Theo’s Epilogue #5
Was his left arm going numb? It sure was shaking a lot, and he could hardly feel it, his fingers felt and looked so very far away.
It had been years since he’d eaten spray cheese, but it was his dad’s favorite snack, bright orange spray cheese on saltines, a whole can at a time, he could still hear it and smell it when he thought about it, maybe he somehow inherited it in his arteries and he had high cholesterol by proxy, why was it so loud, had everyone always talked that loud?
Someone left a steam wand hissing, and it rang in his ears, drilling the sound down to one vibrating, high-pitched note overtaking everything else, screeching inside his own head like tires squealing on asphalt and—
Theo turned and bolted, barreling through the crowd behind him with his cane in his haste to limp back outside and back home to hide where it was safe.
Where it was quiet.
Where maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t die.
“It was one café, Theo.” Amelia’s voice sounded tinny and far away through the phone’s tiny speakers. “It was one café and one panic attack.”
“I thought I was dying.” Even now, his chest was still heavy. Even now, just thinking about it made breathing difficult.
“But you didn’t die, which proves my point: that you can do it.
You managed to stay there for a few minutes before it got too overwhelming, and I’m very, very proud of you for that.
That took guts. Pick a quieter place and try again.
It’ll be all right.” He took a shaky breath, and she must have heard him.
“Yes, breathing is good. Don’t forget to do it next time. Now go get back up on the horse again.”
“I thought you were supposed to be gentle with me and my feelings, Amelia.”
“You know very well I’m not that type of therapist. You chose me for a reason, and it’s because I know you can handle it. We’ll talk soon.”
It was another five days before he screwed up enough courage to try again, in part because he had therapy the next day and he knew Amelia would ask him about it—and he didn’t want to fail his assignment.
Goddamnit, that was why she’d phrased it that way, wasn’t it? She knew he had to win at school. He was competitive and had always been at the top of his class for a reason.
He never liked feeling like a failure. He didn’t wear it well.
Last week’s debacle was certainly an abysmal one. Couldn’t even go into a coffee shop anymore?
What the hell would his dad think of him now?
You’re not dead yet, kid.
Stop acting like it.
My son’s brave, not whatever this is.
Was he brave? Had he ever really been?
Another pang of guilt rippled through him at the thought, a fresh wave of grief right on its heels. But Theo glanced at the Post-it note he’d stuck to the bottom of his mirror last week after his conversation with Amelia and tried to shake off the feeling.
He’d rolled up the towels on his mirror just high enough to reveal his mouth when he crouched so he could at least see while he flossed—oral hygiene was important, after all—and he’d slapped the words there as a morbid reminder, the ink shivering and shaking across the ironically cheery yellow backdrop in this new version of his handwriting:
TRY NOT TO KILL YOURSELF TODAY
The second half of that reminder was one he hadn’t actually been able to bring himself to write:
Dad would never forgive you if you did.
He drew in a deep breath and gripped the edge of his bathroom counter while he steeled himself.
“Right,” he muttered at the faucet. “Try not to kill yourself today, Theo. You can think about it again once you’ve had some coffee.
Just go get some fucking coffee. It’s not that hard.
You used to do it all the time.” He zipped up his hoodie, tugged the hood over his cap, and pulled a mask onto his face before stepping out into the summer sunshine to try again.
Just like he did every day.
One halting step at a time.
When he arrived at the coffeehouse he’d picked out without Diego hovering over his shoulder, he hesitated on the sidewalk, eyeing Déjà Brew cautiously from the outside.
It was clean and modern and had a good design.
It was smaller than the first one. He liked the logo.
The reviews were excellent. And it didn’t seem too crowded.
Plus, it was only about a fifteen-minute walk from his house.
His hip still ached, and he still limped, but at least he was leaving the cane behind more now. It was doable. His physical therapist would be happy with him for exercising.
Maybe Amelia was right. Maybe things would be easier now that he’d broken the seal.
Maybe that was the hard part.
Theo steeled himself and pushed open the door.
Instead of too-loud alt-rock music, soft, soothing lo-fi played over the speakers.
There were some tables open, not all of them completely monopolized by remote workers, and everyone who was working wore headphones and typed quietly.
And there were only two baristas, one working the machine, and the other at the register.
He couldn’t see their faces through the line to order, but he could tell that much from the matching aprons they wore.
He waited, shifting nervously on his feet. The middle-aged bleach-blond woman in front of him turned and glanced at his mask, scowling slightly up at it, but she didn’t say anything. That was fine. As long as her eyes didn’t linger on his face for too long, he could live with that.
And then it was his turn.
The blonde stepped away from the register, and when she did, Theo was finally able to focus his attention on the woman working it.
And all the breath was immediately knocked out of his chest.
He might as well have been hit head-on by another semi.
It wasn’t the same as before when he couldn’t breathe at the other café.
There, his chest felt like it had been put in a vise, like something had gripped his heart and squeezed, or like he was back in the Thunderbird tumbling down the mountain, the hard steel of it searing into his flesh and crushing his ribs, crumbling them to dust and shredding his face more and more with every flip.
No, this was nothing like that.
When this woman smiled at him, it was like the clouds parted and revealed the light of the sun for the first time in months. It was as if he’d been sitting in a dark cave all this time and only just now stepped out into the light, blinking and blinded but warm.
She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his entire life.
She was radiant.
“Hi! Welcome to Déjà Brew. What can I get started for you?”
At the sound of her voice, every word in the English language he’d ever known immediately abandoned him.
Those were words. He knew those were words, but what was she saying? What was she asking? Start what?
What did he come here for again?
“Um…” He started to sweat. It was exceedingly hot in here, wasn’t it?
He tugged at the collar of his hoodie before remembering he had a scar there he was desperately trying to hide, and he scrambled for something, anything to grasp on to.
He looked up. Right. A menu. Coffee. He glanced back down at the woman, who was watching him with a quizzical eyebrow raised.
Oh god, she knew. She had to know what he was thinking just now, and none of it was even remotely appropriate.
Maybe this is where he should die. It’d be less embarrassing than whatever was happening now if he did.
“One…l-large Americano.” Good, yes. Those were coffee words. It was the first thing his eyes landed on when he looked at the menu. That was appropriate for a coffeehouse.
Her eyes were gorgeous.
Bright spring green flecked with gold.
It was a good thing she couldn’t see his cheeks. He was sure they were on fire, scorched red and raw from the inside out.
“A large Americano?” She repeated the order and he nodded. “For here or to go?”
“To go.”
Better, yes.
Good.
Good words.
Good words?
Fuck me.
Oh shit. He didn’t say that out loud, did he?
Tiny russet freckles dotted daintily across her button nose like flecks of paint flicked from a delicate brush with a deft hand.
He couldn’t tear his gaze away from them.
“Room for cream?” He shook his head. “Name?”
Fuck. What the hell was he called again?
Idiot. That was his name.
“Theo.” Did—did his voice just crack? What, was he fifteen again all of a sudden?
Jesus Christ, get it together, you imbecile.
Pull yourself together.
How could he when he was still so broken?
The woman wrote his name and order on a cup and was about to pass it off to her colleague when he had a sudden thought and lifted a hand to stop her before he could stop himself. “Wait!”
She paused.
“Uh…c-can I get that extra hot, please?” There was no way he was taking his mask off here, but he’d come this far. Might as well go for the extra credit and sit for a minute at a quiet table. That was definitely the reason he suddenly wanted to stay.
Definitely.
The only reason.
“Of course you can.” Her smile was softer this time, and her eyes never lingered on his mask or tried to search out what was hidden behind his hair. She simply looked at him like he was normal. Like she was kind.
He liked the way that felt.
He rubbed the back of his neck while she rang him up at the register.
Her hair was a pretty chestnut color, and a single strand had slipped out at the base of her bun and curled into a perfect, loose spiral at the nape of her neck.
When she turned her head, the morning summer sun caught in it and glimmered a warm gold.
Oh god.
He pulled a twenty out of his wallet, and, without thinking, dumped all the change she handed him into the jar next to the register.
It was easier than trying to wrestle bills and coins back inside the leather folds with his damaged hand. He didn’t want her to see him struggle.
But her beautiful eyes did widen in shock at that.
“Whoa. Wow. Thank you, sir! That’s—”
The panic rose. She’d noticed. What he just did apparently wasn’t typical.