I only keep my lips straight, my brow low, and my eyes cold as I beam an annoyed look at Mr. Unsolicited Advice. In a couple seconds, he gets the hint and makes a face. “Large coffee, extra sugar.”
Wordlessly, I prepare his order and set it in front of him, only pointing with my glare at the price displayed on the register. If Iopen my mouth, he might not like what comes out. With a roll of his eyes, he pays and leaves.
Looks like he was the last of the morning’s commuter rush. With no line in front of me, I take advantage of the downtime to check my phone, which rumbled with a notification a couple minutes ago.
It’s just a meaningless notification from an app I hardly use.
A twitch of disappointment accompanies it.
Ever since Thanksgiving passed and the anticipation of Christmas started to thicken the atmosphere of daily life, I’ve been half expecting my parents to reach out.
But then Christmas itself passed, and so did New Year’s, and now we’re in mid-January, with our streak of not speaking to each other still unbroken since last summer.
My parents didn’t agree with my decision to take a gap year after my sophomore year of college to dedicate myself to writing a book.
Hah.Didn’t agree with my decision. That’s an understatement. They totally freaked out, made it clear in no uncertain terms that if I did this, I was completely on my own financially. But I knew this was the right thing for me to do, and after the way my sophomore year ended at my last college, I was determined to do it no matter what.
That’s how I ended up here. My aunt Cindy owns this place, and I was pretty sure she’d give me a job if I begged her for one. Maybe even throw extra overtime hours my way. Plus, her café is in Cedar Shade, Vermont, home to Brumehill College. After my gap year, I could transfer to Brumehill and have a job to rely on so I could finish my degree without my parents’ support.
Cindy ended up doing even more for me than I banked on. She offered me the apartment above the garage in her backyard, rent-free. Even when I told her I’d be happy to pay her rent,she wouldn’t hear of it, insisting that it’s impossible to be too generous with family.
Now I have a place to stay and a job to support me. I’ve really made progress writing my book. But thanks to this damn writer’s block, it feels like completing it is still far off beyond the horizon, the distance between where I am and where I want to be with the story menacing, even though I still have half a year before I need to force myself back to school.
“There’s my favorite niece!” My aunt Cindy announces her presence in her big, boisterous voice. She steps behind the counter and, as always, pulls me into a tight, crushing hug.
My lips tighten, and I stiffen up. I still haven’t learned quite how to react to Cindy’s physical style of affection. She’s a big-time hugger, and I’m … not.
It’s funny that I’m on great terms with my aunt and awful terms with my mother. Of the two sisters, I definitely take more after the one who gave birth to me. For better or for worse.
She pulls back and fixes a playfully chastising look on me. “That’s your cue to say,but I’m your only niece.”
If it were anyone other than my aunt pulling this with me, I’d be drilling them with a glare sharp enough to cut through stone. But as it is, I can’t stop my lips from twitching just a little while I roll my eyes.
“I’ll remember that for next time,” I deadpan.
Now it’s Cindy’s turn to roll her eyes. “No, you won’t. Love you, niece.” Cindy says, squeezing my arm and heading off to see to the endless series of tasks that running this place entails.
My cheeks warm with embarrassment. I don’t return Cindy’s words, but I hope she knows I do return her sentiment. I just wasn’t raised in an environment where words like that are exchanged freely. My aunt being very free with affectionate words and gestures often has me feeling off kilter.
When she walks away, the tiny brass bells tied to the entrance door jingle, announcing a new customer. I turn and hope this one isn’t as annoying as the last.
Oh, great. It’s him.
The feeling that swirls through me at seeing him isn’t exactly annoyance. At least, it’s not entirely annoyance. There’s perplexity mixed with it, a sort of dry amusement, and, sure, maybe a bit of pity, too.
Jamie O’Donnell, captain of the Brumehill Black Bears hockey team, can’t even bring himself to make eye contact with me as he shyly approaches the order counter.
His pupils flit restlessly around the space like a pair of little birds flying fitfully, unable to choose a branch to settle on. It’s like he’s trying to find some object to occupy his attention, an excuse not to look at me face-to-face until the moment he can’t put it off any longer.
Nothing about Jamie makes sense.
It doesn’t make sense that he’s maintained this inexplicable crush he has on me for months, even though I’ve done nothing to encourage it.
It doesn’t make sense that this six-foot-three hockey captain is so timid and reserved. I’m positive he gets no shortage of female attention. With his boyish good looks, wavy dirty-blonde hair, muscled frame, and ridiculously big, veiny hands (I’ve tried not to notice, but come on), it couldn’t be any other way. You’d think that would’ve inspired a certain confidence in him by now.
And it really doesn’t make sense that he doesn’t annoy me more than he does.
I never feel the urge to snap at him. Sure, I might prick him with a barb of sarcasm. Or drill him with a flat, unencouraging look when he tries to make conversation. But he never truly irks me the way a lot of people do at this job.
