Declan’s eyes glaze over me as he continues going over roles like I’m an employee he barely recognizes. It’s been one week since the funeral and I’m back to work, unable to stand the emptiness of the house.
I glance away from him, angry at myself for wishing he would look at me like he used to. Or at least like he was the same person who showed up unannounced at Lottie’s funeral.
Roshi and Faye sent sweet messages of condolence, but they had a rushed undertone. “Reach out if you need anything!” with no questions of how I was doing or actual action of calling to check on me.
I don’t think they understood how close I was to her. Most people don’t grow up with their great-aunt, I realized. Most of all with one as special as mine. In Lottie’s absence, I felt something new inside of me. A craving to be comforted in a way I never felt I needed before.
In fact, I always prided myself on being self-sufficient. Often, I couldn’t relate to wanting to discuss the details of my life like they were entertaining beats to hit in conversation. It felt good knowing I didn’t need to externally process anything in order to get through it. And yet, here I was, entire body aching with the tenderness of an open wound. My internal dialogue screamed “LOTTIE IS GONE” every five seconds, like it’d just received the news and needed to inform me for the first time.
And in a confusing new development, I felt like I needed a sounding board to process this new reality. The last thing I wanted was to feel alone in it, but standing in this crowd of coworkers I didn’t know with my ex–best friend avoiding my gaze, I did.
Declan claps and the team scatters in a multitude of directions, getting busy with work. I blink, trying to remember what I was supposed to be doing. There’s a tap on my shoulder. I turn around and am met by a blinding grin.
“Hi! I know we kinda met when you came in for a job and I’m also the one who scheduled you for your interview over the phone, and I was supposed to train you, but my cat was puking so I couldn’t.” She finally sucks in a breath. “But I wanted to formally introduce myself. I’m Harper,” she finishes, sticking her hand out for me to shake.
“Hi,” I reply numbly, taking her hand. “I’m Blair.”
She stares at me for a moment, spidery lashes reaching her eyebrows.
At my blank expression, she continues. “Okay, well, I’m supposed to teach you this month’s specialty drink.” She picks up a hand-painted sign near the register and holds it up for me to see.
“This month’s drink is a hazelnut banana latte, with whipped cream and vanilla wafers on top.” She cups her mouth and leans in. “The manager likes ’em sweet!” I look behind her where the manager stands, an empty cardboard box in his hands.
An odd rush of jealousy flashes through me without warning. I was the only one who knew Declan liked sweet coffees. The realization that other people have learned his habits is shockingly painful.
“Okay, so for the hazelnut banana latte you’re going to…”Harper explains how to make the drink like she’s describing the moon landing for the first time, and I have to admit, her enthusiasm is a nice distraction despite not having the energy to return it.
I glimpse Declan disappearing behind a door to the break room and feel a pang in my chest. And then I feel another one out of shame for feeling the first one. I shouldn’t be concerned with his whereabouts. I shift my eyes back to Harper and her amazing teeth and red bow.
“Oh,” she interrupts herself. “By the way, I’m supposed to let you know that you were put on the schedule for overtime hours?”
“Yes, that’s right. When is closing again? Do I just stay late and lock up?”
“They’re actually separate from being a barista, technically. The coffee shop is undergoing renovations. So, overtime hours would start at seven tonight. And you’ll be working with raw wood and paint and stuff. Is that okay with you?” She looks up at me from under furrowed brows.
“Oh, yeah. That’s totally fine. I can’t promise I’ll be good at it, but I think I can definitely handle paint and some tools if I’m given instructions,” I say. “I will be given instructions, right?”
“Yes.” Her eyes dart away from me and ping-pong around the coffee shop.
I raise my eyebrows.
“You will be given instructions… from Declan.” She spits out the last part so fast I second-guess if I’ve heard her right.
“From Declan?”
“From Declan.” She nods like someone is standing behind me watching her deliver the line.
“Is there an overtime team or…” I ask, hoping against all odds that other people on staff will be there.
“Nope!” she says and then starts backing away. “Alright, well, now that that’s all settled, let me know if you need any help on drinks. I’ll be one holler away at the cash register.”
I’m left blinking at her retreating frame.
Awesome.
Overtime hours are with Declan.
Just Declan.
