Five
Sawyer
Days where I’m not alone behind this counter are rare. Mother turns up hours after I have opened, donning a pair of dark blue jeggings, a white blouse smothered in wrinkles and a stain over the breast, and a dark blue gem on a rope around her neck.
Her hair is strangled by a scrunchie into a bun on top of her head, with frayed strands attempting to frame whatever face she decides to wear today. On closer inspection, mascara has smeared along her lower eyelids and a dark red lipstick overlines her thin lips – that lipstick is going to plaster everything.
No matter how many hot drinks I make, how much steam is released from the wands of the coffee machine, no matter how much of the morning sun pours through our windows, nothing could combat the frost ever-growing on this counter. Even with what this café stands for between my mother and me – with what I caused within our family – I still somehow love it here.
I designed its entire aesthetic from the colour of the walls to the decor that hung around, to the menu we served. Yet somehow, she had decided there and then, since his departure, that she wanted nothing to do with the family business anymore, that was until she saw me stood behind the counter, the evening before I had planned to open, as a surprise for her, for us. I wanted to use this café to piece together whatever family we have left, but it was never seen that way through her cold eyes.
Whenever we’re here together, she dominates the front counter while I become a part of the machinery. I create all the orders while she bends over the counter and locks eyes with whoever will give her the time of day. I had grown used to being shoved in the background while a random bloke is placed on a pedestal, front and centre.
The front door sends a rippling ringing throughout the café with every customer entering and exiting. They are met with the many versions of Tracey Sombre, whether she’s flirtatious; sisterly, judgemental, bored, it depends on how you can benefit her.
“Well, hi there, Emily. How are you? How’s your mother doing?”
I peer over my shoulder to see who’s instantly won my mother’s approval – a beautiful woman who couldn’t be much older than me. Long, layered brunette hair gracefully sits on her shoulders with an even, golden tan all over. A shining smile spreads across her face, and a sprinkle of freckles spread over her cheeks, moving the rose gold nose ring which sits so delicately.
She’s dressed in a white strap top with pink flowers patterned across her hourglass figure, and leggings which appear to have been made just for her. Her hands are pretty – if hands can even be described in that way – with a lick of baby pink polish on her nails. Her hand sits inside Mother’s which are dry, cracked with chipping, red polish. I run my fingers over my bland nails, wishing for a shine of colour.
“Oh, Miss Sombre, we are both well, thank you!”
“That’s great, darling! How’s the vet training going?”
I feel my chest tighten as my mother calls Emily one of the many words I have been begging to hear for years. Darling.
“Tough, but amazing! I got a practically perfect exam result back on my birthday!”
They proceed to laugh and chat while I make the caramel and vanilla latte that Emily ordered which is far too sweet for me. I need layers.
I couldn’t even turnaround from the back wall before her chilling fingers wrap around the drink, weakening my grasp to hand it over to Emily.
“Sawyer’s twentieth just went past. I would’ve loved for some miracle like that to happen to him.”
No, you wouldn’t have.
I spent my birthday here while someone else’s father was in our house. I cooked breakfast for the two of them because my mother told him I did it all the time, and I didn’t say a word. Neither of them knew it was my birthday.
Emily’s chocolate hair is thrown over her shoulder as she waves goodbye and wishes us both a great day, her emerald eyes meeting mine as she winks with that smile and leaves. I begin to wipe the back bench while there’s a moment of quiet within the café.
“I know Emily through her mum. Emily is an amazing young woman.”
I know exactly where this is going. I pray and keep myself quiet, something I should’ve done a long time ago.
“You know she's studying to be a vet?”
I heard.
“I’m going to set you two up, she will teach you a thing or two.”
I pause, this is not a conversation I want to have in public. She knows exactly what she is doing, and I can’t fight it. Shit.
“Please, you can’t set us up.”
She leans against the counter, her arms crossed against her chest. Her eyes narrow as they meet mine.
“Why not? I can’t see any reason why she wouldn’t be perfect for you.”
She cocks her head to the side, a dumb expression written all over her face.
“Mother, you know why. It would not be fair on Emily.”
She straightens her back and steps towards me, and immediately I back away until my behind is pressing into the back bench, her glare piercing down on me. She’s always had a bit more height on me as I just about meet her neck, the overpowering stench of cigarettes masking with floral perfume lining my nose.
“No. You know what is not fair, Sawyer? What you have put me through, put this family through. Stop with the selfishness.”
She spits each word with such viciousness, deep breathing through my nose is the only thing stopping the tears from rolling down my face,
“Please. Can we talk about this at home?”
Her eyes widen, her cheeks trembling, and her mind dumbfounded. I hear her nose inhale and watch her blotted lips separate before I am saved by the bell. Literally.
The front door swings open, and a cooling breeze finds its way into my shirt buttons, chilling the heat building in my chest.
“What’s up, sweet lips? Cappuccino and double espresso to go, please!”
Mother’s eyes refused to leave mine until she turns away, and suddenly everything that happened disappears into thin air. She pops one hip out and leans on her elbows, pushing her chest forward and into the empty space between her arms. I ignore the fear of what would happen as soon as I get home and begin making the drinks for the man in the builder’s gear.
Mother flirts with the man, the man flirts with her. He takes a napkin and slips his phone number over to her which she shoves into her bra. I force myself next to mother as I hand the drinks over to the man who smells overwhelmingly strong of bathroom cologne.
Being this close to my mother is never comfortable, let alone never knowing what is going through her mind at any given time. The man waves to her as he leaves us alone in the café once again, and I’m not willing to hear about this again, not here, not now.
I scoop all my ingredients together to make my usual coffee, the machine whirring as my hands shake. Syrup drips off the side of my tumbler, milk spills over the bench and drips onto the floor, I burn my coffee ever so slightly, leaving a harsh aroma which only adds to the bitter cold between her and me.
With a rapid mix of a spoon I found on the side, I place the lid on to the tumbler, my hands slipping and sliding until the lid clicks into place, and I silently carry myself into the staff room.
Breathe, Sawyer, breathe.
I sink into the sofa, the tear in the cushion causing the material underneath me to feel uneven and awkward. I sip on my coffee as I exhale, trying to calm myself because I still have a whole day trapped here with her, that’s if she even stays past twelve.
My drink never tastes the same when it’s rushed. The coffee overwhelms my mouth with its bitter flavour, the layers of syrup which haven’t fully mixed lather against my tongue and the milk feels thin since I didn’t have enough time to allow for it to froth and become the fluffy texture that I always love.
I feel my eyes drifting, the room getting darker and there’s a sudden sense of peace. Silence, except for the distant rattling of the fridge. My brunette curls tickle against my forehead as I roll my head back, serving as a constant reminder that I can’t sleep. I can’t sleep this away.
I need to get it together and get back out there. I can’t keep avoiding her because that’s when she will come and find me, that’s when she will need to know where I am, who I am with, and what I am thinking because if all of that is not what she wants me to have and to be, then it’ll never be good enough.
I down what I have left of my coffee, the warm, thickness of this syrupy concoction encasing my throat. I focus on my breathing; it feels like one of the only things I ever have control of.
In for three, hold for three, out for three.
My hand wraps around the handle – in for three, hold for three – my breath hitches with the sudden pushing force on the other side of the door. I stumble backwards and into the storage shelves as my mother powers through the door and snatches her handbag, digging and digging.
“Are you alright? What are you looking for?”
I rub my palm over my lower back, a swelling already appearing from the impact.
“I’m off. Got somewhere to be.”
She clutches her phone from her bag and taps a sequence of numbers, following a message. He only left the café minutes ago. Before I can speak, she snaps out a, “See you.”
Her words drift out of the fire exit door which slams itself shut. I don’t know why I always think that she will stay, but the disappointment still settles itself in. I can’t leave the café empty for this long.
In, hold, out.
I attempt to leave the staffroom again and continue my day, disappearing into mugs and cups of the deepest, richest, coffee.
Person after person, the odd smile that I could force which leads to coins in my tip jar, cheerful conversations which are definitely more beneficial for those over the counter than for me, and finally the day is coming to an end – seven minutes until close.
I pace around the café and collect all the dirty mugs from those who chose to sit in.
Six minutes.
I gather the spray and cloth and wipe down the few tables we have and prop the chairs upside down, ready for me to sweep.
minutes.
I amass all my washing by the dishwasher and begin to load the trays.
Four minutes. Ding, ding.
The front door waves open and is shut carefully behind whoever just strolled on in. I turn around, ready to explain that I am nearly closed.
“Hey babe, before you say it, I'm so sorry, I know that you close soon! Xander and I didn't finish our delivery round until just now and I'm dying for a coffee, this gorgeous girl needs her drink!”
Knowing that Gwen is going to be my last customer of the day rains a sense of relief over the day I have already dealt with.
Gwen has been my best friend for as long as I can remember, and practically an older sister to me, but only by a couple of months. We went all the way back to when we were a couple of six-year-olds, both of us trying to fit into one hula hoop together during break time at school. We ended up face down to the ground, both with bruised knees, but we haven't looked back since.
“Babe? That's new. Also, lock the front door!”
I begin making her drink as Gwen pops her head around the counter and grabs the keys hanging on a brass hook. She locks the front door and flips the sign to read ‘sorry, we're closed’.
“I'm keeping you on your toes! I don't want you getting used to ‘hun’ all the time!”
I slide across Gwen's iced latte as she rummages around for her purse in the bag dangling off her shoulder. Gwen is effortlessly pretty, no matter the situation. Her platinum blonde hair was clearly thrown up into a bun this morning, her darker roots on show as loose stands framed her natural beauty. She has a petite nose and light brown eyes which are framed by her sharp eyeliner and curled eyelashes, forcing your attention to be drawn to them. Her lips have a thin layer of pink gloss on them, the shimmer matching the pink diamond earrings she has in.
“I promise I have it! Did I leave it in the van?”
Gwen continues to dig around her bag as I glance at her uniform. Well, I say uniform loosely as a maroon fleece hangs from her shoulders with ‘The Sweet Bakery’ embroidered on the breast, yet she dons a white tee and black flared trousers. How does she even make slacks look good?
Gwen whoops louder than expected when she eventually finds her wallet, tapping her card and running around the counter. Her arms wrap around me and squeeze around my neck slightly. Her floral and vanilla perfume floods my nostrils before she pulls away.
We both lead very busy or strict lives so these moments, as quick as they are, mean a lot to the both of us. She has forever been my guardian angel, and I'd like to think I am hers.
Gwen waves me goodbye as she promises to text me, leaving through the back door. I crank my music up and shuffle from my café playlist into my regular playlist, a song blasting which forces back memories which I had silenced years ago.
The bouncy intro to First Time He Kissed a Boy by Kadie Elder begins to play, my mind rushing back to my lips on Rue's in the college art room closet.
He was my first and only physical interaction with a man, and it has to stay that way. He clearly wanted more than a kiss that day, judging by the way his hands trailed up my shirt and held my delicate frame, but everything my mother and father had said and did overwhelmed me. I couldn't enjoy him.
Instead, I pushed him away in that dark, cramped space, not realising a tower of blank canvas stood tall behind him which came tumbling down. Everything that day was safe, consensual, wanted, until it actually happened, and guilt riddled my body.
Knowing that my one chance has already come and gone, I skip the song. I need to close and get home.