Chapter 24 – Alise #2
“How did he get the barista to make it for me? It’s not even pumpkin spice season,” I ask her, knowing that one or both of them had something to do with it.
“I’m just the pickup girl,” Michele says sweetly, then lifts her brows. “Though I may have slipped the barista a very specific note.”
“You two are the most suspicious ‘innocent bystanders’ I’ve ever met.”
I glance down at my cup—the one I’ve been clutching for nearly half an hour now, the paper having gone soft from my grip. The rim shows a smudge of gloss and maybe a little teeth-marked anxiety.
Before I can stop her, Ramona gently plucks it from my hands and exchanges it for a fresh one from the tray.
“Drink the one that’s still warm,” she says, softer now. “You look like you need it.”
The heat seeps into my palms instantly. The scent hits me before the first sip—spice, sugar, memory. He always remembers. I don’t know why I’m even surprised.
Even if these two weren’t such horrible liars, I’d know that Beau had a hand in making sure I had this with me.
I wouldn’t need a fancy note of text because this is the exact drink I order when everything’s too much and I can’t say it out loud.
The drink I only ever mentioned to him once—rambling, overwhelmed, and half-laughing. And he listened; he always does.
“I made the right choice,” I murmur, my voice brittle and sharp around the edges like cracked glass.
The weight of those five words lands between us like a dropped stone—sinking fast, impossible to take back. Neither of them speaks, looking everywhere around the rink but at me.
“I mean it,” I say again, more to myself this time. “I needed to know if he really wanted me and not just someone to hold on to because everything else is falling apart.”
The unyielding silence stretches between us as Michele places her hand on my knee and Ramona wraps her arm around my shoulder, pulling me into her side. Neither of them rushes to fill the space with words or tries to comfort me as I slowly spiral.
I grip Michele’s hand like a lifeline, keeping my eye focused on the ice as a lump in my throat builds. “You disagree?”
“I think you did what you thought you had to do,” Ramona says gently. “But I also think you keep repeating it like you’re hoping it’ll finally feel true.”
I gasp audibly as my chest tightens. There’s something about hearing it out loud that catches me off guard. It’s like she’s picked the lock on a door I didn’t even realize I’d shut.
“I couldn’t be what he needed.”
“You didn’t even let him tell you what that was.”
“I was trying to protect him.”
“You’re allowed to be scared, Alise. But don’t confuse fear with sacrifice. You shut the door on someone who’s always left it open for you, and I think deep down, you know that.” Michele sighs, and it’s soft but heavy.
I stare into the lid of the cup, watching the faint curls of steam rise and fade. Searching for answers in the swirl.
“I know you knock PSLs, but to me, they’re like comfort in a cup. It was one of the first things I bought for myself when I got the job here because I wanted it. We were barely scraping by with Momma’s disability, and I needed this job.”
Neither of them interrupts me; they just let me get it all out. Not that I’m making any sense at all. What does my first PSL have to do with whatever is going on between me and Beau? I don’t have a clue, but the story pours out of me now.
“I was in leggings with a hole in the thigh, sneakers falling apart, and six dollars to my name. I spent almost all of that on this drink because I felt like I’d won something.
I didn’t even like pumpkin then, but it was warm, sweet, and…
safe. For ten whole minutes, I didn’t feel like I was drowning. ”
I blink hard, trying to keep the tears from slipping over. A lump forms in my throat, thick and bitter. I wrap my hands tighter around the drink like I can absorb some of that old warmth, that fleeting safety.
“I think that’s what I wanted to be for him. That feeling. The soft place to land when everything else feels too loud or too much, but what if that’s all I am?”
My voice trembles as I let out a shaky breath and glance between them, raw and exposed.
“Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe that’s all I am to Beau—the pumpkin spice latte version of a person—comforting and familiar. A little basic, but good enough when things feel hard. What happens when he doesn’t need that anymore? When life isn’t heavy and everything hurts less?”
“Okay, well, now I feel like an asshole.” Ramona drops her head onto mine, her voice uncharacteristically gentle.
“You are an asshole,” I mutter. “But you’re my asshole.”
“You should’ve opened with that instead of letting me roast your nostalgic latte.”
“I have a feeling that’s why Beau wanted me to pick it up for you. You didn’t ask, but he knew you needed it.” Michele gives me a small knowing grin.
I did, even more than I realized and way more than I wanted to admit. The cup in my hands isn’t just coffee; it’s comfort. A small, unspoken kindness in a world that suddenly feels too loud and uncertain.
“I thought if I let him all the way in, I’d lose myself,” I whisper, the words clawing their way out as if they were waiting for someone to ask the right question.
Michele doesn’t look away. Her eyes don’t widen in shock or pity. She just sees me, and somehow that makes it harder to keep it together.
“And now?” she asks, so softly it barely stirs the air between us.
I stare into the swirl of foam on the surface of my drink like it holds answers I’m too scared to say aloud. Right now, I don’t know who I am without him. I miss the version of me that only existed when he was around, and I’m scared I pushed away the one person who saw me and stayed.
“I think…” My voice catches slightly, but I clear my throat and try again. “I think I mistook safety for solitude and solitude for strength.”
Michele reaches over and squeezes my hand, no judgment or advice, just another comforting presence as I try to work through all the emotions swirling through my mind.
“And I don’t know how to fix it.”
“You don’t have to fix it all at once,” she says, her thumb brushing over mine. “You just have to be honest about what you want. Even if it terrifies you.”
I nod slowly, tears burning hot at the corners of my eyes. “It does.”
“I know, but love that costs you your sense of self isn’t love. What you had… what you still have, if you want it, didn’t take from you; it was mirroring you.
I swallow hard. The cup is warm in my hands, but it’s her words that thaw something deep inside me. Maybe I’m not lost; maybe I’m just learning how to come home to myself without closing the door on someone who wanted to walk with me the whole way.
“I feel like I left pieces of myself on the other side of that door with him.”
Ramona, who’s been quiet until now, finally moves closer and rests her head against my shoulder. The familiarity cracks something wide open in me.
“You’re not the only one unraveling,” she says gently. “He’s out there smiling at kids like it doesn’t hurt, but I see it. So do you.”
I glance at the rink, watching Beau skate across the ice with effortless grace, but even that feels off.
Every movement is too precise. There’s tension in his jaw, a heaviness in his posture as he crouches to demonstrate a drill.
Then he lifts his water bottle, takes a sip, and coughs.
It happens only once, but the sound is sharp and sudden.
No one else reacts besides me because I can feel it in my bones, my chest. I know that cough, that same tightness.
I know the way he hides it from everyone.
“He hasn’t texted,” I whisper again.
“You told him to give you space, and he respected that.” Ramona leans in closer, her voice softer now.
“But he’s still here, fixing things at the rink, leaving me snacks, and bringing me coffee. He just keeps going through life as if there’s nothing wrong. Hell, he’s still coaching even though he doesn’t have to be.”
“He’s still showing up,” Michele says softly.
“And it’s killing me.”
Ramona shifts so she’s fully facing me now, eyes narrowed in that way she gets when she’s trying not to yell at me out of love. “Do you want him to stop?”
“No. I told him to stay away, and he did, but he’s still loving me from across the room like it’s the only way he knows how.”
“You’ve always made things harder for yourself than they needed to be.” Ramona lets out a breath.
“Gee, thanks,” I mumble.
“You’re scared, and that’s fine. But don’t confuse fear with fact. He’s not running. You are.”
Her words sting because they’re true. She’s known me long enough to see through every mask I wear.
“Maybe it’s time to meet him halfway.”
“I’m not sure I can,” I say, and my voice cracks. “What if I open the door and he’s not standing there anymore?”
“Then we bring a sledgehammer,” she says fiercely. “And we tear the damn wall down.”
“With wine,” Michele chimes in, reaching for my other hand and squeezing it. “And snacks. You know, for morale.”
I blink hard, my chest aching so much I can barely breathe.
“You didn’t break him, Alise,” Michele says gently. “But you walked away. If that was really the right choice, you wouldn’t be sitting here, watching his every move like you’re trying to memorize him before he disappears.”
Beau blows his whistle again, calling for one last lap. His voice is firm but quiet. His shoulders curve slightly, but he doesn’t even glance at the stands. He hasn’t once this entire time, and somehow, that’s what shatters me.
I’m the one who told him not to look back, and he listened. Now, every time he doesn’t, it feels like I’m the one being left behind.