CC w/ O.
Not even daring to interrupt Cal while he’s taking a customer’s order, I run through all the possibilities in my head until I come up with cinnamon cappuccino with oat milk.
That has to be it, it’s one of the specials of the month. I step up to get started, but everything is so scattered now, milk cartons and dirty silver pitchers all over the place. My cheat sheets are God only knows where, but… it’s fine. It’s fine. I can do it without them.
You were good at this. You did it all the time. Just remember.
I start steaming the oat milk, trying to recall how much cinnamon goes into it. One, two, three teaspoons? I decide to go with three because who doesn’t want more flavor, and scoop it in from a glass jar. The steam kicks some of it back in my face, though, and I cough.
Maybe I should’ve stirred it in at the end.
After I put it all together, I try to add a fancy little cinnamon sprinkle, but the whole glob falls off the spoon and lands ina big pile of powder on top of the foam. I donothave the time to redo it, though, so this will just have to do. On my way over to the pickup counter, I find one of my cheat sheets when I freakingslipon it. Thank God I manage to keep the drink upright while I end up a heap on the floor.
“Whatis going on here?” Kendra’s voice booms from the back doorway, hands planted on her hips. She’s not accusatory, I think she’s more just genuinely shocked to see her shop in such disarray.
“I—I…,” I stutter, trying my best not to just start crying right there on the spot as I quickly shuffle up onto my feet.
“Stevie, I told you I was here to help if you needed me.Cal…” She looks like she’s about to let him have it but she takes a breath, looking around at all the customers, who are all whispering to each other now. “It’s okay, Stevie,” she says to me finally. “Cal, make the drinks. I’ll take orders.” She steps up to the counter. “I am so sorry about this, folks. We’ll have you out of here in no time and we appreciate your patience.”
Cal walks down to the barista station, avoiding a few puddles of milk on the floor.
“Move.” He steps into me, forcing me away from his beloved espresso machine.
“Here, this is—” I go to hand him the latte and he all but knocks it out of my hands.
“Just get out of my way, we need to catch up.”
“I can help,” I say to both of them, tears pressing against my eyes.
“Stevie, how about you just take your fifteen,” Kendra says firmly, nodding toward the back room. But I can’t be here right now, not even in the back. I can’t be anywhere near here.Taking my crappy drink with me, I move quickly around the front counter, tears blurring my vision. My sticky shoes squeak shamefully against the floor as the customers part so I can get to the door.
I want to remember my life more thananything, but nothing about this feels familiar. I know they say routine helps, but I can’t even remember why I wanted this stupid job, let alone how to do it. I wanted to prove Dr. Reicher wrong, but how can I if I can’t even remember how to make coffee?
“Sorry!” I say, sucking in a quick breath as I almost run smack into someone trying to come inside. Their hands grab onto my shoulders so we don’t collide.
“Hey, are you okay?” she asks, and something about her voice is familiar. I pick up my head, blinking the tears out of my eyes so I can see her more clearly. Short, dirty-blond hair and freckles under piercing hazel eyes that take me right back to the hospital.
Nora Martin. Perfect. The very last thing I want right now is for someone I know, even the tiniest bit, to see me like this. First unconscious, now crying at work? Talk about embarrassing.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat, pushing past her until her hands fall off my arms. I fly out the door and then turn the corner before walking to the back of the building, where I plop down on the curb. I set the drink down next to me and drop my head into my hands, finally letting my tears fall now that I’m all alone. Maybe I came back too soon or maybe I shouldn’t have come back at all. Evenwithouta brain injury this must have been impossible. How did I ever like working here? It’s so much pressure and Cal issucha jerk.
All of a sudden there are footsteps coming toward me down the alley, so I snort everything back inside and dry my face as best I can.
A pair of well-worn boots steps down off the curb beside me, the laces broken and knotted back together again in several places. I look above me, and Nora’s head eclipses the sun.
“I’m fine,” I tell her even though she hasn’t asked, turning away to wipe my face one more time.
“Yeah, I was just thinking that. I was thinking, that girl? Crying and running away? She seems fine. She seemsgreat, actually.” She sits down on the curb a couple of feet away and holds out a few napkins. I look over at her and see a hint of a friendly smirk starting at the corners of her lips as I take them. She watches me for a second, but when I don’t laugh, she keeps talking. “What’s this?” she asks, picking up the drink by the lid.
“I have no idea.” I shrug, defeated. “Oat milk something.”
“Sounds delicious.” She takes a gulp out of it without a second thought, and then just as quickly spits it out onto the pavement with a dramatic cough. “Oh my God.” More coughing. “I think I just did the cinnamon challenge,” she says, making me laugh even as a couple more tears roll down my cheeks. “My God…” She pauses and looks up to meet my eyes.
“You could’ve at leastpretendedto like it,” I say.
“Yeah, you might want to try it before saying that,” she jokes, her mouth cracking open into a wide smile, revealing a small gap between her two front teeth.
“Aren’t you supposed to be nice to people when they’re crying?” I ask, drying the last of my tears.
