Chapter 3
THREE
Latte
Celeste
As often as Delaney’s theatre arts friends tend to over exaggerate, they were right about one thing.
Biblio & Brew was a great new spot. While tutoring Angelica at the cafe about a week ago, I tried to keep an eye out for the foot traffic in the cafe.
Foot traffic of the male variety. It wasn’t a lot, that’s for sure given it’s not very well known and summer break.
However, seeing as most of the varsity teams stayed on campus for training, there were an adequate number of prospects.
Some athletes popped in, along with a few finance guys that were working internships over the summer, and a few others like me, who just lived close to campus.
I stare at my organized desk in my tidy room, the soft pink walls making me just as happy as the day I picked it when I was around five.
Pulling myself from my pastel memories, I focus my attention on the matter at hand and open my laptop to formulate a plan.
I’ll go in during my limited time off and see if I can pick up a guy based on the various areas of interest. There is sports for the jocks, business and economics for the finance guys, art and architecture for the creative types, and self help for…
well, maybe I’ll steer clear of that category.
There is nothing wrong with getting help, but it isn’t appropriate for this experiment.
It offers too many variables that I don’t want to account for.
I’m also in a time crunch as med school applications are due in the fall and I’ll have to have all my application questions answered, written, revised, and submitted by then.
It’s a bit of a tight timeline and strict schedule but really, that’s nothing new to me.
Checking over my calendar for the next little while, I spy a couple hours open every morning before my tutoring begins.
I jot down in my available time slot to stop by a different section each day.
Was I interested in finance? No. But they didn’t need to know that.
I’ve watched enough rom-com movies and read enough swoon-worthy bodice rippers to know that men like saving the girl in need.
It’s not hard to envision taking on this persona, it’s one I’ve mastered over the years.
Pretend to know less than I do, keep then at arms length, bat my eyelashes, and not word vomit my life’s history and scare them away.
Biblio & Brew is a great location for my experiment as well, offering such a variety of suitors.
It helps that the tea was pretty good and the barista was fairly easy on the eyes too.
I didn’t catch his name, but his lightly stubbled jaw line seems to be living rent free in my head.
Not to mention his steel blue eyes, corded tattooed forearms, and tousled dark locks that effortlessly hung over his forehead.
He was someone’s fantasy but no, not mine.
Nope. His moody demeanour and general snarkiness is clearly an indication I should stay away.
Plus, our interaction already writes him off as a candidate for my experiment.
I need to set up the meet-cute. I need to be in control, so as not to skew the results.
I sigh and close my computer, hearing Mom tinker away making tea in the kitchen.
Our home is modest, to say the least, but it’s all I’ve known.
I glance around my room again, noting that barely a thing changed over the decades, only a few things here and there added.
A few band posters decorate one wall from middle school, a skull and crossbones tapestry from my high school goth phase adorns another, and my most recent addition, a stack of medical school applications piled neatly on my desk.
Getting the application packages in the mail was more than exciting.
It was like grabbing the handle of an entirely new door to walk through in life, and with just a little push, a whole new world.
The idea of working in a hospital has my stomach churning with excitement and anxiety.
A flicker of fluorescent lights and the sterile smells of my childhood flash through my mind but I tame it.
History is just that, in the past. A research lab is where I’m headed anyway, and I need medical school to get there.
I throw on a fresh sweater from my laundry pile and make my way down the stairs. Mom is in her robe, yawning by the kitchen sink.
I hope she’s feeling okay.
“Sleep okay last night?” I ask, meandering around the living room’s open-concept space.
Mom turns to me with a smile, lifting her arm to beckon me over.
My feet shuffle a little faster at her movement, and I tuck myself under her arm giving her a cozy side hug, mindful of the hot tea in her other hand.
“I stayed up later than I planned, trying to finish my fantasy book. If men in the real world had the same kind of chivalry, then maybe I could have found someone after your—”
“Mom.” I hold up a hand to stop her. It was too early to compare fictional men, and I had not had my coffee yet. I was not a talker before coffee.
Mom shakes her head at me and rolls her eyes, her silken hair swishing against her shoulders at the movement.
At one point she had hair like mine, long and golden, but with age her hair changed to an ashy blonde, a few streaks of light grey framing her face.
It almost looked intentional. She was beautiful, inside and out.
“I looked over the budget for next month and we might have enough to have someone fix the AC unit before it craps out like it did last year,” I note, opening the fridge and digging around for bagels and cream cheese. I hear Mom’s sigh from inside the fridge.
“You don’t want to talk about chivalry at eight in the morning? Well I don’t want to talk about budgets.” She raises an eyebrow at me, daring me to continue. We didn’t have a lot, but then again, we weren’t big spenders.
“Deal,” I say, popping bagels into the toaster and pouring myself a coffee.
“So how’s your tutoring looking for the summer? I assume it can’t be that busy,” she asks as she wanders to the living room area, sinking deep into her favourite armchair.
“It’s not overly busy, just a few students doing spring courses or prepping for their fall courses. I’ll be TA-ing in that intro psychology class again this year for Professor Clement, but that’s not ‘till the fall. He’s a bit of a hard ass but I think it’ll be fine.”
“I just don’t want you to overdo it this year, it’s the last one before medical school and I don’t want you stressed out.” She looks over at me, concern written across her features. Her anxiety is made obvious by the way her index finger continuously taps her mug.
I placate her with a reassuring smile, “I’ll be okay Mom. It’s not crazy. What’s crazy is this goose chase Delaney has put me on.” I smear cream cheese across our bagels vigorously.
“Didn’t she only suggest you try dating?” Mom asks innocently, as if she’s not totally aware of Delaney’s dramatics.
“Well, yes,” I begin, but Mom cuts me off.
“And is it not your plan to make it into some sort of experiment? Didn’t you make a list?” She stares me down, and I swear the woman looks right into my soul when she does that.
I sigh and carry our plates over, flopping myself down into the armchair across from her.
“I just don’t want you to get hurt, that’s all.
Sometimes it may start off being one thing, but then it leads to another.
I don’t want you to be surprised if it doesn’t turn out the way you want it to, that’s all,” Mom says softly, in her most motherly voice, and damn if that isn’t the hardest thing to disagree with.
“All right, I’ll keep my wits about me. It’s not like I’m looking for love or anything. It’s just a science experiment,” I say, balancing my plate on the arm of the chair while looking over our scrabble board nestled between us. Only a few words added from where we left off yesterday.
“Whatever you say, my love,” Mom says as she lays down her letters, spelling out “forelsket”.
My brow furrows and I glance questioningly up at her.
“Do you want to Google it?” She arches an eyebrow, daring me to go against her word. I hold up my hands in defence.
“Nope, I trust you. If you say that’s a word, I believe you.” I chuckle, laying down my own
word attaching it downward from hers: Search.