The bright blue sturdy plastic of the drink carriers stands out amidst the coffee chain’s darker color scheme.Not an ounce of embarrassment rises in me despite how odd they look on the counter.
They represent my growth over the last decade.I still remember my days of balancing carton trays of piping hot coffee across the street only to spill them all over me at the last second.
Never again.
And with these, I can lug eight drinks in one hand without worrying about spilling.It’s fantastic.
The moment I bought these stupid, nifty little things was the moment I realized tools make all the difference in workflow.The internal revelation led me to where I am today—more successful and better paid than I ever thought possible.
My phone vibrates in my pocket.I move to the end of the counter and read the text.
The caretakers just loaded my mother into the transporter.I swallow a lump of emotions as my phone buzzes again and a photo joins the message.With dazed eyes from the light sedative I requested for her comfort, she waves and smiles at the camera.
I haven’t seen her smile since a few months before my ex-stepfather’s attack.She only has hatred and contempt for me now and will probably never smile at me or hug me again, but as long as she’s healthy and comfortable, I’ll suffer in silence.
It’s what I deserve for leaving her behind that night.For not returning sooner.For surviving.
I clear my throat and send a quick reply before checking the group chat with the other executive officers’ secretaries.
When the barista calls my name, I thank her and slip her two ten-dollar bills—one for her and one for her coworker—as I accept the first carrier of drinks.The cash is my personal thanks, since I already included an above average tip on the company card.She winks and passes me the other carrier before slapping the second bill into her younger coworker’s hand and moving back to the register.
I slip through the line of people and shoulder my way through the door before joining the crowd waiting by the curb.The moment the light changes, everyone rushes forward, but the notoriously short light changes again before I’m halfway across.Jogging the rest of the way, I glance down and confirm the drinks are still firmly upright before entering the building through the large revolving glass door.
I smile in greeting as I meet Carlos Lopez’s eyes across the foyer.
“Good morning, Ms.Tripp.How was your commute?”he asks as I approach the security checkpoint in front of the elevators.
“It’ll be better once you lighten my load.Take the two coffees for you and Mr.Collins, please,” I respond.
When I lift and angle both carriers so the two mentioned drinks are closest to him, he reaches for the handles, but I lift a brow and dare him to take them.
He chuckles and shakes his head as he carefully wiggles the coffees out of their spots before stepping back.
“Well hell, I thought today was the day he was gonna get all them drinks away from you.We got a rolling bet, you see, and eventually I’m gonna win,” Mr.Collins calls as he crosses toward us from the far side of the lobby.His good old boy country twang sounds out of place after the voices on the street, but I scoff and roll my eyes before I welcome him with a smile.
“Nope, not today.If I ever need help, I’ll ask,” I say.
“Yeah, sorry, buddy, but only an idiot ignores warnings like the one Ms.Tripp just gave me.No means no, no matter how the message is communicated,” Carlos says.
“True that.Thanks for the cup o’ joe, Ms.Tripp,” Mr.Collins says as he takes his beverage from Carlos and continues his rounds.
“You still haven’t told anyone about the time I kicked you in the shin forhelpingme even though I declined?”I tease my friend.
He chuckles, shakes his head, and dons an innocent mask.The expression looks ridiculous on his masculine features.
“Why would I?It never happened,” he quips.
“I knew I should have kept the security footage.Men are pigs,” I grumble, mostly in jest.
He shrugs and hides his smirk behind his coffee mug.
“Alright, my glorified mall cop friend, swipe my badge,” I demand with the haughtiest tilt of my chin and shrug of my shoulder.
He scoffs and lifts a brow, but the lack of insult in his eyes assures me my jab didn’t upset him.He pinches my work ID between his forefinger and thumb.With my lanyard wrapped around my forearm, the retractable cord hisses as he pulls it toward the scanner.
The machine beeps and flashes green.Carlos prevents the cord from snapping back by shifting my badge closer to my arm before releasing it.The little metal panels swing apart, and I step through to the other side.Carlos follows and presses the up button for me without a word.
I step into the elevator, scan my ID, and press the top floor before turning to face him.
