Alone with the one person who couldn’t want to be with me less.
I look up at the order screen and begin preparing my first latte on the job, mind reeling in the process.
But honestly, the information pales in comparison to how strange I feel in the aftermath of losing Lottie. I’m twitchy, out of body, but I try to force myself to feel the cool metal of the espresso machine’s wand as I sift coffee grounds. To actually see what my eyes are looking at as I pull shots of golden espresso. I move in slow motion in a weird hypnotic state, like I’m trying not to startle myself.
Working with Declan tonight feels like it might break me. But not because it’s him. Well, that’s not entirely true. But it mostly has to do with the fact that I haven’t cried since Lottie passed. Didn’t cry at the funeral. Walked around and waited for it to feel real.
I keep narrating to myself what happened, waiting to see if I’ll finally have the appropriate reaction. Lottie died. Lottie is dead. My favorite person doesn’t exist on this planet anymore. Every few seconds I recite it like a chant. One I keep hearing but still don’t understand. She’s gone.
It was strange. The most important person in your world could die, and then you slipped on your shoes and went to work the next day. Life moves on as usual. You stand there and ask customers what milk they want in their coffee, and theyjust tell you. They don’t pause and say, “Oh, wow. Are you doing alright? Can you believe what just happened?”
Because they don’t know. They can’t see it on you. Can’t tell by the look on your face. What feels obvious to you is invisible to them. I don’t know the story behind anyone coming in here either, I realize. If it’s the coffee they’ll drink before they propose to the love of their life, or if it’s the first latte they’ve bought since their loved one died. The world has carried on as if the axis of my life wasn’t bent and thrown away.
But the one person who might be able to read through me is Declan. And I didn’t know what I feared more: that he would take one look at me and know what I was feeling, or that he wouldn’t.
Chapter 10
When I come home between my shift and overtime hours, I walk through the front door of Lottie’s house to find my mom sitting on the floor in a pile of photos and journals, clear boxes scattered all around her. I forgot that we’d be the ones responsible for cleaning out the house in her wake.
When someone dies, you don’t just get to mourn them. You’re inundated with a list of tasks to complete after their death. When will we move out? I think for the first time, and then am shocked by the fact that it’s the first time I’ve thought about it. How could I not have thought about that? My thought spiral is interrupted by my mom’s voice.
“Look at what I found!” she exclaims, holding up a pink journal.
“Oh gosh,” I sigh. “Put that thing away.”
“Why? Isn’t this where you wrote all your cute little stories?”
Cute little stories. That’s precisely why I never shared them with anyone. Anyone other than Declan. The thought makes my stomach clench. I’m so glad I got over that childish fantasy. The stories in there are emo enough to bring a 2010 Tumblr fanatic to their knees.
“I don’t want to look at it,” I say, irritation lacing my voice.
She ignores me and opens it to a random page.
“Look, baby! You wrote about Declan in this one.” She giggles at the open page in typical motherly fashion. “Oh, it’s too cute!”
Why is she laughing right now? She’s cleaning out Lottie’s house because she died and she’s laughing.
I drop my bag by the door and stalk over to her, snatching the crumbling pink journal from her hands.
“I don’t want—” The words die in my throat as my eyes snag on the gel pen scrawlings from my youth.
(Rewrite this part. It’s getting slightly too obvious that this is about Declan.)
“Oh, gosh.” A strangled cry erupts from me. Rewrite this part? I didn’t even have the decency to attempt fictionalizing my obsession with Declan. And to think if he’d ever accidentally read it. A literal shiver runs through me.
“Come on. It’s sweeeeeet!” my mom singsongs.
“It’s not so cute anymore now, Mom. I have to see the man tonight.”
“Oh?” She suddenly looks intrigued. “Tonight?”
“For overtime hours,” I supply. “EY was able to move mystart date to September, so I will be here to help you get everything settled.” I gesture to the boxes of Lottie’s belongings. “But I still want to go to New York and… well, you know.” I wave my hand as if it fills in where my words left off.
Support you, is what I don’t say, but I’m sure she knows from our previous conversations. She pauses riffling through the photos and looks up at me. Something is going through her mind, I’m just not sure what.
“So, you’re moving away in September?” she asks.
Ahh. There it is. She’s sad that I’m leaving.
