She waved her knife at me. “Don’t say I never do anything nice for you.”
“I’ll make you one too. Doppio? Macchiato?”
“If you please.”
I passed through the kitchen to get to the bar, perfectly shut down for the night. I flipped the switch on the side of the silver espresso machine and grabbed some clean mugs from the drying rack. I put them upside down on the top of the machine to warm while the machine heated the water.
“How late were you here last night?” I called, searching for the light switch for the bar. It was a gloomy day, so the windows weren’t cutting it.
“Just till one! And that was with a little venture to the Watering Hole.”
I shuddered. “I don’t know how you do it.”
The last time I was up until one, much less up and drinking, was before I started working for the Rusties. Felt like centuries ago. Once you get used to the rest of the world’s sleep schedules, it’s hard to remember how you did it for years. Especially as a mom.
Cindy appeared around the corner and leaned a hip on the bar. “I don’t have a teenage son or anywhere to be in the morning.”
“Except here, chopping mint and hanging out with me.”
Cindy hummed, then fell silent. I could sense her eyes on me as I tamped the coffee grounds into the portofilter. “Stop judging me.”
“Who said I’m judging?” She put her hands up.
“You are! You’ve got the damn hawkeye on. I’m glad I don’t work for you.”
“But I’d love it if you did,” she tried.
“I like my sleep, thanks.”
“Liam won’t be home forever,” she sang.
I moaned. “Ugh. Don’t remind me.”
She rounded the bar and lifted a stool off the top of it, pulling a laptop close to her.
Dueling shades of brown swirled into the pre-warmed ceramic, a deep mahogany rising with a tan crema on top. I stooped to get a jug of milk from under the bar and sloshed a little into the stainless steel pitcher, flipping the steaming wand knob to test the pressure. I aerated the top of the milk, then plunged the wand to achieve that signature macchiato texture. Cindy had it down to a science. I was just trying to make it so she didn’t make me do it again.
Though I possessed many culinary talents, she was, far and away, the better barista.
“How is our boy anyway? He figure out what he wants to do yet?” she asked absently, looking over something on her screen while I dotted the milk over the top of her espresso shots.
“Still a work in progress,” I said. “He won’t say it, but I think he’s a little burned out on hockey. And I’m not sure, but I think he feels some duty to stay with me to keep me company orsomething. I’ve told him it’s okay to choose a different path. One that is away from my house.”
“He loves you! What’s so wrong with your only precious little baby boy wanting to stay in the nest?”
I closed my eyes to keep from rolling them and groaned. Cindy was joyfully child free by choice, but even though I had Liam young, I wouldn’t have my life take any other path. I loved my son. Best thing to ever happen to me. The light of my life. All the phrases held true. But his impending flying of the coop had me feeling all sorts of things. Sad he was leaving. Happy with the man he was becoming. Preparing to be lonely because for the first time in my adult life, I’d be all alone. But was that a good thing? Would this beHow Emma Got Her Groove Back?
The pressure to have some big, dramatic second act weighed on me. And there was another part of me that just wanted to curl up in a ball and let life keep happening to me.
But I didn’t even get a choice if Liam stayed home to play junior hockey. That was a real possibility. It made more sense to save money and stay home, then wait to see if he’d get some partial scholarship to a D1 school. Some parents would love to have the relationship Li and I had. He was open with me without oversharing. He asked for advice and gave big thought to the answers. I trusted him to make good choices, and for the most part, he did.
He was still a hockey-playing teenager, and sometimes, he acted like it.
The part that made my heart ache was thinking that my split with his dad made him grow up too fast. It was important to me to maintain the boundary that I wasn’t his friend, but his mom. His mom who loved him, cared about him, and liked to have fun with him.
With the steamed milk dotted across the top of the espresso, I laid the cup into a saucer and slid it across the counter to Cindy. She took a sip and bobbed her head. “Not bad.”
“Not bad positive? Or not bad negative?”
