And I want him to give it to me.
13
ELIAS
“Large caramel latte, please,”I say to the cashier at the coffee shop, needing caffeine more than I’ve needed anything in a very long time.
My eyes feel like sandpaper every time I blink. I have today off—even though I’m on call—and I should spend the time sleeping, yet I don’t want to waste my only day off.
“Sure, no problem. What’s the name?” The pink-haired barista has a sharpie in hand, preparing to scribble on the paper coffee cup.
“Elias.”
“Coming right up, Elias.”
I sit down at a small black table near the window, watching as people walk by in a hurry. In New York City, there’s no time to slow down. If anyone stops, there’s no catching up. People will get left behind and replaced quicker than I can blink.
It’s starting to snow. The first fall of the season. The white flakes are light and fluffy, falling slow, melting as soon as they hit thesidewalk. People are bundled up in thick coats, and scarves cover half their face to protect them from the wind.
My eyes dart around the room, a wave of loneliness hitting me when I see everyone else with someone. Everyone is talking, laughing, sipping their coffees together, catching up, building a life, and I’m here at a table, alone.
Pulling out my phone, I open my messages to see a text from Miss Wrong Number. I grin, warmth spreading across my chest. Maybe, somehow, this can move forward. I’d love to learn her name, where she works, what she does, if she wants to travel, if she wants to have a family. I want to learn about her. I want to know the small things that lead up to the big things.
Me:I’m doing alright. I’m grabbing a coffee now. I’ve missed talking to you too. How’s your day going?
“Elias!” My name is called from the counter and I stand, nodding at a few strangers as my shoulders graze theirs.
I grab my caramel latte, taking a quick sip before heading back to my seat. The warm liquid eases down my throat, calming the anxiety webbing within my chest. Sitting back in my seat, I take out my filthy mafia book and open to the page that’s dog-eared.
I know. Blasphemy.
My phone buzzes again and I pull it out of my pocket, placing it on the table.
Miss Wrong Number:I’m okay. It’s been a weird day. My boss sent me home, and I’m nearly there now.
My fingers fly across the screen.
Me:Is everything okay at work? Are you okay?
I reread the same sentence a few times in the book I’m reading, but I’m too worried about her to focus. Did someone harass her, or did she get fired, suspended? My mind drifts back to Olivia at the restaurant and the man who put his hands on her.
What man could ever lay a finger on a woman?
Miss Wrong Number:Oh, everything is okay. It was a heavy day. My boss had something personal going on and decided to take care of his brother today. We had no idea he was seeing someone, and he loved her, but she died, and it’s been devastating. I’ve worked here for a few years now, so they’re kind of like family to me.
I nod in understanding. That’s what happens when a person spends so much time at work. Coworkers become closer than actual relatives.
Me:I understand what you mean. That’s tragic. Losing someone you love is painful. I’m glad he has you and his brother. It’ll take some time, but he will be okay.
Miss Wrong Number:You sound like you’re talking from experience.
Me:All of us have experience with death, unfortunately. I’m no different than everyone else.
Miss Wrong Number:I’m here if you want to talk about it. I lost my dad when I was little. I only remember certain things now because so much time has gone by. I can almost remember his voice if I think about it long enough, but it isn’t the same. If it weren’t for the photos, I wouldn’t remember what he looked like at all. It’s sad, knowing he loved me, and I can’t remember the type of person he was. After so long, the image that was once isgone, and the only thing left is love. I know I loved him. I still love him, but it’s sad that’s all that is left.
I take a sip of my coffee, loving and hating this conversation. This is what I wanted. I wanted to get to know her more, and now it’s happening naturally. The downside of getting to know someone is having to rip yourself open to allow them to get to know you too.
It’s the hardest part, I think, about allowing someone inside. To get past the grit and pain to hopefully appreciate the soul that has taken a few beatings throughout the years.
