Of course, sweetheart.”
“I’ll see you in the morning.” I back towards the stairs, throwing a cautious glance at where I’ve hidden my work apron. I’ll have to sneak back down tonight and get it. “Goodnight!”
“Love you.”
“Love you too,” I say, turning to climb the shiny wooden stairs.
“Oh, and don’t forget your apron, dear.”
I cringe.
Mom is giving me a smug look when I turn around.
“I know you like to think your father and I are clueless sometimes, but I’m not an idiot, sweetheart.”
“Never said you were.” I walk over to the coach, snatching the green apron from its hiding place. I unfurl it, letting Ma take in all of the coffee-stained glory. “I got a job.”
Mom blinks at me. Maybe she really has been replaced with a robot because I swear, I can see sparks shooting out of her ears.
“That… that’s great, sweetheart.” Mom’s body seems to catch up with her mind and she sets the soup on the counter. “Your father will be so proud of you.”
“Uh huh.”
That’s rich. I could single handedly achieve world peace, and Dad would ask why I stopped at earth.
“I’ve got work in the morning,” I say, no longer in the mood to talk.
“Of course,” Mom forces a smile though her eyes betray the confusion she’s hiding. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”
“Night.”
I climb the slick stairs as fast as I dare. The heavy wooden door of my bedroom shuts and I exhale the day away.
I’m getting sick of peanut butter and banana sandwiches. Shocking, isn’t it? I’ve eaten one pretty much every day for almost a year. I blame you for that. You packed two for lunch that day, when we went out on the Hooch.
Over the course of a year, you find ways to spice up a peanut butter and banana sandwich. You drizzle honey. Or crush potato chips between the bread. Maybe add bacon if you’re feeling frisky. I don’t recommend mayonnaise or pickles. Those were false muses. But no matter what the extra toppings, at the end of the day, you’re still stuck slicing one of those damn yellow tubes and slathering pulverized nuts onto Sunbeam.
So, why do I keep doing it? It’s simple really. Because every day, while I’m eating that fucking sandwich, I imagine you’re still sitting next to me, eating the other half with your mouth open like a pig. And for the briefest moment, you’re with me again.
And it’s those moments that make me wish a sandwich never ended. 2:04 pm
Message Failed. Number not in service. 2:04 pm
I’m sorry to say that Nick survived his first day at Claudine’s. I’m sadder to report that somewhere in the mix, Mel started to take a shine to him. And I’m infuriated to say that he excelled at everything he fucking touched. Him and his stupid perfect face.
“Isn’t he great?” Mel gushes to Rod while I’m mopping the dining room floor after close. There’s a puddle of spilled hot chocolate under one of the tables that looks like Abraham Lincoln if I squint hard enough.
Sorry, Abe, but my mop stops for no man.
“I guess he’s alright,” Rod admits, wiping the crumbs from the bottom of the pastry display. At least he seems to be impervious to the Nick charm factor too.
“Too? You want to cue me in?”
“Alright?” Mel scoffs, “He’s way better than Not Tina over there. He can’t even do a pour over without making a mess. The klutz.”
I stop mopping. “You know I can hear you, right? Literally standing right here.”
Mel tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “So what? You suck. Own it.”
I huff a sigh.
“I’m gonna clock that bitch one day. Just you wait.”
I snicker to myself.
“Lighten up, would you?” Rod intervenes on my behalf. “Tommy is doing fine. If I remember correctly, when we both started, you thought espresso was spelled with an ‘X’ and dropped every other drink. So, calm your tits.”
Damn. I’m touched. I didn’t expect him to come to my defense. No complaints here. It’s nice to have one person in this shop whom I don’t want to toss in the dumpster out back. At least, not right now.
“Where is Nick-The-Boy-Wonder anyways?” Rod asks, tossing his cleaning cloth over his shoulder, he pulls his hat off just enough to wipe the sweat from his forehead.
“He’s in the back,” Mel explains, change jingling in the till as she sorts. I wonder if she’s sorting them chronologically, of if that’s just some shit she makes me do.
Rod meets my gaze from the other side of the counter, then rolls his eyes.
I smirk. At least I still have an ally. A coffee-tinged champion.
After I finish mopping and ignoring Mel’s jibes, the shop is ready to s
tart anew tomorrow. Mel reluctantly releases me with a vague threat about not being late again. I burst through the doors before she can change her mind, venturing into the shimmering heat of summer.
The smoldering sun dips beneath the mountains, a lingering orange light washes the streets with tones of sepia and honey. You’d call this time of day in Hester the magic hour. Not actual magic from our childhood with the fairies and the crystals and the cruelly treated bunnies popping out of silk hats. You explained it was more so a magic of perspective.
“Time stops. Progress halts. Your life ends, just for a second as the town is set ablaze.
It’s moments like this that I live for. Where the crushing weight of uncertainties are banished with the help of amber light.”
I shiver, shaking away the haunting echo of your voice.
It’s exactly the time of day when I’d look into your eyes and think about leaning in for a k—
“What are you doing?”
I open my eyes. Nick is staring at me, confusion twisting the smoothness of his face.
I blink until his features sharpen into focus. “Huh?”
“You’ve been standing there for like, a solid minute. I thought you were stroking out or something.”
The heat rising to my face has nothing to do with the sun. “I’m fine.”
“If you say so, Not Tina.”
“Don’t call me that,” I snap, taken aback by my own intensity.
“Sorry,” Nick apologizes, holding his hands in front of him like I’ve drawn a gun. “I just heard it so much today, I must have forgotten your actual name.”
“It’s Tommy.”
He snaps his fingers, “That’s right. You’re the one that Reese scared the bejesus out of the other day. Charmander guy.”
“I slipped.”
“Oh, well, whatever. I thought you looked familiar.” He offers his hand out. “I’m—”
“Nick.” I interrupt. “I don’t have a problem with names.”
“Right.” He drops the handshake, running fingers through his chestnut hair before digging into the back of his neck.
Ghosting You Page 5