9. Addy #2
I laugh. “Your father warned me about this.”
He looks pleased.
We settle in.
Oliver eats exactly two bites before looking at me with exaggerated patience.
I narrow my eyes. “You planned this.”
He chews. Swallows. “Can I go now?”
I sigh dramatically. “Yes. But I need to be able to see you.”
He nods and slides off the chair, blue plane in hand, already heading toward the toy corner where two other kids are building something unstable out of blocks.
I wrap my hands around my coffee cup and exhale slowly.
This is nice. It’s the kind of small, ordinary moment I haven’t had in what feels like forever.
A child happily occupied. Food and a warm seat by the window. No Bryce, motel, or airport humiliation.
I take a sip of coffee and nearly moan.
“Oh wow,” I whisper.
My phone buzzes beside my cup.
For one irrational second, I hope it's Luci saying something unhinged and supportive.
It isn't.
It's a social media notification, and because apparently I learn nothing, I tap it.
Immediately, there he is.
Bryce with his new girlfriend… again. This time, at the Harley-Davidson Museum. Not that I’m looking at the bikes in the background. I can’t stop eyeing her.
Perfect hair, perfect skin, hand on his arm like she’s proud of the man she’s attached herself to.
My chest caves in a little.
It’s stupid.
I know it’s stupid.
I know he’s awful.
But it still hurts.
Humiliation always has this weird afterlife. It doesn’t stay politely in the moment. It keeps showing up later, in tiny ugly flashes, asking if maybe the cruel thing someone said about you was secretly true.
More stable.
More suitable.
Less noise.
I stare at the screen too long, throat tight.
Then a voice says, “He’s not worth crying over if his shoes look like that.”
I blink and look up.
It’s the girl from the counter, balancing a cloth and a spray bottle against one hip as she wipes the next table.
“I’m sorry?”
She nods toward the screen. “That man. The loafers alone tell me everything I need to know.”
And before I can stop it, I laugh. A real laugh. Sharp and sudden and completely dragged out of me.
“Oh my goodness,” I say, locking my phone and setting it facedown. “That’s horrible.”
“And yet,” she says, arching an eyebrow, “Accurate.”
She grins and drops into the empty chair across from me for half a second, still holding the spray bottle like she’s technically working and therefore innocent.
“I’m Sophie,” she says. “And I’m only interfering because you had the expression of a woman either contemplating murder or re-downloading a dating app, and I wanted to stop you before the second one.”
I stare at her. Then smile despite myself. “Addy.”
“Nice to meet you, Addy. Tragic ex?”
“Is it that obvious?”
She looks at me with immense pity. “Babe. You looked at your phone like it had personally betrayed your bloodline.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Worse, probably.”
I laugh again, softer this time.
Sophie nods toward Oliver in the toy corner. “Yours?”
“No. Nanny.”
Her face brightens. “Oh, thank goodness. I was trying to figure out the timeline, and frankly, it was stressful.”
I snort into my coffee.
“He’s adorable, though,” she says.
“He is.”
“Rich people kid?”
I nearly choke.
“I… why would you assume that?”
She gestures vaguely toward my entire situation. “You have that look.”
“That’s not a real answer.”
“No, but it's a real skill.” She leans in slightly. “Also, his jacket probably costs more than my rent.”
I glance toward Oliver. Damn it, she’s not wrong.
“Okay,” I admit. “Yes.”
Sophie sits back, deeply pleased with herself. “I knew it.”
“It’s my first day,” I say, surprising myself by saying it aloud. “I just moved in. I’m still figuring things out.”
She tilts her head. “And the ex situation?”
I hesitate.
Because ordinarily I wouldn't tell a stranger anything. But there’s something about Sophie that feels instantly easy. Like she doesn’t need a curated version of events. Like she’ll take the mess as is and hand me back the funny parts.
So I say, “He dumped me at the airport.”
Her eyes widen. “No.”
“Yes.”
“At the airport airport?”
“Yes. We were supposed to move here together.”
“Like with luggage?”
“Yes, because he was cheating on me.”
“Before a flight?”
“Yes!”
She slaps a hand over her heart. “Oh, he’s garbage.”
“I know.”
“At the airport is psychotic behavior. That’s not even regular cheating. That’s theater.”
I laugh so hard I have to put my cup down.
“Right?” I say. “Thank you.”
“No, seriously. If a man humiliates you in public while TSA is nearby, he should be legally required to pay damages.”
“Can I quote you on that?”
“Please do.”
I glance toward Oliver again. He’s now crouched beside another little boy, apparently engaged in a highly specific airport scenario involving blocks and what looks like a toy giraffe.
My heart softens a little.
“He likes it here,” Sophie says, following my gaze.
“Yeah.”
“And you needed a minute.”
I look back at her. There’s no judgment in it. Just observation. Kindness without fuss, which, weirdly, is exactly what I need right now.
“I really did,” I admit.
She stands, resuming her wiping like this was never a conversation, and she hasn't just single-handedly interrupted my spiral. “Well, you’re welcome to borrow the café as needed. We have coffee, carbs, and very strong opinions about men.”
“That sounds medically useful.”
“It is.”
She starts to move away, then pauses. “Also?”
“Yeah?”
“Whatever that guy said to make you look like that when you opened your phone…” Her voice softens just slightly. “He was wrong.”
And just like that, my throat tightens again.
Not in the sharp, humiliating way from before.
In the softer, stranger way kindness sometimes gets you when you’re already holding on by your fingernails.
I smile. “Thanks.”
Sophie nods once and heads back to the counter.
I sit there, hands wrapped around my coffee, staring at absolutely nothing.
Then I look down at my phone.
Still face down, there, capable of ruining my mood if I let it.
I slide it into my bag.
Nope, not today.
Today I’m in Chicago, I have a job, and I’m feeding a child grilled cheese in a café with toy blocks, and accidentally making new friends.
Bryce can go be emotionally aerodynamic somewhere else.
I take another sip of coffee.
Then glance toward Oliver, who’s now absolutely thriving.
“Okay,” I murmur to myself. “Maybe this city doesn’t hate me after all.”
By the time Oliver has finished his grilled cheese, half his hot chocolate, and whatever deeply serious construction project he was running in the toy corner, he's much happier.
Which is lucky, because I'm now invested in keeping him that way.
“Did you have fun?” I ask as I wipe a tiny milk mustache off his face with a napkin.
He tolerates this with the grim dignity of a child already inconvenienced by adulthood. “Yes.”
“Good. Because I needed this to go well for my self-esteem.”
He nods. “The grilled cheese was good.”
“I’m thrilled. Truly.”
I stand and gather our things. “Say goodbye to the blocks.”
He looks back once, like a man leaving a great love behind. “Goodbye.”
We head for the door.
As we pass the counter, Sophie lifts a hand. “See you around, airport trauma girl.”
I grin. “See you around, coffee psychic.”
Oliver looks between us. “Do you know her?”
“Now I do,” I say.
He seems to accept this as one of the many confusing but inevitable realities of adult life.
Outside, it’s cooler now, the afternoon softening toward evening. The city shines a little at the edges.
We cross back toward the building.
“Did you like the café?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Good. I feel like it may become part of our survival plan.”
He thinks about this. “Can we go again?”
I smile. “Almost definitely.”
“And can we have pancakes tomorrow?”
I look down at him.
Then laugh.
“Oh, sweetheart,” I say. “You really do know how to negotiate.”