Chapter Ten
We miss Sol. ):
Roman
One thing I’ve always admired about Elodie is the enthusiasm she puts into her work.
Even before her phone call last Saturday scared the life out of me—her delicate, frightened voice making me realize that I don’t just care about her in a this-person-matters-to-me-because-she-matters-to-my-people way that I thought I did, but instead in a this-person-matters-to-me-because-she-matters-to- me way—I was proud, at work, to say that I know her beyond the surface-level Elodie that the customers get.
She embraces every day at Sweet & Salty with an eagerness that borders on zeal, greeting customers with her megawatt Elodie smile and lifting them from morning crankies to laughter, brightening not just the café, but the entire community with her sunshine.
I’ve never seen someone who can deescalate an angry, uncaffeinated customer so smoothly, or small talk with a harried mother so gracefully.
It’s talent, how she interacts with people and, more, how she contributes to the atmosphere in such a positive way.
Before we had Elodie at the uptown location, our numbers were good, but we were always behind by a decent margin compared to our downtown store.
We just weren’t pulling people in the way they were, despite being in a higher-traffic area.
The mystery of it plagued us—me, my manager, and the owner—for years until Elodie moved in with me and transferred locations for an easier commute.
It took about three months for the numbers to reflect what we were already experiencing in real time as Sweet & Salty Downtown lost customers, only for them to find their way Uptown instead, gravitating back toward Elodie’s light. Moths to their sun.
The people love her, and it’s clear why.
She greets every one of them with a genuine smile, taking time to remember their names, their faces, and whatever crumbs of personal information they offer, asking about kids and pets and hobbies with a confidence backed up by never mixing anyone up or getting her facts wrong.
It almost makes me feel bad for the customers who’ve fallen into my line this afternoon, their eyes darting toward Elodie’s, yearning for her brightness instead of my more… straightforward approach to fulfilling orders during a rush.
“What do you want?” I ask the woman at the front of my line, pulling on everything I have in me to be patient as she reads the menu behind my head.
At the counter. When it’s time to order.
And she had plenty of time in the line to peruse the offerings.
And if, somehow, she didn’t have time in line during our most packed hour of the day, she had ample opportunity to step out of the line until she was done looking at the menu.
Not that they ever freaking do that.
My eye twitches as the woman um s and uh s, and I’m about four seconds from choosing her order for her when Elodie comes to her rescue, bumping her hip into mine as she leaves her register to grab a muffin from the pastry case.
“Don’t mind him,” she says to my customer.
“We usually keep him in the back, you know, because he can be a little grumpy.”
The woman glances at me, blinking at my scowl. I don’t think she realized I was grumpy until Elodie said something. She’s got real head empty vibes.
“He’s not so bad, though,” Elodie assures, lying through her teeth.
“He’s the one who makes the food, you know.
Killer lemon muffins.” She grabs one from the case, holding it up for her to see before tucking it into one of the brown paper bags we use for to-go orders.
“You should try one! They go great with an Earl Grey, or, if you’re a coffee girlie, a medium roast.”
She comes back around me to hand the bag to a waiting mother, who nods her agreement, saying, “Best muffins in the city. And beyond. You’re missing out if you don’t have one!”
She’s missing out if she doesn’t order in the next ten seconds, because I’m refusing service and moving on to people who know what they want before they get to the ordering portion of the café experience.
“That does sound, look, and smell delicious,” the woman says, eyeing the pastry case where the rest of the muffins are stored. “I’m sold. I’ll take two, and two Earl Greys.”
Perfect.
I ring her up, grab her muffins and her tea, and send her packing with a huge, head-empty smile on her face, which she throws at Elodie, telling her to have a nice day.
And I’ll just have the day I have, I guess, since that’s the third person from my line to wish Elodie goodness and me nothing.
Probably for the best, all things considered, because I do not have the same appreciation or patience for these idiots as Elodie does.
I want them gone so I can get back to the kitchen where I belong.
I count my line. Three people, and no one has come into the shop in the last thirty seconds.
It’s slowing down. Which means these three people, then I can return to my empty kitchen.
I will be back to the comfort of my stainless steel countertops and bakery racks, leaving behind the dark wood and glass cases of the shop floor.
Beside me, Elodie beams at the next man in line. “Paul! It’s so good to see you! You want your regular?”
“Absolutely I do,” Paul says, grinning. His eyes wander to me and widen. “Sol’s not here with you?”
I watch Elodie’s smile go brittle as she pokes at the screen of her order pad and replies, “No, no Sol here. He’s moved away, actually. Now I work with this guy.” She points a thumb at me, attempting levity. “Sol’s antithesis.”
An apt description.
Paul, not noticing Elodie’s shift in mood, barely glances at me. “That’s too bad,” he says. “I really liked Sol.”
My nose scrunches as I snag an apple fritter from the case, dropping it into a bag.
Yeah, dude, it’s so sad that you don’t get to see Sol.
Not that Elodie is missing her brother and is now stuck working with me, the opposite of him.
Poor you, unable to have double sunshine when you’re getting your coffee.
Having to make do with only Elodie shining on your Sweet & Salty trip?
What a struggle you’re going through. Sniff sniff, sob sob, a moment of sorrow for Paul .
The general population is full of insensitive morons.
“Sol’s a great guy,” Elodie says, smile as plastic as her voice. “He’s working at an offshoot café in West Virginia now, so if you’re ever that way…” she trails off, handing him his coffee.
“West Virginia,” Paul mutters. “Huh.”
“You have a nice day, Paul! I hope to see you soon!”
She’s such a lying liar.
Once Paul is gone, things in the café shift significantly. No longer are we bombarded with people vying for caffeine and treats. No longer is Elodie having to act like Paul’s feelings about Sol leaving matter one single bit.
“Have you talked to Sol lately?” I ask, pulling the empty trays from the display case to clean. Trays with goods still on them get a quick crumb cleanup, but are otherwise fine for now. I’ll gather what’s left at the end of the shift and drop it off at a local women’s shelter on my way home.
“Not really,” Elodie mumbles, organizing the coffee station. “I talked to him when I visited for the wedding.”
The wedding of her cousin to the man who slashes people’s tires. If I had known about the tire slashing before she left that weekend, I am not so sure I would have let her go alone…
“That was in June,” I comment, keeping my eyes on my work. “It’s August now.”
“It is August now,” she agrees. “Very good job. And after August comes…”
“Kind of a long time to not talk to him, is all I’m saying.
If Ruby and I didn’t talk for two months…
” It’s bad enough that she’s no longer right down the hall when I want to talk to her.
If she’d moved states? And then we barely spoke?
I shiver, not loving the thought. “Well, Ruby and I wouldn’t.
But I didn’t think you and Sol would either. You guys okay?”
“September,” she deadpans. “That’s what comes after August. September.”
“You could visit him, you know,” I say. “We can make do without you here for a couple of days, and I happen to know that your landlord isn’t all that strict on rent payments, so money shouldn’t be a problem.”
Truthfully, her landlord—AKA me—wouldn’t have ever charged her any rent if he could have afforded it.
As it is, she’s paying double what I actually need, because she said that’s what she paid at her old apartment with her brother.
And, since she’s moved to Sweet & Salty Downtown, I don’t even really need her rent at all anymore.
The store is making enough income these days and getting such a higher influx of work that I was able to negotiate a raise that covers the amount I get from Elodie every month.
Elodie didn’t much care that I no longer needed rent from her when I told her and incessantly wires money to me on the first of each month anyway.
Unsure what else to do, I’ve been putting it all into a savings account, letting it sit there accruing interest for the day she lets me give it back to her.
“Yeah,” she says, noncommittal. “I might go see him.”
I frown as, face blank, she rubs at an imaginary spot on the espresso machine.
“Elo—”
I’m cut off by her alarm blaring from her pocket.
Her eyes widen when she looks at the clock. She curses. “I’m gonna be late.” She removes her apron in a flurry of movement, braids flying as she looks around the shop. “Where’s Carla?”
Carla being her relief so that she can clock out. Carla also being not here, despite Elodie’s rising stress.
“She’ll be here,” I say, trying to soothe, following Elodie to the employees-only door, where she hovers, glancing between the counter and the hallway where Carla should be appearing.
A second alarm goes off. A second curse said in her fairy-sweet voice.
“I’ll cover the front,” I offer. “You can go to your quicksand survival class.”
I have no clue what sorts of classes she’s actually going to every week, but that seems in line with the sort of hobbies she takes up. Maybe even tame compared to what she’s usually up to.
One last frantic peek down the hall, and she hunches in on herself. “Okay,” she agrees as a third alarm rings. “Thanks.”
She doesn’t sound all that thankful, but I let it slide in favor of making sure she stays safe, even though I know she’ll feel some type of way about it. I wonder, though, if I just…
My hand rises to tinker with one of two health-and-food-safety compliant braids in her hair, letting the softness of it glide against my skin as I wrap it around my fist. “Stay safe in your commute, okay?”
She stares at me for several long moments she cannot afford, then answers, “I’m always safe in my commute. I’m not stupid.”
“Mm,” I agree, eyes catching on her blue, which barely contain the irritation she feels, my hand in her hair serving to soothe only me.
A pity.
I don’t remove it as I reply, “Don’t ride your bike home. It’ll be dark by the time you’re on your way, and it’s not safe. Catch the bus or, if the bus isn’t running, call me. Yes? Promise?”
She grinds her teeth, nose scrunching. “Promise,” she grits. “Not that I need to, since, again, I’m not stupid. ”
Stupid or not, she is pretty. And pretty women are not safe in the city. Intelligence has nothing to do with it. Is it too much that, for peace of mind, I remind us both of the precautions she’ll take? I don’t think so.
“If you’re done,” she sniffs, tugging her braid from my grasp, “I have to go .”
I nod. “Remember. Safety. Bus. No biking in the dark.”
She rolls her eyes, shooting down the hallway to the office, where her backpack is. “Goodbye, Salty!” she calls. “Don’t screw up my register while I’m gone!”
The door to the employees-only area swings shut after her and I return to the counter, busying myself with cleaning and reorganizing her drawer as I listen for the sound of her leaving out the back, which comes quickly in the form of a door slamming.
Carla arrives not long after that, and I return to the kitchen, where I prep for tomorrow’s menu and accept a delivery from our supplies guy before helping close up shop.
As I leave, I eye the bright, sunny sky and will it to hold its summer sun long enough for Elodie to not even have to worry about the sunset.
Unfortunately, the sun’s never been much good about listening to me.