“Forget the phone,” Helen dismisses with a wave of her hand, dark eyes sweeping over me.“Are you okay?”
I press my lips together.“Not really,” I admit, my confession catching on a reedy tremor.“It’s been a rough morning.”I drop into her office chair, suddenly needing its solid support.
My pathetic understatement hangs in the air.Helen says nothing, her gaze just steady and knowing.Under the silent pressure of that look, I feel the fragile dam inside me begin to splinter.
She leans on the edge of her desk, looking down at me, lines deepening around her eyes.“What happened?”
I stare down at my hands, still clutching the dead phone in my lap.The words feel caught somewhere behind the tight knot in my chest.
I shake my head slightly.“Matthew and I,” I start, the ache growing as the name leaves my lips.
I fix my eyes on the corner of Helen’s desk and force myself to try again.“We had a fight.”I finally look up, letting her see the tremor in my lip, the unshed tears stinging my eyes.“A really bad one.”
The words feel inadequate.A pale shadow of the devastating whirlwind of last night and this morning.
Helen’s expression shifts from concern to deeper sympathy, lips pressing together tightly.
She lets out a soft, slow sigh.“I had a feeling, you know?”she admits quietly.“That it wasn’t only about the lease… that something more is going on between you two.”
“And now there’s nothing.”I lean forward, burying my face in my hands.A low groan escapes me that is half sob, half exhaustion.“I said something awful, Helen.”My voice is muffled against my palms, thick with shame and regret.“Something really cruel.I wanted to purposely hurt him because he hurt me.”
“Don’t beat yourself up,” she says with knowing warmth.“Asi es l’amor, Ames.Love brings out the crazy in people.”
“Love?!”My head snaps up.The word hits me like a splash of cold water.“What love?Who said anything about love?”
A smirk spreads across Helen’s face.“¡Por favor, mija!A blind bat could see you two have the hots for each other,” she declares, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
“The hots?!”My eyebrows pinch together.“Oh God.Please forget I said anything.”
“¿Qué?What did I say?It’s true, and you know it,” she insists, lifting her chin.
“Alright, back to work.”I force myself upright.“Let’s move on.Please.”
“Ames, you don’t have to—”
“Please, Helen,” I repeat, my voice dropping, meeting her eyes directly, willing her to understand.“Please.”
“Okay, okay, moving,” she concedes, picking up the package of napkins and turning to walk out.
“Helen.”
She pauses in the doorway and looks back.
“Thank you,” I say quietly, the word catching in my throat.“Really.”
She smiles warmly.“I’m just happy to see you’re okay,” she replies, before continuing to the front.
Okay?
Okay is a disguise.Thin and fraying.
But my café is out there demanding okay.
Demanding me.
Taking a deep, fortifying breath, I leave the calm privacy of the back room.
The wave of noise hits me again.
