Chapter 3
ALEX
Ifling myself down onto my couch, my limbs falling by the wayside as my body settles and sinks into the cushions.
Relaxation finally seeps over me as I let myself rest and close my eyes.
It felt like the shift from hell, even though it was my first one.
Immediately after that football player left, he brought in a never-ending rush behind him, like he was some kind of harbinger of uncaffeinated students needing their coffee replenished like zombies needing brains to eat.
I handled it about as well as anyone would on their first day.
I made mistakes. I wrote down the wrong kinds of alternative milks and syrups, mispronounced people’s names when I called them out, and accidentally angered one guy by jokingly asking if he was okay after he ordered a filter coffee with six extra shots of espresso in it.
Apparently, it was his regular order.
How was I supposed to know that consuming a thousand milligrams of caffeine in a single drink was his regular gig?
Is it even legal to sell that to someone?
What happened to playful barista banter? Isn’t part of the job mildly flirting with and teasing customers?
Either way, Vicki didn’t fire me or scold me, and Simon seemed okay with how I did on my first day. So suffice it to say, I’ll be returning for my next shift tomorrow morning.
God only knows how that’ll go with the morning rush.
“Long day?” my mom’s voice calls from the kitchen.
“Uh-huh,” I grumble, still refusing to open my eyes or move a single inch from the space of tranquility and relaxation I’ve created for myself.
The floorboards creak, and I crack my eyes open to watch her standing over me in her usual lilac-colored bathrobe.
“Long enough to make you wanna quit?”
I shake my head. “No, just… people are so annoying.”
She smirks at me. “Figures.”
I frown at her. “What does that mean?”
She brushes a lock of black hair out of her eyes. “You’ve always had low patience for… the general public.”
I sit up, the relaxation dissipating from my body immediately.
“I didn’t expect personal insults to come from within my own humble abode!” I say, wagging my index finger in her face.
I walk past her into the kitchen and pull out rice and soy sauce from the cupboard.
“It’s not an insult if it’s true,” she counters, following me into the kitchen, albeit much more slowly.
I turn to look at her, and my chest clenches when I notice how long it takes her to make it into the kitchen.
She isn’t limping, but it’s clear she has to take her time when she walks, and the fatigue on her face is obvious.
“Whatever,” I grumble, deciding not to waste energy arguing with my mom.
She sits at the dining room table adjacent to the kitchen and watches me put together everything for a stir-fry.
Cooking is how my mom and I bonded growing up. She taught me how to make traditional Japanese meals the same way her mom taught her, and she’s done the same with my sister.
Even if I can’t make an elaborate meal tonight, cooking stir-fry for her and my sister still makes me feel closer to them.
“Where’s Naomi?”
“She’s at swimming practice,” my mom answers, rubbing her forehead.
“Will she be back for dinner? Do you need me to pick her up?” I ask as the frying pan sizzles.
My mom shakes her head. “No, I’ll do it.”
I sigh, letting my shoulders droop in frustration. “Mom, I’ll do it. I have a car, and it’ll only take a few minutes.”
“Alex—”
“Mom. Don’t expend any more energy than you need to, okay?”
Conflict flashes across her expression, but she nods. “Okay.”
I walk over and kiss her forehead, refusing to let any tears form in my eyes.
“Do you still feel like you want to work at the cafe?” she asks.
I nod, sniffing as I turn my attention back to the stir fry. “Yeah. It was tough, but it was my first day. It can only get better, right?”
“That’s right,” she says. “But if it’s too much, you know you can quit, right?”
I nod. “I know, Mom. But I’m not going to. We need this money, okay?”
I know my mom is just looking out for me, but when she tries to insinuate that I shouldn’t work myself to death helping pay her medical bills, it makes me feel so powerless.
Because how else are we supposed to pay for them?
My dad almost drank himself to death in January, blew a huge chunk of his money on gambling, and instead of trying to get clean, he divorced my mom, disappeared off the face of the earth, and took whatever money was left with him.
My sister’s barely ten, and Mom can barely walk properly. The fatigue is so bad that she struggles to focus on simple tasks. Even if she wanted to work from home, she wouldn’t be able to concentrate.
“I’m still trying to look for jobs from home…” she says quietly.
I shake my head and turn to her. “Mom. The fatigue from Multiple Sclerosis can’t be cured with a few cups of coffee and a leafy green smoothie. You need to rest and just let me work, okay?”
The one promise she made me keep when she got sick was that I wouldn’t drop out to try and help her. That I would stay in school, get a proper job later, and just work part-time for now.
She didn’t want my tuition to go to waste, and since I had been given a bursary for my last two years of school, there was no point in stopping my studies.
But it kills me to see her struggling and not know what her future might look like in a few years.
I didn’t really know what Multiple Sclerosis was when the doctors told my mom she had it. I knew it was bad from the name alone, but hearing that it was a disease that disrupted communication between the brain and the rest of the body made me realize just how serious it was.
When they explained that she would likely experience difficulty walking, trouble moving around, and extreme fatigue, I realized her whole life was going to change, and mine along with it.
She’s the strongest person in my life, and I know she can get through it. Even if the treatments don’t work, I know she’ll persevere.
I finish the stir-fry and make a plate for both of us.
I sit beside her. Before I can shovel a forkful into my mouth, she stops me and places her hand on my arm.
“I love you so much, you know that, right?”
I smile at her. “Of course, Mom.”
She smiles and squeezes my arm harder before taking a bite.
She groans. “You’re such a good chef, my love. You’re my takaramono.”
I snort. “I’m not sure how making a stir fry makes me a ‘treasure,’ but thanks.”
I squeeze her hand back and try to let it ground me, reminding myself that I’m just glad she’s still here.
I look around the recreation center, trying to find her in the sea of kids.
One of the kids steps aside as their parent guides them away, and I finally spot her, her black hair partially wet, a pink-and-purple towel hanging over her shoulder.
I smile at her. “Hey, Nay,” I say warmly.
Naomi gives me a neutral stare as she walks over. “Where’s Mom?”
“I’m on pick-up duty today.”
She seems slightly annoyed, but I don’t let it affect me. “How was swimming?”
“It was fine,” she says, avoiding my eyes.
Man, it’s hard to get her to like me. Even after all these years.
I swear it’s just because I’m an older boy. I don’t have any other reasonable explanation for why she doesn’t like me.
Being so much older than her makes it hard to be a big brother instead of a parent.
“Let’s head home, yeah?” I say.
She nods and walks with me toward the exit.
“Xandy?”
I stop in my tracks, tingles traveling up my spine as that stupid fucking nickname sinks into my bones.
It’s the last voice I want to hear, and for some reason, I thought being at the recreation center, next to the pool, no less, would help me avoid him.
I spin around and come face-to-face with my ex, Scott.
His auburn hair hangs in a wet, messy mop, and beads of water cling to his neck as he towers over me.
“Scott, hi,” I say, trying to sound as nice as possible. I already want to throw a punch just for him using that nickname I’ve always hated.
“You picking up your sister from swimming practice?” Scott asks, smiling down at Naomi.
She glares at him, and I love her for it.
“Yeah, we’re just headed home now,” I say quickly, glancing toward the parking lot to avoid whatever conversation Scott seems to want with me.
“I’ve been wanting to call you…”
I frown. “You have?”
He nods. “It’s been so long since we…”
He glances down at Naomi, suddenly remembering she’s part of this conversation too. “I just wanted to catch up.”
I purse my lips together.
The last thing I want to do is catch up with the guy who broke up with me a month ago with the lamest excuse imaginable.
“Sorry, I’m kind of busy right now with the new semester and stuff…” I say instead.
It’s a bad excuse, but Scott is very good at handing those out, so I don’t mind returning the favor.
Scott swallows. “Xandy, come on.”
I cluck my tongue in annoyance. “I understood when you were busy with swimming, so why can’t you be understanding when my life gets busy? Oh, wait, I remember. You can’t handle it when anyone other than you has something going on in their life.”
Scott blinks. “That’s—that’s not true.”
“Right. So when you broke up with me because swimming got ‘too busy’ for you and I was ‘holding you back,’ was that the truth? Or did you not start dating your teammate less than a week later? If that’s the story you’re going with for the ‘timeline,’” I say.
Naomi looks between us like she’s watching a tennis match.
“Alex—You know that’s not what happened, and I didn’t mean it like that—”
“Let’s go, Naomi,” I say softly as I touch her shoulder and guide her out of the recreational center and into the parking lot.
Thankfully, Scott doesn’t follow me. He knows not to.
I open the door for Naomi, let her get in, then slide into the driver’s seat. I brace my hands on the steering wheel, rest my head back, and blow out a long breath.
“Who was that?” Naomi asks, sounding more animated than I think I’ve ever heard her.
“My ex.”
“He’s your ex?” she asks, eyes wide.
I turn to her. “Yeah.”
She grimaces. “You can do a lot better.”
That’s probably the nicest thing I’ve ever heard her say to me.
I smile at her. “Thanks, Nay.”
She nods once, pulls out a book from her bag, and starts reading.
I turn the engine on and make my way home. I guess that’s the end of that conversation.
“You should date a football player instead,” Naomi says.
I glance at her while stopped at a red light.
“What?”
She looks at me and nods. “Football players are so tall and big. You could score one that looks like that.”
I scoff. “Sure, Naomi.”
My mind immediately goes to the football player who came into the cafe earlier today.
He was probably one of the most attractive guys I’ve ever seen, but the thought of someone like me even registering on his radar seems next to impossible.
“I’m not going to date any athletes, or anyone for that matter.”
“Why?” Naomi asks, as if the answer should be obvious.
I shrug. “Athletes are too busy with their own lives, and I don’t think they can fit me into them. And I have a job, school, Mom, you, and a bunch of other things to deal with. I don’t have time to date.”
I look back at the road and realize I’m talking to my ten-year-old sister about boys. I never thought that would ever happen.
“Whatever. I still think you can do better than that swimming guy.”
I snort and pull the car forward.
Naomi is right. If I ever date another guy, I should raise my standards.
It’s fun to imagine an impossible standard for a boyfriend. That way, I’ll never be disappointed, because I’ll never actually date someone that amazing.
I can live in my own fantasy land, where no guy is ever too busy for me and no one prioritizes sports over our relationship.
That’s where I like to be: in fantasy.
No one else to distract me from my job or school.
That’s where I have to be if I want to make sure my mom and Naomi are going to be okay in the end.