Now my family is broke, my dad is in jail waiting for his hearing, and my mother is bouncing from one nervous breakdown to the next. If she isn’t crying or yelling, she is so hopped up on the pills her doctor gave her that she’s impossible to be around. Lucky for her, she has friends who, for some reason, still enjoy her company and are allowing her to stay in one of their vacation homes on the North side of Adirondack Lake. I, however, am not so lucky.
After finding out my family’s new financial status, most of the people I considered my friends ghosted me or made up lame excuses about why they’re too busy for me.Rude,but I get it. A couple of months ago, I probably would’ve done the same thing. I’ve slipped from first class to coach, metaphorically and emotionally. Still, it sucks to realize that people only care about what you can do for them, not about you.
My “best friend” did manage to surprise me, though, so kudos to her. Finding Vianna in bed with my now ex-boyfriend, Pierre, really put things into perspective for me. I have no one, and I’ve had to piece together the ruins of my life while my father waits in his cell, convinced his lawyer will pull off a miracle at the hearing and set him free as if he didn’t single-handedly implode everything in the first place, all because of his own greed.
That’s how I ended up here, working at the Cozy Pines Cafe in my hometown, Turtle Bay. It’s my own version of the fifth circle of hell, dressed up in reclaimed wood and artisanal coffee beans. Not exactly where I thought I would be, but it’s not like I had any other option after losing everything but my mind... Although the jury is still out on that. This job makes me feel like pulling my hair outwith all the annoying customers and stupid coffee machines that I swear were designed by someone who felt like adding buttons just for the aesthetic.
Every day is like Groundhog Day now. I walk down the long, winding path from my tiny duplex, cross the street to work, and then drag myself back there just to wake up and do the exact same soul-sucking loop all over again. Honestly, it feels like my life has been reduced to a glorified hamster wheel. If it weren’t for the fact that I literally have no other options, maybe I’d be doing something else, but when Callie, afrenemyif you will, offered me the job along with housing that her family owns, I couldn’t say no. I’m grateful, I guess. Miserable, but grateful.
The Cozy Pines Cafe lives up to its name with equal parts rustic charm and modern comfort. From the moment you walk in, the smell of freshly ground coffee beans and baked goods wraps around you. Another perk of working here? Getting to eat for free. I never realized the cost of living is so high. Like why? Hushed by the sound of customers’ chatter, soft acoustic music plays constantly. At first I hated it, hearing the same songs over and over that Ainsley, my manager, has on her playlist, but over the past four or so months I’ve actually started to hate it less... Okay, it’s not so bad. I’m just afraid of actually beginning to like it here.
The place is chic, but with that unmistakable Adirondack twist. Its mix of natural wood, soft lighting, and pine accents makes me feel like I’m tucked away in a mountain cabin. At the front, long wooden tables line the tall windows, framed with hanging vines and bursts of wildflowers in mismatched pots. I’m convinced Ainsley has a bit of a wildflower obsession, but I have to admit, it works. The back half’s got those overstuffed couches and low tables, the kind people sink into like they’ve got nowhere better to be, which, judging by how long people sit there sometimes, it’slikely they don’t. Half of them pretend to work on their laptops while their coffee turns cold.
“You got this, or you fixin’ to need some help?” Ainsley asks, staring at me skeptically as I struggle not to beat the hell out of the cappuccino machine for what feels like the hundredth time. I’m tempted to slap the damn thing until it coughs up what I want, but history says that only earns me a malfunctioning machine and one of Ainsley’s sweet-as-honey, scolding southern-belle glares.
“This thing hates me, and I hate it, so.” I fling my hands up in surrender, giving her the go-ahead to have at it.
She gives me her patient, tight-lipped smile that I’ve grown used to as she steps in and takes over. When I first got here, I will admit, I was completely useless. I had no idea how hard basic tasks could be. Or at least what I used to considerbasictasks. The fact that Ainsley even allows me to touch the machines now is nothing short of a small miracle. If only they’d actually do what the hell they’re supposed to, then we’d get along fine... Me and the machines that is.
As for Ainsley, she’s probably someone I should attempt to be friends with. We’re close in age, spend most days together, and she’s... sweet. Annoyingly sweet. But honestly, what’s the point? Everyone around here already has me pegged as the royal ice queen, wicked witch, or whatever clever nickname they’ve cooked up over the years. It’s easier to let them believe it than waste energy trying to change their minds. Maybe that’s why I spent half my life collecting passport stamps instead of friendships. Kind of ironic that the only people who’ve treated me kindly these last few months are the same ones I’ve spent years looking down my nose at.
“I’ll take out the garbage,” I grind out, every word a reminder of how stuck I really am now.
“Ya’ did good today,” Ainsley tells me as we close up for the day.
I can’t help but scoff. “If that’s your version of good, then thanks, I guess.”
“You oughta give yourself a little more credit, Tris,” she says to me as she wipes the counter, and I finish sweeping the floor. “A few months ago, you didn’t even know what a dust pan was. Now look at you.”
She’s not joking, unfortunately, but before, I didn’t have to worry about stuff like cleaning. My father paid people to do that sort of thing for us. He paid for everything through his business as a fractional Chief Financial Officer, which, of course, is why we now have nothing. Still, Ainsley was patient with me, although I’m pretty sure I saw a few texts she sent to Callie worried the Ice Queen was going to put them out of business.
“How ‘bout you show me what you’re made of?” Ainsley leads me to the front of the cafe as a customer walks in.
I don’t bother telling her that what I’m made of, none of these people could ever afford. It’s my first day, and I’m really not trying to get fired, even if I don’t want to be here.
“Yeah, whatever. How hard can it be?” I mumble as she steps back and hands me the metaphorical reins.
“What do you want?” I ask the customer and immediately see Ainsley’s eyes widen, but I have no idea why.
“Hi. I’d like one of your seasonal coffees, a chai latte, and two of your ham and swiss breakfast sandwiches, one with egg and the other with bacon. Hold the sauce.” The woman pulls out her credit card and is trying to hand it to me, but I have no idea what she just said.
“What?” I ask, brows pinching together. This time, when she repeats her order, I try to actually listen.
“Right.” I punch the buttons into the register like Ainsley showed me. “Uh, that’ll be $22.99.”
The customer smiles and pays. I make her order and hand it to her.
See. Easy peasy. And people act like working is so hard? Pft.
No sooner do I have the thought than the lady is back at the counter, yelling at me.
“What the hell is this?” She tosses her sandwiches on the counter and places her drinks down with such ferocity that one falls, spilling everywhere.
“Well, now it’s a mess,” I scoff. “Way to go.”
The way this woman is looking at me, you’d think I slapped her. Her eyes are wide, her one brow pinched, and her mouth hangs open. Honestly, it’s a look I’ve grown used to. I get a kick out of how easy it is to dismantle people with words alone. They make it so easy.
“Yeah, a mess that you’re going to clean up. I want a refund and my order. This is your fault,” she says, crossing her arms like she’s never been told no in her life.
