37. No Fancy Shit
Chapter 37
No Fancy Shit
Seven Months Later
I look out at the cars lined up on the drive-through side, and the line of people on the walk-up side, then regret the time it took me to do so. Sage and I work as fast as we can to push out the orders, but people still come. As a server, I’ve been in the weeds, running around like I was on fire, plenty of times. But not once did I savor the rush like I do now, feeling more of a thrill than stress. I know it won’t be like this every day, so I soak it up while it lasts.
“You know it won’t be long before Mike finally calls Dad to let him know. If he hasn’t already,” Sage says behind me. Her hair, tied high on her head, is blue to match our shirts.
I smile and press the button to start the blender. “I can’t wait ’til he does.”
Surprisingly, Dad agreed to my deal and let me move into Grandma’s house for the time being. I don’t know if it truly was a weight off his shoulders, but he claimed it to be, and I’ve laid new flooring, removed wallpaper, painted rooms, and even knocked a wall down. I have no idea what I’m doing when it comes to remodeling. But I have Nick.
And Sage, occasionally. Her and Brian’s relationship is rocky, on one month, off the next. When things are off, she stays with me at the farm.
My relationship with my mom and dad has improved tremendously. They agreed to attend a few family therapy sessions with me, and we’ve learned a lot about each other’s boundaries and how to go forward. But there’s still a war to be won with Dad, although with less ruthless tactics than I had originally planned.
Instead of a building, I decided a trailer would be the smarter choice. If sales aren’t doing great in one area, I can move it somewhere else. I can also take it to festivals, if they allow food trucks, and drive customers to Sage’s table.
The upfront costs were much lower than a building as well, and because I bought the enclosed trailer that belonged to my grandparents from Dad at a discount, I had even more money to put towards equipment. I asked the owner of the empty lot next to the diner if I could rent it for the week to prove my point to Dad, and today is my grand opening. For this location, anyway.
After this week, I’ll rent a spot month-to-month closer to Grandma’s house, which, as it turns out, isn’t far from Nick’s mom.
After Sage agreed to be my partner, we grew the brand by attending craft shows and markets and drove traffic to the website where we receive more orders by the day. It was slow at first but picked up after a few months, and every penny I saved went into the coffee trailer.
It’s twenty feet long with a fresh coat of white paint, and the name, “Coffee Break” in black letters. There’s a dark wooden ledge on the outside of the walk-up window, and a chalkboard menu on both sides.
As for Sam, he quit his job. He gambled away all of his money and now lives unemployed at Kenna’s house. I think they’re happy, though. He keeps the house clean and makes dinner while wondering if Kenna is actually at work or not. He texts Tyler and Callum every once in a while, but they haven’t warmed back up to him yet.
I’ve forgiven him, though. Because I still believe that I could have been better. Thing is, we just weren’t right for each other. I can’t blame him for all the issues in our relationship because it’s hard to be with someone who’s insecure. I’m not accepting any of the treatment as what I deserved, just that I’m not blameless. And that’s okay because I’ve accepted that I don’t need to be perfect to be worthy.
Eventually, the rush slows and I serve the last customer in line. Dad stands about twenty feet away with his arms crossed. I smile and wave as nicely as I can and call out, “Welcome to Coffee Break. What can I get for you? My favorite is anything caramel and it pairs nicely with a chocolate chip scone.”
He walks to the window, scanning the menu to the side with a judging eye.
“I see Mike called to tattle on me,” I say, wiping down the surface covered in milk.
“You’ve made your point. Are you through stealing my customers?”
“You stole my ideas.”
“I didn’t steal them, you gave them willingly.”
“Under the impression that I’d be compensated. With the position, at the very least.”
He exhales loudly. “This was months ago, we’ve gone over this a million times. When are you going to let it go?”
“You hurt me, Dad.”
My parents didn’t seem to know what to do with a timid child, always telling me to “Stop being so shy,” or “Speak up,” or apologizing to people when I was reserved. I took it personally, feeling shame and regret that I wasn’t who they wanted me to be. I may have tried to make up for what I lacked in personality by always following the rules, never making more sound than was necessary, taking up as little space as I could, and never being the cause of stress for my parents.
I learned not to defy them in any way, to give them what they wanted, and to look for their approval in everything I did. This only taught me to ignore my instincts and not trust my own feelings, because disregarding their suggestions only led to Dad’s wrath and Mom’s silent treatment.
Stephanie was right when she said, “Your confidence is your responsibility.” As difficult as that lesson is to learn, and as much as I wish we didn’t have to harden ourselves to shield against the cruel words that are sure to be hurled our way, I have to fight for myself. I used to say that Grandma was my anchor. When she was gone, I relied on Hailey, then Nick. But I’m my own anchor now. I’ve figured out how to be that for myself and learned so much over the past year. We all have.
Dad finally meets my gaze. “I’m sorry, Cori. I didn’t think you’d be able to handle the pressure once business picked up after the trial was over. You were moody and standoffish. And I realize now why, but I thought it would be best to put someone with real experience behind the counter. Maybe it was the wrong thing to do, but I’d like to say it’s what led you here. Because I always knew you’d do something amazing.”
While his words set in, he looks back at the menu and peeks behind me inside.
“I had wondered what you wanted this trailer for. I saw a video of someone transforming a bus into a tiny house, I thought that might be what you were doing. How did you keep this from us?”
I lift a shoulder. “It’s not hard when all we talk about are my failures.” That was harsh because things have significantly improved with Dad, but I still needed to say it.
Another customer walks up and Dad steps aside to let me help them.
After they leave, smiling and holding a drink carrier with four coffee beverages and a bag with chocolate chip cookies, Dad steps up again and orders a cup of “normal coffee, no fancy shit.” I decide to change the name on the menu as soon as the day is over.
“How do you have so many customers on your first day?”
Sage says behind me, “We advertised the crap out of the opening day.” Through the blog, coupons, and flyers at a market held just down the road.
He nods and takes a sip, then raises his brows at the cup, impressed with the flavor. “So, do you think you’ll actually make money with this?”
“Not a lot, but hopefully a livable wage. We make plenty of money from the website too, you know.”
He studies me. “Is this what you’ve always wanted to do?”
“I’ve tried on many dreams, Dad. As you used to say, I was not made for customer service. It’s painful, even now, to be in front of people and to talk to them all day long. But at least I get to talk about coffee. There aren’t many jobs out there where you don’t have to talk to people. And I trust myself to make it work because… well, I don’t really have a choice now that I’ve invested so much. Plus, I have the greatest motivation pushing me onward.”
He tilts his head, waiting for the answer.
“To prove you wrong.”
That’s how I know I’m doing better—because when Dad tells me I can’t do something, instead of believing him like the old me did, I want to give him the finger.
I even wrote a poem about my newfound confidence and published it along with a few others in a small collection.
But I Can
I cannot sing with substantial range,
But I can forgive and turn the page.
I cannot dance with sophisticated motion,
But I can feel deeply every emotion.
I cannot play an instrument with any virtuosity,
But I can show kindness and generosity.
I cannot use any dexterity to paint,
But I can withhold a futile complaint.
I cannot recall formulas from memory,
But I can show patience and empathy.
Sometimes, God keeps our skills undecorated,
But even the littlest sparrow is celebrated.
Dad laughs, then nods his approval. But it doesn’t matter, because I don’t really need it.
My attention moves on anyway, to the dark-haired man stepping out of his truck. I haven’t seen him for a couple of weeks, not since he came to help me install a ceiling fan. I could have done it myself, but I’m terrified of electrocuting myself, and that may or may not be the excuse I used just so I could see him. He’s also the one who helped with the renovation of the trailer. We put in the flooring, finished the walls, and installed cabinets together; it’s not my idea of fun, but it was the most fun I’ve ever had.
We’re just friends, nothing more. Although, there have been a few moments where things almost progressed further. I can hope for one day, but insecurities don’t ever really go away—you just get better at dealing with them. He doesn’t share the details of his romantic relationships with me, but is it too much to hope there are no details to share?
We text each other often, usually funny memes, and gave each other Christmas gifts. For his birthday, I gave him a coffee mug with an airplane graphic that Sage drew and told him we’d get his mug collection caught up with mine soon. He looked pleadingly at the sky.
The frame he bought for my birthday last year hangs by the door of the trailer, ready for the dollar I had folded up in my pocket. I look at the frame now and wonder how I ever chose to stick with Sam. Nick showed me that I didn’t have to be perfect to be deserving of love, even if I didn’t love myself. Everyone needs someone like Nick in their life.
The conditions for my death remain—I don’t want a funeral when I die. Maybe instead of a funeral, my family and friends can dance on my grave, or wherever they dump my ashes if I’m cremated. They’ll have fun and no one can force me to participate.
I may be the quiet one, the less-expressive one, the one that gave up. But I’m also the one who came back to myself. In the end, I listened to that pull, that yearning in my chest, for something I wanted.
I never saw myself saying this, but I fought for myself. And in the end, I won.
* * *
“H ey,” I say, timidly, approaching the window. “How’s it been?”
“Amazing.” Sage comes up beside Cori and drapes her arm around Cori’s shoulders. “We’ve barely had a break all day. It’s slowing down now, getting too close to dinner time.”
“Don’t you have class tonight?” Cori asks.
“Yeah, but I wanted to come see you on your first day.”
Her cheeks flush in response.
“I was wondering if I could place an order?” I pull my wallet from my back pocket.
“Of course, but you’re not paying.”
“Then I’m not ordering.”
“Then I’ll just make a drink for you anyway. My choice.”
“Fine.”
She laughs and rolls her eyes before moving away from the window to drizzle something in a cup, and I use the distraction to hand Sage a ten-dollar bill. She puts the change in the tip jar without asking, but that’s where it was going anyway. I shake my head and smile.
I don’t notice that the man standing there is their dad, Stephen, until he says, “Nick, right?”
I tense, still pissed about how he treated Cori, but she’s mentioned how their relationship has improved. And the fact that he’s here, a Coffee Break cup in hand, says a lot. “Yeah. Good to see you.”
“How’s work? Still working at the machine shop?” I nod, and he asks another question. “You said you have class tonight? For what?”
I fill him in on the aviation technical school I’ve been attending for the past two months before Cori hands me my coffee.
“Oh, hey. Come in here real quick and help me,” she says. I say goodbye to her dad, who walks over to his diner, and meet Cori at the door of the trailer.
She takes the frame I gave her off the wall.
“Oh, hold on.” I take out my phone and click on the screen. Mine and Cori’s faces smile up at me from my background; it’s a picture we took at the baseball game, the evening before everything went to shit. I press the record button, snapping photos as it captures a video of Cori laying a dollar bill flat against the glass.
After snapping the back on, she turns it around. “Oh, shit. It’s upside down.”
I laugh. “Leave it. Hold it up.” She does and I snap a few more photos before Sage poses beside her. Then, Cori requests I take one of her and me.
“That’s my new screensaver,” I say afterward.
“Send it to me. It’ll be mine too.”
I grin and take her hand in mine as Sage excuses herself to greet the car that drove up.
I can’t help but stroke her soft skin with my thumb as I ask, “I should get going, but are you going to be open on Saturday?”
“Yeah, I’ll be here still. I move to the new spot on Monday.”
“Can I come to help you?”
“I’d like that.”
I bring the back of her hand to my lips while her other hand goes to the wall to brace herself. Smiling, I try not to let it go to my head that I still make her feel that way.
“I’m so proud of you. I hope you are too.” I head for my truck, but I steal a couple of glances over my shoulder to see her watching every step I take.
* * *
W hen Saturday arrives, I wake up at my usual time and wonder how Cori is handling these early mornings. I picture her, hair sticking up in all directions, half naked as she stumbles through the house in the dark, and wish I could be there to see it in person. She opens the trailer at six but has about an hour’s worth of prep beforehand. It’s almost comical how Cori’s personality is the exact opposite of what’s required of someone running a coffee trailer—outgoing and early riser.
I can’t thank her enough for allowing me to be there to witness the changes she’s made in herself. She’s still the shy, introverted woman I fell for, who reads more than she socializes and gets nervous talking to strangers. But she smiles freely and takes time to admire the beauty in the small things. She’s present in the moment and holds her head up high—at least most of the time. And she went for her dream. It may not be a brick coffee shop, but it’s more practical and seems to make her just as happy.
I can only hope the time has come when she’s ready for me to make her happy.
I’ve invited her, along with Tyler and Callum to make it less awkward, out to Jonah’s a few times, for dinner and to meet my baby sister, Natalie. Cori and Mom get along well and even talk occasionally over the phone. I jump at any opportunity to help her with work around her grandmother’s house, but no matter how much time I spend with her, it’s still not enough.
When I pull up behind the trailer, Cori’s car is already here. I take a deep breath before stepping out of my truck and walking on shaky legs towards the trailer.
She turns her head and my heart skips a beat at the way her face lights up. Suddenly, the trailer is too hot, but it’s a warmth I have no desire to run from.
“Morning. As soon as the coffee is ready, we’re having some. I don’t know what I was thinking, opening a coffee trailer. I hate mornings. Low sales aren’t going to kill my business, it’s having to be here so damn early.”
I laugh. “You should have gone into alcohol so you could sleep in.”
“It’s legal now to sell alcohol to-go. I should look into that. Although, I don’t know the difference between scotch and whiskey, so probably not the route for me.”
She gives me orders for preparations and we get everything set up. She waits until the end to brew the coffee so it’s as fresh as it can be and hands me a cup once it’s done.
“I was thinking, you can take orders and payment while I make the drinks. Does that work? I don’t think we’ll be as busy as we’ve been during the week, so you should be able to handle both windows.”
I hope she’s right. “Sounds good.” I take a sip of the coffee—rich, nutty taste shining through the mocha flavoring—and wonder how I can become a full-time employee so that I can do this with her every morning.
“At my normal location, I won’t open as early on Saturdays, but because we’re next to a highway, I wanted to be open for those that have to work weekends.”
She was right to open early because we’re slammed for the first couple of hours. The traffic finally thins around ten with a few small breaks throughout the day, and we spend them cleaning and prepping, snacking and laughing. Too many times I have to pull my hands away from reaching for her waist or her hair. In such close proximity, we bump into each other and accidentally touch, and each time she smiles shyly up at me before averting her eyes and tucking her hair behind her ear.
When she finally closes the windows and switches the sign to closed, we wipe down the counters and put everything away in the cooler at the end of the trailer. She slips on a pink jacket over her cyan-blue buttoned shirt—the same blue as my sweatshirt—and locks the door to the trailer. Wanting to prolong this moment as much as possible, we walk leisurely to her car, our hands brushing every so often.
Neither of us knows what to say when we come to a halt by her door. I’m not ready to leave her yet, but I don’t know what she’s thinking. She pulls her ponytail holder out of her hair, letting it fall over her shoulders, and I close my eyes breathing in the sweet scent of her shampoo.
Somehow, I summon up the courage. “Do you-”
“Would you-” she asks at the same time.
We laugh and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Go ahead, ladies first.”
“No, you go.”
I know she will keep refusing until I ask first, giving her time to change what she was going to say if needed. “Do you want to pick up dinner and watch a movie or something? Your house or mine, whichever.”
Her lips quirk upwards. “That’s exactly what I was going to ask.”
I swallow and my breath turns heavy at her smile. Inadvertently, I step forward and stroke her cheek.
Realizing what I’m doing, I step backward, mumbling an apology. But she grabs onto my hand and places it back on her cheek, leaning into my touch.
A gentle breeze glides in, ruffling her hair. I smooth it back down as her gaze bores into mine.
“You’re all I think about.” And I mean it. The image of her on top of me fills my mind when I’m in the shower. The memory of her laugh is what gets me through hard days. And knowing that she’s away from Sam, setting boundaries with her parents, and is learning to love herself is what helps me sleep soundly at night.
Mom has never given me a reason to feel like a mistake, even though that’s technically what I was. Sometimes, though, those dark thoughts don’t care about reason, latching on and multiplying like a virus just because they can. I see her and Jonah with baby Natalie and sometimes wonder where I fit in.
Then I see Cori and I know exactly where I belong, even if we’re just friends. Maybe Mom’s life with me wasn’t as lonely as I assumed. She and Jonah weren’t officially together, but they still loved each other. And maybe her time spent loving me and protecting me from her secret wasn’t a waste of her time. Who knows, if they hadn’t waited, potentially things wouldn’t have happened the way they did. Those chapters helped prepare us for the chapters ahead after all like Cori said in her poem—which now hangs in a frame by my bed.
My forehead rests against hers, our heavy breaths mingling between us. “But if you’re not ready, I can wait longer. I can wait for as long as it takes. I just wanted you to know that you’re it for me. I don’t want anyone else.”
She doesn’t respond, and I can see the doubt on her face, the quick movement of her eyes as she overthinks. Her gaze falls to my lips, but still, she doesn’t say anything.
“You don’t have to make any decisions or give me an answer right-” Her finger crosses my lips.
Then, finally, her breathless admission grabs hold of my heart and squeezes in the most wonderful way. “I’m ready. I’ve never been more ready for anything.”
She caresses the back of my neck and pulls my mouth onto hers, parting her lips to grant me entrance. My nerves ignite as she runs her hands down my chest and around my waist. I push her against her car door, the evening around us ceasing to exist, but she pulls back just enough to whisper, “Take me home.”