52. CORA
CORA
The whipped cream on top of the sugary mocha is laughable.
“Think that’s enough?” I ask Brinn, who moves behind the coffee counter while making another latte.
She turns, face bright. “Whipped cream makes everything better.”
Piper agrees, “That is a proven fact.” She sips her equally ridiculous latte.
I’m hanging out at the coffee shop while Brinn finishes her shift—finding time to get together has been weirdly difficult these last few weeks.
Brinn’s the type of person who collects odd jobs like stickers.
She’ll work basically anywhere, as long as someone’s willing to pay her and she likes the vibe.
Piper is the social butterfly that can be tough to get to stay in one place.
We’ve been chatting between orders while Brinn keeps sliding drinks across the counter to me like a dealer who wants me hooked.
The last few days have been… a lot.
After missing my exam, spiraling hard enough to end up drunk in the middle of the afternoon, and waking up at Lane’s later that night, I’ve been doing my best impression of someone who has it together.
But maybe it’s what I’ve been doing for a while?
Everyone keeps telling me it’s fine. Well, everyone being Brinn, Piper, and Lane, because they’re the only people who know what happened.
I have no idea what I’m going to say to my parents. Or if I’ll say anything at all. For now, I’m waiting for the grades to post and review the damage.
Best case scenario, I pass the class by the skin of my teeth. Worst case scenario, I fail and have to make up the credits in the spring semester. I could still walk at graduation, but I’d have to come back just to finish one class.
How fucking embarrassing, I think as a laugh slips from my mouth.
Brinn looks up from wiping the bar in front of me. “What’s funny?”
I sigh. “Just wondering how I’d tell my parents I’m sticking around another few months to knock out enough credits to actually get my diploma.”
Both of them give me a sideways look.
“You don’t even know if that’s going to happen,” Piper protests. “And if it does—so what? Shit happens.”
This has been the standard response. They keep finding examples where things like this have happened to them, or people we know. The most difficult piece to explain is that these types of things don’t happen to me.
I’m an overachiever. The girl with the color-coded planner. The one who turns in assignments early. The one professors point to when they say this is what preparation looks like.
Apparently, all it takes to dismantle that reputation is one brain deciding to stage a revolt. In the entire world, roughly fourteen percent of people suffer from migraines. Only two percent deal with the chronic kind.
I’ve drifted in and out of that category over the last few years like some sort of unlucky lottery winner. I’ve spent way too much time lately trying to figure out why.
Why some people get them and others don’t. Why there’s no clear cause or fix. Why everyone's experience is different.
And the fact that I can’t find a definitive answer is making the whole thing worse. I know I’m being dramatic. Insufferable, even. But I can’t help it.
Tomorrow, I’m meeting with the accommodations office to see if there’s anything that can be done. I’m almost positive the answer will be no, but at this point, I have to try everything.
Brinn pulls out her phone, glances at the screen, and smiles before slipping it back into her apron pocket.
“What?” I ask.
“Oh, just loverboy checking on you.”
Her grin widens when she says it—loverboy being her personal nickname for Lane. Piper starts to clap and I feel like I could melt into the floor.
Ever since Brinn called him to pick me up at Shore Thing, they’ve apparently become texting buddies.
When I woke up at Lane’s that night, Brinn had been sitting at the kitchen table doing homework. For a second, I thought I was hallucinating. Turns out she just wanted to check on me.
She never would’ve done that if it had been Freddy’s place. Actually, Freddy wouldn’t have let her.
By the end of our relationship, the two of them could barely be in the same room without starting something.
Lane is nothing like Freddy.
The thought settles somewhere warm yet uncomfortable in my chest. I still can’t quite believe the way he took care of me that night. How easy it is for him to show up.
Like it’s not a burden. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He makes it dangerously easy to love him.
Love.
The word flashes through my brain before I can stop it. I sit a little straighter in my chair as my mind thinks of the word I’m afraid to say. I think he feels the same way, but I’m in no shape to take any more losses.
Brinn leans her elbows on the counter. “You’re doing the thing.”
“What thing?”
With a hand on her hip, she says, “The quiet spiral thing.”
“I am not spiraling.”
Not right now, at least. Okay, fine, maybe it’s a mini spiral but not one I’m ready to face.
Piper jokes, “You laughed at your own hypothetical academic downfall five minutes ago.”
“That’s called coping.”
“Sure.” Piper nods as Brinn takes another coffee order.
She slides the mocha closer to me. “Drink your whipped cream therapy.”
I take a sip, careful not to get whipped cream on my face.