I watched them leave, my fake smile pasted on myface until it was painful. The minute their car left the parking lot, I spun on my heel and disappeared to the back room to collect myself.
Mika peeked her head into the storeroom closet where I was sitting on a Costco-sized package of toilet paper. “You good?”
“Not really. It’s time’s like these that I wished I smoked. I could use something to settle my nerves.”
“Smoking ages you,” she deadpanned. “Don’t go wasting that pretty privilege on dumb choices.”
I gave her a look. “I don’t need you piling on when my parents already dog-piled me.”
Immediately chastised, Mika apologized. “You’re right. Fuck them. It’s your life and it’s your right to live it how you want.”
I gave her a watery smile, feeling the need to defend them. “They mean well. Even if my dad’s delivery is shit.” I sighed. “They want me to go back to school. Become a physical therapist the way I was supposed to three years ago but I don’t want to be a physical therapist.”
“What do you want to be?”
“That’s the problem. I don’t know. All I know is that I don’t want to do that.”
Mika was quiet for a moment. “I don’t know why our parents always have to critique what their kids are doing. Sometimes they just need to butt out andlet us live our lives. For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing amazing and you’ve brought a real vibe to the ‘Bean’.”
I appreciated her support but it wasn’t as if the coffee shop was a true livable wage and even that felt precarious when everything seemed on the verge of a break down. “Amazing doesn't pay the bills when the espresso machine needs a two-thousand-dollar repair and the owners flinch every time I tell them another appliance broke." The response came out sharper than I intended. "Sorry. I'm just?—"
“Privately freaking out over the parental visit?”
“Something like that.”
She squeezed my arm. "You're allowed to be good at this and still figuring things out. Your parents just need to give you some space to do that.”
I wanted to believe her. But the doubt had already wormed its way in, whispering all the things I tried not to think about. That I'd dropped out of a good program since I couldn't handle the pressure. That I was hiding behind coffee foam instead of facing real challenges. That Devon had been right when he'd said I lacked ambition.
Ugh. Devon. Why the hell was I thinking of that douche-nozzle?
The bell chimed. I struggled to my feet and followed Mika back to the front.
But as I fixed my customer service smile on, my entire went cold.
Really, Universe? Is that necessary?Of all people, Devon walked through the door.
This was some serious bullshit.
He looked exactly the same—same artfully tousled blond hair, same confident stride, same expensive casual wear that screamed "I have a trust fund and a future." But there was a new addition: the woman on his arm.
She was polished in a way I'd never managed. Sleek dark hair, tailored blazer, effortless elegance that came from money and good breeding. She laughed at what Devon said, touching his arm with easy familiarity.
Devon's gaze swept the shop and landed on me. His smile widened.
"Willow. Wow, it's been—what, two years?"
“Um yeah, I guess.” I shrugged with the fakest of fake smiles. Like I’m tracking on a fucking calendar the last time I saw him?Give me a break.
"This is Vanessa. Vanessa, this is Willow. We used to date."
"Nice to meet you," Vanessa said with a smile that was an immediate sizing up. Her micro-expression was smug, immediately clocking that she felt secure in her superiority over me.
"You too." I bared my teeth in some kind of smile that was probably too wide and aggressive. "What can I get you?"
"Two lattes, please. Oat milk for Vanessa. She's into health and wellness." Devon leaned against the counter with the casual confidence of someone whose existence had gone exactly according to plan. "I heard through the grapevine you were working here. It’s cute. Very you.”
What does that mean?
