The next afternoon, The Pour House smelled like cinnamon, fresh espresso, and the faint sweetness of NanNan’s famous lemon bars. The coffee shop was alive with chatter, papers rustling, and the soft clink of mugs against saucers.
I wore jeans, a soft pink sweater, and my “teacher off duty” sneakers. I pulled my loosely curled hair into a bun with curls framing my face. My lips were glossed. My eyebrows were done. Small effort. Quiet rebellion against my own exhaustion. NanNan sat behind the counter, her cane resting beside her, supervising more than working, though she’d never admit it. She watched everything: the register, the oven, the people, and even me.
“Don’t you burn my cinnamon rolls this time!” she called out.
“I ain’t burned your rolls since last month!” I said over my shoulder, smiling.
She laughed. “Chile, one batch too many. My customers have long memories.”
The bell over the door jingled, and in came my little study group, four of my ninth graders, bright-eyed and talkative. “Morning, Ms. S!” they sang in unison.
“Morning, geniuses,” I said, warmth spreading through me. “Grab your notebooks. We’re diving intoInvictustoday.”
We took a big table by the window, where sunlight warmed the brick and turned the dust to glitter above mason jars of flowers. I passed out the poem copies and leaned in, elbows on the table, my voice steady.
“Alright, y’all. Tell me. When he says,‘I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul,’what does that mean to you?”
Jasmine raised her hand. “That we control our lives?”
“Exactly. No matter what happens, you still have power over how you respond. Life can hit hard, but you have to stay unbroken. That’s your power.”
While they scribbled, my reflection stared back from the glass—tired eyes, a soft smile, a woman who gave until she was ringing empty. I wondered when I’d learn to keep some for myself, and whether I could be cared for without feeling guilty for it.
“Hey, girl!” Mellonie’s voice cut through my thoughts. She was loud, cheerful, and full of energy, like always. She breezed in, her curly hair bouncing, acrylic nails gleaming, and that signature confidence entering the room before she did.
I laughed. “You’re late, Mel.”
She winked. “Fashionably. Math doesn’t rush perfection.”
She ordered green tea, then plopped down beside another group of kids, spreading out worksheets. “Y’all better not embarrass me in front of Ms. S. Let’s get this warmup done and then act like I taught ya something, y’all hear me?” she teased, making everyone laugh.
That was Mellonie—chaos in sunshine, my best friend since third grade. Where I was cautious, she was color; where I was logical, she was laughter, always making space in my life for joy that didn’t come with a checklist.
When the sessions ended, the café emptied until it was just NanNan and us. We reset the space, wiping counters, flipping chairs, and restocking napkins, while Mellonie cinched her apron and swept in rhythm with the low music.
“You know what I love about this place? It smells like purpose,” Mel said, tossing a rag over her shoulder.
I smiled, wiping the counter beside her. “That’s ’cause coffee and love keep it running.”
“Uh huh, lots of caffeine,” she said, then her face shifted, her serious concerned expression peaking though. “But seriously, Solé, you are doing too much. You know that, right?” she asked incredulously.
“I’m fine, Mel,” I insisted.
“You said that last week, and the week before, and the week before that. Your birthday is coming up, and I know you’re gonna try to spend it grading essays or folding dish towels.”
I rolled my eyes, laughing. “I’m focused on my career.”
“Mmhmm, . . . work, work, work, work, work,” she sang in her best impression of Rihanna.
I didn’t have an answer for that. I busied myself stacking chairs, pretending not to feel the weight of her words.
Mel clapped her hands suddenly, changing the subject like she always did when she didn’t want me to spiral. “Anyway, you’re off this weekend.”
“I’m not?—”
“Yes, you are, because I already put in for you. I told NanNan we’re taking a teacher sabbath to pre-game before your upcoming birthday.” She cut in, smirking.
I laughed as I wiped down the espresso machine. “You decided I’m off?”
