4. Caffeine and a Painkiller – Mar
CHAPTER 4
CAFFEINE AND A PAINKILLER
MAR
I’ve not left my parents’ house in over a week. One, for lack of transportation, and two, I just haven’t felt like venturing out yet, but the walls of my childhood home seem to be figuratively caving in around me, so I need to get out of here.
Dad insisted my car get fixed and assured me it was no problem for them to pay for it. I’m supposed to be an adult, so my parents shouldn’t have to pay to fix my car. They shouldn’t have to deal with their grown-up child intruding on their retirement years.
After scouring the internet this week, I finally found a job online, but since it’s summer, the class doesn’t begin for another two weeks. Which would be fine, but that means another two weeks without an income.
My parents don’t mind helping me, but they raised me better than this. Even at a young age, I had to have a job to be given a car. They didn’t want me working my life away, but they said that it was a privilege to have a car, and it’s my responsibility to get a job to pay half my car insurance. In my teenage years—before moving away for college—I worked at the local library as a library clerk, where my duties included: shelving returned books, helping patrons find reference materials and resources, answering questions or checking out books at the circulation desk, and issuing library cards. I haven’t been back to River Falls Public Library since I graduated high school, but I loved that job.
I told Mom and Dad I would open Coffey Cafe this morning since I owe them for fixing my car. My car isn’t pretty—not that it was before my accident—but it’ll get me where I need to go without overheating now. Mom is going to take me to the garage where my car is to drop me off before her exercise class this morning.
I don’t know when I agreed to this, but I didn’t know that her class began at five forty-five in the morning. Technically that’s not much earlier than the shop opening at seven, but my mind kept me up late thinking about things that weren’t real, and now I am exhausted.
I’m sitting at a small desk checking my email in my childhood bedroom when my mother yells from the bottom of the steps of the first floor, “Amarynth, we’re leaving in ten.” I feel like I’m sixteen again, and Mom is rushing me to get ready before I’m late for high school.
It only takes me eight minutes to pull on a pair of jeans, a plain tee, and tennis shoes. As I make my way down the stairs, I pull my unruly, curly brown hair up in a bun on top of my head. I use a clip to cover up my bald spot.
“Good lord, Amarynth. You look like you just rolled out of bed.”
One thing my mother has always been is truthful in how she feels about something. “I’m working in the shop today. I’m not going to an interview, but I’ll change if you don’t like this.”
On cue, she says, “There is no time. If we don’t leave now, I’ll be late for my class this morning, and if I show up after Ruth, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
On the way to the mechanic, I receive a message from Verdi.
Verdi: Sorry, running late. Don’t fire me.
Me: If you agree to give me juicy details on why you’re late when you arrive, then I’ll go ahead and clock you in when I get there. On my way there now.
There wasn’t anyone at the garage when we got there, but they had left my keys in the car under the visor. Mom took off as soon as I was out of her car without checking to see if my car was drivable. I’m not upset with her. I’m thankful my parents are even in a position to help me.
The mechanic is only two blocks away from Coffey Cafe, so it takes me no time to get there. Verdi has not made it yet. The shop is too quiet as I turn on the lights and boot up the register. This week’s special at the shop is chocolate-covered coffee beans, and Mom tasked me with making them. I have almost no experience in making anything outside of cooking in my dorm room.
I clock Verdi in on the old time machine where you insert a card, and it stamps the time before I use the search engine on the office computer to figure out how to make chocolate-covered coffee beans.
As I’m pouring melted dark chocolate over beans in a mini muffin pan, in walks Verdi. Her hair is sticking out in multiple directions, and she has brown mascara web-like streaks underneath both of her eyes. She is wearing a Coffey Cafe shirt she’s cut into a crop top and a pair of leggings.
“Spill,” I demand as I fill the last space in the pan with chocolate.
With her hand on her forehead, she asks, “Can I have some coffee first?”
“Sorry, you’ve come to the wrong establishment for coffee,” I joke.
“Mar, I need caffeine and a painkiller.”
She begins digging under the counter while I place the pan in the refrigerator to harden.
“Your ’rents keep a stash just for me under here.”
She pulls out napkins, a stack of receipts on a holder, an old cup that has MEAN ONE written in Sharpie on it, and finally, she holds out a container of pills.
“Can you open it while I go vomit?” she casually asks before tossing it to me and heading straight for the nearest trashcan.
“Verdi, what did you get into last night?” I ask but don’t expect her to respond since she is currently heaving.
I grab an empty to-go cup and fill it with water before handing it to her.
“It’s okay if you need to take the day off. I’ll be here, no need to work sick.”
“It’s a hangover, not the flu.”
“Did you go to a party and not invite me?” I ask her. Even though yesterday was Thursday and this isn’t a college town, maybe someone had a party.
She grabs a carton of orange juice from the refrigerator underneath the counter. “No, nothing like that. I met up with a girl three towns over, and I was nervous, so I drank too much. I’m sure I made an ass out of myself, so I’ll never hear from her again.”
“So the night didn’t go well?” I hand her the open bottle of pills, and she takes two, drinking straight from the carton. The juice sloshes around when she sits it back on the table.
“We chatted for a long while at a bar—until last call. We really connected, I thought, but then, she didn’t ask me back to her place… I slept in my car.” She holds her temples again and squeezes her eyes shut, puckering her lips.
I don’t know what to say. I gave her an out to take the day off, which she has refused. What else can I do? I don’t think it’s odd that the girl didn’t invite her back to her place. Some people want more than a hookup, but maybe that is something that Verdi is used to with her dates. “Customers will begin coming in soon. Maybe you should go freshen up… Grab a new Coffey Cafe shirt from the back,” I suggest.
She nods before downing the rest of the orange juice and chucking the carton into the trashcan she vomited in. “Leave that, I’ll take it out when I’m finished putting myself together.”
“Do you normally work alone?” I ask as she walks away.
“Just from 7 to 9. Around 9 either your mom or dad comes in and helps out through lunchtime.”
While Verdi is in the back, I get a mobile order for a large dark roast black coffee. I find it odd that anyone would need to pre-order black coffee, but I get it ready and place it on the mobile pickup rack.
A customer walks in, and I begin to worry that I won’t have enough people skills to take their order in person. The hood on their jacket is up and they are wearing sunglasses, even though the sun is mostly hidden by clouds this morning. The man struts over and picks up the black coffee and then for a brief moment turns in my direction. He seems familiar, but I can’t place him. He has a mustache, and I can see a tattoo behind his left ear, but can’t make it out. Must be someone I went to school with. He doesn’t say anything, only nods his head before heading for the door.
An hour and a half later, Verdi is leaning on the counter watching a man eat a bagel while I’m rearranging mugs on the display on the far left wall. It was my idea to make an entire wall almost like a bookshelf, but instead of the books, there are mugs in individual holes.
I’ve taken down each cup and wiped the dust from it and now I’m deciding on how to redisplay. The cups cover the four-person table. I would have already had this completed, but I’ve been distracted by other things, and I can’t figure out which one I want to put in the heart of the wall. The middle one needs to be the best one we have. They are all for sale, although customers normally buy cups that are for iced drinks and not regular coffee mugs. Which is one reason I decided to rearrange them. I’m hopeful they will catch someone’s eye and start selling.
I’m bent over placing a cup that reads Look At Me Becoming an Author and Shit! on the bottom shelf when I hear, “Damn, where’s that ass been hiding?”
There is no mistaking that husky tone. God-like man is not only behind me, but he’s also looking at my ass.
I stand up and pretend to be unfazed by his comment. I give a small smile as his eyes widen briefly in shock before returning to their stoic position. I’m proud of myself for getting a reaction out of him, even if it was merely that he was surprised the ass he liked is mine.
“Mobile pickup is over there,” I tell him as I point to the spot like this is his first time.
He rolls his eyes before going to snatch the white bag from the shelf. I go back to rearranging the coffee cups. “You coming to POW! tonight?” he asks.
I turn, thinking he is talking to me. I open my mouth to tell him I have no clue what POW! is, but Verdi says, “If Mar wants to go, sure.”
“What is POW!?” I ask them both.
“It’s where I play the bad guy, remember?” He clicks his teeth with his tongue again. I find it annoying and not at all sexy.
“Are you a stripper?” I ask him.
He laughs, shakes his head, and exits the shop.
I turn to Verdi who is near me now. “Is he a stripper? Is there an underground strip club in River Falls?” If there is, I’ve never heard of one.
She laughs; her painkiller must have kicked in. “Sihn is a wrestler, and he wears little to nothing while doing it…I guess that could…well, he doesn’t remove any clothes.”
Curiosity getting the better of me, I ask, “Is he any good?” The only wrestling I remember is some my dad watched when I was much younger. I figured it was a dying profession.
“Too good to still be a POW!. He makes it look effortless, not fake. Most of them aren’t any good at it, but he takes pride in it.”
I elbow her in her side. “Almost sounds like you have a crush on him, Ver.”
“If I was straight, I would. Let’s go, you’ll understand what I’m talking about once you’ve seen him in action.”