3. Monique
Monique
The coffee tastes like somebody waved a coffee bean over hot water and called it a day. I drink it anyway.
Victoria always brings the same box of supermarket donuts. Nobody eats the powdered ones until the very end. I usually take one out of pity. Today, they're all gone except a single glazed donut sitting in the middle of the box.
Harbor House just happened for me. I didn’t plan it. I was fine in Rhode Island by myself.
At some point, I started believing I could be happy. That was until I spotted a man who looked almost identical to Victor. That evening, I found myself running as if he were chasing me.
I ended up here and sat close to the exit just in case I needed to get away fast.
That was also when I requested the graveyard shift. Easier to stay safe at night if I was in the hotel than in my shitty apartment.
I sit down with my coffee and spend the first few minutes studying everyone. The women today are mostly new, except for Janelle. The others stopped coming a few weeks ago.
The woman beside me is definitely a Carol. She has a knitted scarf wrapped around her neck despite it being seventy degrees outside.
Across from me sits Maureen. She looks exactly like my fifth-grade science teacher, and her name was Maureen, too.
Victoria opens the meeting.
Carol goes first. "My ex was compulsive. He used to text me every morning at six forty-three." Several women nod. "Not six forty-five. Not six forty. Six forty-three. Every day."
"Why?" someone asks.
Carol shrugs. "He said six forty-five was lazy." A few women laugh. "I still wake up at six forty-three," Carol admits quietly. "Even though he's been gone for three years."
The room goes silent.
I stare down into my coffee. Victor used to whistle before he came into the house. He liked watching Mom tense up.
For years, a whistle meant bad things. I couldn't hear someone whistle without my stomach trying to climb out of my body.
It's strange what survives inside of you. You forget all the good things. What makes you smile, what makes you happy, your dreams and aspirations.
The only thing that stays with you is what makes you tense up on a perfectly normal day.
Carol keeps talking. Victoria thanks her.
Then Maureen clears her throat. "My daughter turned twenty-two last week." The way she says it makes everyone, including me, pay attention. "I bought a card."
She laughs once. A terrible little laugh. "I still do that. Every year." Nobody interrupts. "I write them and put them in a drawer." She twists the wedding ring she still wears. "I know she won't read them."
The room is so quiet I can hear somebody's bracelet tapping against a coffee cup.
"I just…" Maureen swallows. "I don't want her to think I stopped loving her."
I blink hard. Mom used to leave notes in my lunchbox. Nothing dramatic.
Remember your math homework.
Good luck on your test.
Love you.
I would've given anything for one more stupid note. But that’ll never happen.
I hate thinking about the past because I can’t stop. The memories flood in like a caged storm. It doesn’t matter if that’s my best day. Once I open that door, there’s no going back.
I know I have to deal with it someday. I’m just not quite sure yet when that day will be.
My coffee ends up on the floor beside my shoe. I don't remember putting it there.
Victoria calls on someone else. The stories keep coming. And somewhere between Carol and Maureen and a woman whose name is definitely Claire — even though she introduced herself as Jennifer — I realize something strange.
My bag isn't in my lap. It's beside my chair. My hands aren't wrapped around the strap. And when I glance up, the exit isn't directly in front of me. It's all the way across the room.
I stare at it.
Huh. That's new.
The side door opens. Georgia slips inside carrying enough wind with her to qualify as weather. She mouths sorry at Victoria and drops into the chair beside me. Then she notices me staring at the exit.
"Everything okay?"
I nod.
She follows my gaze. Then she looks back at me and smiles like she knows exactly what I'm thinking. Her hand finds mine for a second. One squeeze.
That's all.
My shoulders drop before I can stop them. Traitorous shoulders.
“Monique?” I look up. Victoria’s eyes are on me. Everyone’s eyes are on me. She’s wearing a gentle smile, the one she gives all the women here when she wants them to spill their guts out. “Are you ready to share?”
I am. I want to get it all out in the open so I can finally move on.
I want to be able to think about my childhood, to think about Victor and not feel this overwhelming sense of shame. How do I tell people what he did to my mom and me without feeling embarrassed that as an adult, I was reprimanded if I misbehaved?
It’s shameful. And I hate myself for it. But I have to get the words out. I need to let myself heal.
The words climb halfway up my throat. Then they stop. They’re not going to come.
I shake my head and reach down for the coffee by my shoe. I don't remember picking it up, the same way I don't remember setting it down, but it's in my hand now and the cup is still warm. The seam in the cardboard sleeve is peeling. I press it flat with my thumb.
“Okay.” Victoria continues. “Let’s move on…um…Cheryl.”
Cheryl sounds more confident than every other woman here as she tells her story. I get the sense that she came here because her friends were tired of listening to her talk about this ex.
That’s what we do best here — listen.
"…and then he showed up at my work," Cheryl says. "Like nothing happened. Brought flowers."
A few women groan.
"Flowers?" someone repeats.
"Flowers."
"That's insulting."
"Right?" Cheryl throws both hands into the air. "Like, sir, you cannot commit a felony and then arrive with carnations."
The room erupts into laughter. Even Victoria laughs.
Georgia leans closer and whispers, "At least they weren't roses."
I snort. Georgia's shoulders shake. I glare at her. She's completely unrepentant.
Victoria glances around the circle. "Anyone else?"
Silence.
A few women shake their heads. The moment passes.
I let my breath out slowly. Coward.
"Okay." Victoria smiles. "Same time next week. Be kind to yourselves."
Chairs scrape immediately. Conversations bloom in little clusters. Someone starts collecting empty cups. Someone else wraps leftover donuts in napkins.
I stand and automatically smooth my sweater down over my hips. The left side isn't sitting properly.
I fix it, push a loose strand of hair behind my ear, then tuck it behind my ear again thirty seconds later when it escapes.
The chairs are a disaster. One is half folded. Another is facing the wrong direction. Two are sticking out from the stack. I fix all of them before I realize what I'm doing.
Mom used to say I organized things when I was nervous. Victor used to say I couldn't leave well enough alone.
Mom's version was nicer.
"Monique."
I look up. Georgia is standing by the door. She's already got her coat open over dark jeans and a burgundy blouse tucked neatly into the waistband. Black heels. Gold hoops.
I don't understand women like Georgia who wear actual color.
She has her car keys in hand. "Heading out?"
I smile at her and grab my bag. The strap has twisted. I straighten it before putting it on. Georgia waits patiently through the entire process.
Outside, the cold hits immediately. I zip my coat all the way up to my chin. Georgia doesn't even button hers.
Psychotic behavior.
"I missed you at the wedding."
I stare at the parking lot because I don’t have the guts to look at her. I’d briefly considered going, even RSVP’d yes. But two nights before, I asked myself what I was doing. I didn’t belong there. Yes, Georgia has been amazing to me, but even I know when to sit at home.
"I picked up a shift." Lie. I didn’t even have a shift that day.
Georgia tilts her chin down and studies me. She reminds me of my mom sometimes when she looks at me like that.
Tell me the truth, Monique, was all my mom had to say to have me spilling my deepest, darkest secrets. And I’m tempted to tell Georgia the truth, but it won’t do either of us any good. So what’s the point?
She finally nods. "Okay. Noah has an auction coming up, and you have to come."
My face instantly falls. I should have gone to the wedding. Then I’d have been able to say no to this.
“I’ll send you the RSVP link.”
No. Please don’t. I don’t want to. They’re all at the tip of my tongue. Instead, I unlock my car and smile. “Of course.”
She laughs. “Are you sure I won’t have to hunt you down? It’s hard to get a hold of you these days.”
My lips twitch despite myself. “I’ll be there. I mean it.”
“Great! And before you go, I just wanted to check in with you. Are you doing okay? Making any friends? Anyone interesting?”
A pair of gray eyes appear in my head. He doesn’t count because, for one, he’s not my friend. I didn’t meet him, and he’s a little more interesting than what I’m comfortable with.
I shake my head. “No. It’s still just me, though.”
She laughs again. “That's the dangerous thing about you, Monique. You lie terribly."
I head to work annoyed with myself, and what I'm most annoyed about is that I'm smiling.
Somewhere on the highway, I count the gap between the work I actually do and the job description on the laminated card in the back office.
The card says front desk, overnight, and guest relations.
It doesn't mention the problems I catch before they turn into disasters, or the things that somehow become my responsibility to fix.
It isn't a complaint. Just an inventory. A quiet count of the distance between the title and the work.
I carry the thought for a mile, then leave it behind and drive into the glow of the city. By the time the portico comes up out of the wet, I've got my work face back on.
Juan's on me inside ten minutes. "You look nervous."
"I'm not nervous."
"You've checked the front doors four times since you clocked in."
"I'm working."
"Mhm…" He lets it sit there, which is worse than pushing, and goes back to the bell stand.