7. Too Little, Too Latte
7
TOO LITTLE, TOO LATTE
NEHA
I had worked in cafés and restaurants, just like everyone else who needed to pay the bills while getting through school. But once I earned my undergraduate degree in business, I never thought I’d go back to it. I had imagined a career with Ansel. Growing with him, learning, building something together.
So stupid. So na?ve.
He was just like every other corporate suit—taking what he needed, getting what he wanted, and the moment you were no longer useful, he kicked you to the curb.
I had gone over what he said to Vanessa over and over again—like a bad movie on replay in my head.
The thing I was most embarrassed about was that he knew about my crush and thought I wasn’t good enough for him, that I was aiming too high. I wasn’t aiming , period. I hadn’t overtly indicated how I felt to him. I’d been careful, professional, and what did that get me? Absolutely nothing. I worked so diligently for him—and also me—but mostly him, and he’d discarded me. All I was worth was three weeks’ severance pay. A week for every year. It was humiliating!
And even after six weeks of quitting my job and four weeks of being a barista at Sun & Chai, Penny’s café, the burn of that shame hadn’t lessened.
The good news was that being a barista was fun and not boring at all as I’d worried. The job was low-pressure, and once it was done, it was done . You didn’t take your work home when you made and served coffee for a living.
I had time to study without squeezing it into the cracks of my day. I didn’t have to constantly anticipate someone else’s needs, triple-check reports at midnight, or wake up in a cold sweat remembering something I forgot to add to a presentation. I breathed easier now, in the bustle of the café, where the biggest crisis of the day was a broken espresso machine or an impatient customer.
Penny had been right—this was exactly the break I needed. And since she never missed an opportunity to say I told you so, she took every chance to tease me about how my dark circles had finally disappeared.
“And you said because you’re Indian you’re born with that haunted look.”
“Most south Asian women have them,” I grumbled.
Sleeping eight hours a day every day had done its magic. I didn’t walk around feeling exhausted, instead I was full of energy. My skin had never been better. My face looked healthy, and I hadn’t used my under-eye corrector in weeks. Forget the spa and fancy pampering—all I needed was proper sleep and voilà ! Glassy, K-beauty-worthy skin.
I wiped down the counter as the lunch rush finally died down, my shoulders pleasantly sore—but not in the soul-crushing, bone-deep exhaustion I’d felt after fourteen-hour days at Sterling.
Nestled in a cozy Brooklyn street with big windows that let in warm afternoon light, Penny’s café was small and busy. The scent of coffee and fresh pastries was so much better than over-priced colognes and perfumes mixed in with the desperation to climb the corporate ladder in the financial district.
I glanced at Penny, who was ringing up a customer who looked like a finance bro. When he left, she caught my eye and smirked. “Are you missing the Wall Street chaos?”
I laughed, stacking clean plates behind the counter. “Not even a little bit.”
“But you’ll go back once you finish your MBA,” Penny remarked sadly. “And I’ll miss you.”
I looked around the café and wondered if maybe I wouldn’t have to go back. Penny owned the café, yes, but the profit margins were measly, so she barely made ends meet, especially in New York. We both couldn’t draw a living wage from Sun & Chai.
I was pondering the future when Mrs. Desai, a regular, came into the café. “Neha, beta, how are you doing?”
Since I hung out at the café on weekends, I’d met several of the regulars even before I started working here. Mrs. Desai knew my story—as in I had a great job that I left because my boss was a douchebag.
“I’m good, Auntie. The usual?”
Mrs. Desai nodded, holding her phone over the card reader. She waited for it to ding once I tapped the screen to finalize the transaction.
I made Mrs. Desai’s masala chai just the way she liked with extra cinnamon.
Since there wasn’t much of a rush, I chatted with Mrs. Desai who took a seat at the bar. “Kunal, you know is a partner at an ad agency. I told him about you, and he’d like to meet you.”
Mrs. Desai’s son Kunal was single, and she was doing everything she could to pair him up with anyone before he was too old to have children. Since Kunal was my age, around twenty-eight, I didn’t understand her urgency but I knew it was an Indian thing.
Since our mother, who raised my sister Sanya and me alone, passed five years ago, we didn’t have anyone nagging us to get married, not that our mother would have.
Mummy was a rebel! She’d had the temerity to divorce her arranged marriage husband who used to beat her. I didn’t remember those days because I was only one when she left him, but Sanya, who was three years older than me, did.
Our sperm donor returned to India after the divorce, and since getting divorced was still a big deal in those days, Mummy had been abandoned by both her and his family. She didn’t care and said, ‘ good riddance .’
Our mother was amazing. She went to school and got a degree in education while she raised us and worked. She retired as the principal of Thomas Jefferson High School.
Sanya and I missed her every day. She had taught us about resilience, about respecting ourselves, about not putting up with shit from anyone. I think it was because of how she raised us that I’d resigned from Sterling rather than wait to be fired and collect a three-week severance pay. Money was money—and I wasn’t rolling in it so that would have been appreciated. But Leela Rao’s daughter wasn’t going to let anyone treat her the way Ansel had.
“Thank you, Auntie, but I want to work in finance,” I told her.
She made a face. “I’m not matchmaking, just helping you find a job.”
I rolled my eyes. She certainly was. “Okay, Auntie, I’ll contact Kunal,” I lied.
“Oh wonderful. Maybe you can meet him…you know for coffee or a drink to talk about the job,” she suggested.
I laughed at that and was saved from answering when another regular walked in for their afternoon shot of espresso and a cupcake.
The café felt like home in a way my old job never had. There was warmth and a sense of community. People were happy to be here, including me. I was just an assistant at Sterling, but here, I could be my authentic self.
Mrs. Desai had just left, making sure I had Kunal’s contact information on my phone when the bell above the door jingled. I looked up with a smile, expecting another caffeine-deprived remote worker when my eyes locked with Ansel’s.
Behind me I heard a gentle gasp. Penny had clocked him as well. She’d met him a couple of times when she’d come to the office to wait for me before we went out.
For a second, my brain stalled. What was he doing here? Why was he here? Had he just strolled in for a cup of chai or was he here for me?
He looked good in a navy blue suit, crisp white shirt, the faintest five o’clock shadow, and those sexy gray eyes.
“Neha.” He smiled as he came up to me.
I forced my expression into neutrality, even as my heart thumped painfully in my chest. I wish I were behind the counter so there would be distance between us, so I’d have time to get my armor up. Now he was close, too close, right in front of me, and I could smell his stupid cologne.
"What are you doing here?" I was surprised I didn’t squeak because inside, I was a hot mess.
His lips parted slightly, like he hadn’t expected me to be this direct. Like he thought I’d smile, offer him coffee, and pretend like he hadn’t gutted me.
“I wanted to…ah…just check in with you.”
Penny snorted loudly. “The fucking nerve.”
Ansel turned to face my friend, and I ran to the safety of the other side of the counter, where only employees were allowed.
“Hello, Penny, how are you?”
“I was doing great, Ansel, before you walked in,” she replied. “Now, I’m going to assume you didn’t just wander in here, ‘cause this is off the beaten path from Lower Manhattan and Tribeca.”
Ansel lived in a high-rise luxury condo in Tribeca that practically screamed finance bro with money to burn. I’d been there once for a team Christmas party—impressed by how sleek it was, disappointed by how sterile.
He cleared his throat. “You’re right. I came to see Neha.”
“Ansel?” I asked softly, intervening before Penny got violent and I had to empty my savings account for bail. “What can I get you?”
There, I’d play barista, he’d play customer, and we’d have a nice, easy interaction—no drama required.
He looked at me with hurt in his eyes. I knew what he drank, but I wasn’t his lackey anymore. I didn’t have to remember his preferences for anything.
“Triple-shot espresso with milk.”
“Whole or?—”
“Oat,” he gritted out. He was lactose intolerant.
I rang him up as professionally as possible, pointedly ignoring Penny’s glare, while silently willing someone—anyone to walk into the café. Because right now, it was just the three of us in a silent standoff, like some modern-day O.K. Corral.
The bell over the door jingled, and I nearly cried out in relief as a group of three walked in—a young couple and an older man who looked like he was probably the woman’s father. They glanced around before the woman, dressed in a navy wool coat and knee-high boots, smiled politely.
“Do you have a table for three?” she asked.
“Of course! Right this way.” Penny smiled, shooting me a look before slipping into hostess mode. She grabbed a few menus and led them toward a small table near the window, leaving me alone behind the counter with Ansel who had not taken his damned coffee to a table and parked his ass at the bar.
The sight of him, seated at the counter like any other customer, felt wrong. Ansel Tyler didn’t belong in this café, drinking coffee, trying to…what? Talk?
I exhaled sharply, keeping my hands busy as I poured him a glass of water.
Professionalism is the key to avoiding emotions, Neha, so, keep it professional.
“You make good coffee,” he murmured.
“Yeah, we assistants are good at that.” The words slipped out to my horror and laid bare the hurt I still carried.
I wiped my hands on a towel and busied myself behind the counter, hoping he’d take the hint.
Of course, he didn’t.
“How have you been?” he asked, like we were casually catching up instead of sitting in the aftermath of everything.
I huffed a quiet laugh, shaking my head. “I’m fine, Ansel. You know I poured your coffee in a to-go cup so you’ll go to… out.” Hell, actually. So, you’ll go to hell!
I heard his exhale, saw his fingers tighten against the paper cup, and I feared he’d burn himself and make a mess that I’d have to clean up. Nothing new—I’d been doing that for three years for this overgrown toddler.
“I deserve the attitude,” he admitted, “I understand it. But can we talk like grown-ups?”
Oh no, he didn’t!
I set down my cleaning rag, folding my arms. “I don’t work for you anymore, Ansel. There’s nothing to talk about.”
He arched an eyebrow. “I’m just being polite, Neha, asking how you’re doing. That’s all.”
My breath caught somewhere in my chest and I wanted— no, needed —to hit him when I’d never raised my hand at anyone in my whole life.
“Polite, huh? You mean like you were when you took me out to lunch to soften the blow of firing my incapable of working for you ass?”
Penny walked up to the counter then, tapping the order into the POS system before sliding a chit toward me. “Two café lattes with whole milk and one masala chai,” she called out.
I grabbed the receipt and reached for the milk pitcher, hoping against hope my asshole ex-boss would leave before I poured a hot drink all over him.
The arrogant son of a bitch was asking me if I could behave like a grown up? Well, I wasn’t the one who listened to gossip and rumors and treated me with disrespect? I wasn’t the one who told a colleague that I wasn’t good enough to go up to his stupid fortieth floor with him.
By the time I had made the drinks, I was fuming.
Once done, I came to Ansel. “I want you to leave.”
He tilted his head. “I know how you feel.”
“Good, then get out.”
He smiled. “I have missed you.”
I’m going to fuck this asshole up! Penny could use my savings for bail money. It’d be worth it.
I considered walking out, but I didn’t want to make a scene, and some stubborn, foolish part of me wanted to hear what he had to say.
“Fine, talk. You have five minutes.” I stood with my hands on my hips, mustering as much dignity as I could in my Sun & Chai apron that had a ridiculous cartoon sun winking over a steaming cup of chai, with the slogan: Rise and Chai stitched beneath it.
Not exactly a power suit I used to wear at Sterling, but at least here, I wasn’t getting stabbed in the back.
“I—” He hesitated, his gaze flicking away before meeting mine again. “I shouldn’t have said what I did to Vanessa. That was wrong of me.” He swallowed, like the words tasted bitter in his mouth. “I didn’t mean it.”
A sharp, humorless laugh slipped out. “You did mean it, Ansel. That’s the worst part. You just didn’t expect me to hear it.”
His jaw tightened. “It wasn’t personal—”“Not personal?” My voice was cold, but my hands were trembling. “I gave everything to that job. To you. And you threw me away the second someone spilled some bullshit about me to you. How exactly is that not personal?”
He looked pained, as though he hadn’t expected this conversation to be difficult. Like he’d convinced himself that simply showing up and uttering the words I’m sorry would magically fix everything—that we’d instantly be pals again, because in his screwed-up mind, I clearly had zero self-respect.
He propped himself up on his forearms. “I screwed up. I shouldn’t have listened to—”“It doesn’t matter anymore.” I shook my head, cutting him off. “You made yourself perfectly clear.”
On second thought, no, I didn’t want to hear his feeble excuses. They would only make me feel worse.
“Neha—”
“You came here to make yourself feel better,” I said, watching the shock register on his face. “You thought you could show up, throw out an apology, and—just like that—ease your guilt, or whatever it is you’re feeling. You thought all you had to do was say the magic three words— I am sorry —and I’d fall all over myself, ready to forgive and forget.”
I didn’t know what he expected from me. Forgiveness? Understanding? Whatever it was, I didn’t have it to give.
“I’m sincere, Neha.”
Now, I actually let out a dry chuckle. “That’s what I used to think. But the fact that you could tell me you didn’t know how you’d do your job without me, and then turn around and say I wasn’t good enough to work for you, that told me everything I need to know about your sincerity .” I folded my arms, meeting his gaze head-on.
“You’re not sincere, Ansel. You’re not authentic. You’re just like everyone else—saying whatever you need to say to get what you want.”
Ansel looked hurt. Aww!
“I know what you did for me at work, Neha. I appreciated it.”
“Really? You can say that with a straight face?”
He looked sad now. “Yes, I can because since you’ve been gone it’s been hell.”
Is that why he was back? He was missing his just an assistant . Well, he could go fuck himself!
I let out a long deep cleansing breath and kept my voice flat when I said, “If that’s all, you should go.”
For the first time since I’d known him, Ansel looked confused, unsure, not confident at all. I wasn’t falling into line, everyone around him always did. The entitled prick!
“Neha, how can I make this right?”
You can’t , you dickhead. You can’t fix what you broke inside of me. You can’t make me unhear the shit you said about me. You can’t make me un-feel the humiliation of resigning—not because I wanted to, but because I knew if I stayed, you’d fire me.
I met his gaze. “I don’t know, and I don’t care. I’m not here to help you feel better about how you behaved.”
“Neha—”
“You know what your problem is? You’re an entitled son of a bitch who always gets what he wants without having to work too hard for it.”
His jaw tightened, but I wasn’t done.
“I’m a woman of color, Ansel. I’ve had to work twice as hard just to get the smallest career wins, just to be seen, just to prove I’m worth a seat at the table. And you?” I shook my head in disgust. “You don’t want to make anything right. You just want to ease your guilty conscience.”
I took a step back, my voice cold and final.
“Do us both a favor—get the fuck out and don’t come back.”
Without another word, I turned on my heel and walked into the kitchen.