1
PIPER
Anonymous:Take a picture for me right now.
Me:Can’t. I’m at work.
Anonymous:So sneak away into the restrooms for a minute. You make me solid as a rock.
“You’re blushing,” Missy says with an intrigued look on her face. “Who are you texting?” My fellow barista peeks down at the very long list of messages between me and Mr. Anonymous, so I return the phone to my apron and get back to serving coffee.
I don’t like to share my men…even though I don’t currently have any in my life anyway.
“Nobody,” I reply. “I was just messaging Jess. She babysits Sonny.”
I pour in the rest of the steamed milk with experienced barista precision. I’ve been working at Bean There for twelve years and counting, and nothing really changes other than the occasional turnaround of staff.
The only positive about working in a coffee shop for over a decade is that you become a gun at pouring milk swans.
“That might just be your best work yet.” says one of our many locals, giving me a smile. Caramel syrup. Semi-skimmed milk. 9:30 AM on the dot without fail, except on Sundays when she attends church.
“I try my best.” I return her smile and toss a cloth over my shoulder, watching her sit in her usual seat—in the far right corner. It’s her spot. So much so that I’m willing to karate-chop those who refuse to move for her when I ask them to.
Anonymous:I think we should meet in person.
Ah. Not this again.
I stare at my phone under the countertop and work out how to softly let him down. Again.
One day he’s gonna go ghost and meet up with another single in town, one who actually wants something real. Me, on the other hand? A few dirty text messages here and there will do just fine.
Caring for an eight-year-old doesn’t leave much time for dating. Not like I want to be on the prowl anyway. Men are all the same—they leave your ass as soon as you realize you’re unable to live without them.
Caleb Rourke was the first man I dated, and he’ll be the last. He fucked off back to Long Island for a career in firefighting and left me pregnant with the kid he still doesn’t know about.
I reply to Mr. Anonymous with a very dirty comment that will distract him from his previous message, and get back to work.
I serve locals, pour coffee, answer questions about my recent vacation. Repeat. It’s easy work and the customers always bring a smile to my face.
But that smile disappears whenever the subject of my birthday comes up. Another lap around the sun, yet here we still are. The town changes, people come and go. But me and Maple Crossing are forever.
Sonny and I went to Saint Lucia two weeks ago to celebrate my twenty-eighth. We came home two weeks ago and I’m still tied up in vacation blues. Leaving Maine felt like a reward until it was time to fly back.
Every time I leave, I remember there’s more to life than small harbor towns and coffee.
But one look at Sonny’s adoring face always straightens me out. He’s a darling. My son who deserves the world. And he’s happy here. So I should be too.
Until my boss comes around with the paychecks.
“Here,” Fiona says, dishing out envelopes that seem to be getting lighter each time a new month turns over. “Take a look and let me know of any inconsistencies.” The exhausted look on her face suggests she’s been dealing with her own battles recently, so I don’t press—never do.
But I tear open the envelope and see that my world just got a little smaller. Sonny deserves a lot more than sorry barista paychecks. He’s outgrowing the clothes on his back. This paycheck was supposed to cover the new dishwasher and stove,anda new wardrobe for Sonny Bunny…but these disheartening figures tell me that something’s gonna have to give.
Wages stay the same. Living expenses increase every time I breathe.
Anonymous:Show me. I don’t believe you.
I stare at the notification and suddenly my problems are irrelevant. Mr. Anonymous insisted yesterday that we start sending photos, so I’ve been leading him on ever since.
