Nine
Sawyer
I can’t get that man out of my head as I bury myself in the duvet, creating a personal cave hidden from the world. Avory Bright, who ironically is dimming every other thought of mine as he stands front and centre in my brain, turns up for five whole minutes and yet takes over my every thought.
Is he attractive? Hell yes.
Is he a genuine person? You never know with someone after only five minutes but something about those piercing blue eyes tells me he is.
Do I hope that he comes back in so I can see him again? Yes. No. I want him to. He can’t. Even if there is anything there, which I’m pretty sure there isn’t because I don’t even know if he likes men the same way I unfortunately do, we cannot be anything.
I cannot be with a man, I need to force him out and far, far away from my mind because I will not be the reason that my mother – who’s currently faking everything in the next room for some unlucky guy’s amusement – doesn’t get the dream she wants.
My identity already ruined our perfect family and its dream. My decisions propelled my father to leave and practically threw my mother into the arms of any man around, so how could I ever approach her with a man as my partner? Someone who would forever rub in her face what I am and that this is what caused everything around us?
I couldn’t.
This doesn’t stop the thoughts of Avory flooding my mind though as I eventually drift away into the night. I’ll figure out how to stop these thoughts tomorrow.
“Cappuccino, please!”
“Double espresso and hurry!”
“Caramel low-fat latte with almond milk, and a strawberry tart. Thank you!”
“Four large lattes quickly, I have a meeting to get to!”
“Tea, English with cow’s milk.”
“Good morning, Sawyer. Black coffee and a croissant, please!”
Monday mornings. Where the traffic jams of early hour commuters make their all-important pitstop into Sombre’s Café for the assemblage of coffee orders with a side of overwhelming noise from the various voices, ringtones and tapping of shoes on the hardwood floors.
Anxiety always bubbles to the surface on mornings like this as manners are tossed away for most, I am placed beneath everyone and remembering to breathe becomes a task for later me.
Waves of steam travel over and throughout my button up shirt, the gap between each button acting like vents and cooling me ever so slightly, but not enough to make me feel comfortable. When hiding my front from the lanes of customers growing inside the Café, I undo my top buttons, the beginnings of my collarbones peeking through while a sense of relief wafts over me.
My throat finally relaxes, and a deep breath fills my lungs, the shirt pulling tight against my chest until a strong exhale exits through my mouth.
This process continues: turn, inhale, strong exhale, turn back. It continues until the last woman takes her order and struts away with a bounce in each step. The emptiness has never been more welcome than right now.
The machines fall silent, I place my sole focus into filling and emptying my lungs, and the door remains shut. Having no one sit in so early in the morning, the café remains pristine, so the machines are going once more, but this time for me.
I grab the largest mug I can find, one that was gifted to me by a local for my eighteenth birthday, which has an S painted on the side, surrounded by doodles of leaves and branches in pastel colours. I fill it to the brim, a slight trickle of frothy milk trailing down the side of the mug as I bring it to my mouth and sip away. My eyes flutter as I continue to sip away at my drink, the front doorbell having never seemed so obnoxious as it throws me back into reality.
I duck under the counter to grab a napkin, dragging it across my mouth and chin, before rising back to my height to serve.
He’s here.
He’s standing on the other side of the counter again and that great big ball of anxiety welcomes itself back into my throat. He knows nothing about me, about my life, and he doesn’t need to, because this, whatever this is, isn’t going to go anywhere. It can’t.
“Hey again.”
His voice is soft and clear, a gentle and calming tone follows with that same smile from before. That same smile which forces the ball in my throat to ease into nothing, as a wave of relief begins to envelop me.
This has never happened before. This feeling never goes away until one of two circumstances commence: I either surrender and crumble into a pile, overwhelming heat and boiling anxiety which finally bubbles over and floods my senses, or I distract myself so much that it gets forgotten. I have never felt it casually ease away from me, and that was because of Avory Bright.
“Hi, what can I get you?”
I try my best to hide the trembling in my voice.
“The same as before please, if you remember. If not, I can tell you?”
Of course, I remember – a three shot, dark roast, cow’s milk coffee and an iced oat latte with hazelnut syrup – but my own mouth stumbles in front of me before I can overthink my answer to avoid as much conversation as possible.
“Could you remind me, please? Monday mornings are just so busy…”
My voice trails off and Avory’s is just background noise. I don’t understand why I couldn’t stop my mouth from rambling ahead of me, but I use these few moments I have between finishing my question and Avory finishing his answer to just look at him. Take him all in.
Standing in front of me is a stunning man. A dark dress sense which he decorates with silver chains hugging his hips, waist, and neck. Waves of hair which resonate greatly with The Great Waves off Kanagawa – my favourite artwork.
His frame, body, build, while hidden by clothing pieces which are far too big for him, is the canvas and everything else about him is the art, and he is the most gorgeous piece of artwork. A piece you would frame in something delicate yet beautiful, most likely gold, too.
My heart screams with wishing my arms could be that something delicate. To hold him, touch him, the thoughts of his rough fingertips on mine still lingering and I can’t shut it up. I can’t keep thinking about this. My heart shrieks with a piercing tone for a chance to get to know Avory, my mind pounds at my skull at even the slightest thought of what could happen if I did.
“I’ll get that made for you now.”
“Sure, thanks, Sawyer.”
Damn you, Avory Bright. Just hearing my name coming out of those pastel pink lips with the slightest pout to them sounds beautiful. I have always hated my name, I’m sure being bullied in school with the nickname ‘Sawyer Sauce’ has something to do with my loathing towards it. Awful word play.
Silence rings loud between us as the machines whirl and ping, both cups sitting on the counter and waiting.
“So, how long have you been in Tetherton, Sawyer?”
Is he trying to find any reason to talk to me? Why does he want to talk to me? Of course, I open my mouth and use far too many words to answer a straightforward question.
“My whole life. I was born and raised here, and now I’m running the family café here.”
“Huh, Sombre’s café. Well Sawyer Sombre has a very nice ring to it, if I may say.”
No, you may not say because the more you say, the more I want to know, but I cannot and will not know more about you, Avory Bright, because you cannot be in my life. You are a roadblock on the road that has been paved for me. If I even think about taking a pitstop at station Avory Bright, then the rest of that road will be destroyed and how else will my mother drive on? How will she ever drive on if I destroy the last road she has to ride?
“Thank you, Avory.”
As I begin to put through his order on the till, I can feel his eyes on me. I can feel that aquamarine gaze of his landing all over me, a warmth growing wherever he looks. If my entire body could blush, it would be the brightest shade of scarlet right now. Is he possibly, maybe, ever so slightly checking me out? I hope not, this’ll make everything so much more complicated.
He taps his phone for payment, grabs his drinks after asking if it’s possible to have a drinks holder, and turns to me once more before leaving.
“Since you know Tetherton so well, care to be my guide around the town?”
My lips part as I try to say anything, any string of words that can get across that I can’t do this.
“Where’s the first place you’d suggest I go? Other than here, obviously.”
He laughs to himself, his face falling to the floor before meeting my eyes again, and those eyes cause my mouth to begin to ramble without my mind understanding why.
“Well, obviously there’s the coast which is gorgeous early in the mornings, or there’s The Sweet Bakery just off the high street who serve the most delicious pastries, or—”
As I mindlessly wipe the counters, my eyes following the cloth’s creases sway and bend with the flicks of my wrist, Avory leans against the counter and his seasoned cologne tingles my nose. I turn myself away, quietly cursing to myself for allowing myself to ramble.
“Hey, are you okay?”
Avory’s head cocks to the side, his waves of jet hair laying over the top of his shoulder. I stumble over my words, avoiding Avory’s being as much as possible.
“Yes, I’m fine really, I just can’t get myself to shut up it seems, I mean you’re a customer, you come in here to grab your drinks and go and—”
Avory is no longer leaning on the counter as a sudden warmth develops on the back of my hand. His hand, Avory’s hand is resting on top of mine as he speaks, and my heart sticks in my throat.
“It’s nice talking to you, Sawyer. I’d happily listen to you talk.”
Avory’s hand pulls away from mine, his warmth lingering on the back of my palm, my hand pinning the cloth to the bench. I can’t bring a sound past my lips as Avory walks towards the door, yet he turns back once more.
“Thanks again, Sawyer! My uncle has fallen for your coffee so looks like you’ve got to put up with me.”
He flicks the hair out of his face in one smooth motion before winking and turning away.
The warmth he imprinted on me turns into heat, heat which someone is pouring more and more fuel onto. It is growing and growing and at this point, I can’t figure out a way to turn it down.
The anxiety bubbles to the surface again, but this pot is so close to boiling over that I have to call her. My hands fumble over the screen as I select her name and bring the phone to my ear.
“Hey, it’s me. Are you free to pop over to the café? I could really do with a chat… Yeah, she’s not here today.”
The café is a ghost town for most of the day, so after making us a round of drinks, we sit in the window seat and people watch as we talk. I keep my knees tucked up under my chest and sip slowly.
“So, you like this boy… Avory?”
“Yes, no, maybe. I want to, but I can’t. Gwen, I’ve met him twice! I don’t even know if he’s—”
“Gay?”
I lift my head from stirring the foam around in my mug and look towards Gwen. She turned up in a pale blue crop top, trousers which are rolled to above her ankles, and a knitted cardigan rests over her shoulders.
“Yes, gay, or bi, or anything, but you know that I can’t do anything with this—”
Gwen interrupts what was about to be a massive ramble of words similar to word vomit.
“Hun, when will you start thinking about you?”
She gestures to all of me before grabbing my hand and rubbing her thumb over the back of it.
“Gwen, you know I can’t. You know that she won’t let me, she won’t allow any of this. I’ve already ruined enough in her life; I can’t ruin this too.”
She stops rubbing her thumb and begins pressing every freckle sprinkled along my hand – she’s always loved playing dot-to-dot on them. Her eyes don’t leave my hands.
“You know that if anything happened, Xander and I would take you in a heartbeat, right?”
She peers up from my hands and smiles, her dimples appearing either side of her grin.
Gwen and Xander live together above their bakery, and I remember the many after school trips over to theirs for all of the gossiping and chatting about boys on Gwen's bed filled with pretty pillows.
“I know, but I couldn’t put that pressure on you guys, and I would still have here to deal with…”
My voice trails off as my mind is overrun with everything that could happen if she even finds out about this conversation.
Gwen pulls her watch to her face as she realises it’s time to get back to the bakery – we didn’t realise how quick the time had sped from us.
“One last thing, hun, take a look at this! Is this your guy?”
She slides over a black poster with two figures outlined in white. One stands tall with an open shirt, stocky build and microphone in hand, while the other stands ever so slightly shorter, smaller build and a large, electric guitar in both hands. Is that…?
“Bright Lights?”
I look up at Gwen as she towers over my chair, her hair nearly tickling my eyebrows.
“Yeah, a brand-new band whose posters are spreading like wildfire. Their first gig was apparently amazing, and look here,”
she leans over me and points to the small text underneath the band name, it reads Marcus and Avory Bright.
“Oh my god, that’s him.”
“Then you definitely have yourself a keeper.”
Gwen winks at me before planting a kiss on my cheek, her lip balm leaving a sticky mark. “Please oh please, eat something, drink some water, take a deep breath and think about it, or him, your choice! You know where we are, always for you.”
The pestering ringing of the front door goes as Gwen leaves, waving her way out and down the street we were just staring out at.
Bright Lights, huh? I yank my phone out from my pocket and google the band, multiple clips, photos and links coming up of Marcus and Avory. My bottom lip tugs between my teeth as I browse anything I can find.