I live in London and all I have is...
. . .a dead-end job
‘Americano with a shot of oat milk on the side?’
This is the fourth time I’ve yelled out the order to no avail. ‘I said Americano with a shot of oat milk!’
The pick-up counter stays empty for two more minutes. I meet Jane’s eyes and we both call time of death. Then I leave the now very lukewarm coffee on the counter and skulk back behind the bar to get started on the long line of drink orders.
‘Gotta love the lunch rush,’ Jane says as she hands me another ticket.
I let out a large groan as I read it. ‘What the hell isnutless almond milk?’
She bites back a laugh as she turns her back to the customers. ‘I have no idea, but the guy insisted it was a thing. I wrote it down on the ticket just to get him to shut up. Just make it milkless.’
I nod and jump back to work as she slaps on a smile and bounds over to the till. I have to admire the way she turns it on so easily. I’d rather stick a fork in my eye than face customers at peak service.
‘Excuse me?’ a clipped voice says from the pick-up counter. ‘My Americano iscold.’
My neck snaps towards him.
‘The Americano with oat milk?’ I ask.
He nods. ‘Remake it.’
I blow hot air through my nose and clench my fists at his demand.
‘There she is!’ A voice interrupts my impending breakdown.
I turn to see Paige and Sara walking towards me, and feel the tension leave my spine.
‘I’m on lunch!’ I say as I whip off my apron, much to the chagrin of cold-coffee guy.
I grab a Fanta for Paige, three different cakes from the fridge, and make a quick black filter coffee for Sara. I shove the drinks in front of them before pulling up a seat and decompressing from my incredibly stressful morning. I hate half term.
‘Amorie, are you listening?’ Sara asks.
‘No. I haven’t been listening for the last twenty minutes,’ I reply.
Paige throws back her head in laughter as Sara looks on, perturbed. She glares at both of us, taking time to split her disappointment evenly. I welcome it unabashedly. Even with her face all scrunched and puckered like that, Sara is an annoyingly beautiful person. She got our mum’s dark, even skin and round button nose, plus the jawline that me and my guasha could only dream of.
‘What is the point of Sister Sundays if you’re not even going to listen to me? Not much of a catch-up, then, is it? We even came to your work since you couldn’t get the time off!’ she scoffs.
‘Sara, we live together.’ I grab her coffee and take a sip for myself. ‘I’mnot the sister that we need to catch up with.’
We both swivel round to Paige, who pauses mid-bite of her carrot cake to happily welcome our stares. She’s not afraid of the spotlight in any regular aspect, and certainly not around us.
‘I had the best sex of my life last weekend.’
Sara gasps. ‘Paige!’
‘Oh, don’t be a prude,’ Paige tuts, brushing Sara’s worries to the side. ‘Anyway, the sex, while great, isn’t the point. The point is that he won’t stop messaging me and now I think I’ve got the ick.’
She flashes her phone at us, scrolling about three times through sixteen messages, at most, of conversation.
‘Way too much, right?’ she asks.
‘Barely enough,’ Sara says.
