The general population is full of insensitive morons.
“Sol’s a great guy,” Elodie says, smile as plastic as her voice. “He’s working at an offshoot café in West Virginia now, so if you’re ever that way…” she trails off, handing him his coffee.
“West Virginia,” Paul mutters. “Huh.”
“You have a nice day, Paul! I hope to see you soon!”
She’s such a lying liar.
Once Paul is gone, things in the café shift significantly. No longer are we bombarded with people vying for caffeine and treats. No longer is Elodie having to act likePaul’sfeelings about Sol leaving matter one single bit.
“Have you talked to Sol lately?” I ask, pulling the empty trays from the display case to clean. Trays with goods still on them get a quick crumb cleanup, but are otherwise fine for now. I’ll gather what’s left at the end of the shift and drop it off at a localwomen’s shelter on my way home.
“Not really,” Elodie mumbles, organizing the coffee station. “I talked to him when I visited for the wedding.”
The wedding of her cousin to the man who slashes people’s tires. If I had known about the tire slashing before she left that weekend, I am not so sure I would have let her go alone…
“That was in June,” I comment, keeping my eyes on my work. “It’s August now.”
“It is August now,” she agrees. “Very good job. And after August comes…”
“Kind of a long time to not talk to him, is all I’m saying. If Ruby and I didn’t talk for two months…” It’s bad enough that she’s no longer right down the hall when I want to talk to her. If she’d moved states? And then we barely spoke? I shiver, not loving the thought. “Well, Ruby and I wouldn’t. But I didn’t think you and Sol would either. You guys okay?”
“September,” she deadpans. “That’s what comes after August. September.”
“You could visit him, you know,” I say. “We can make do without you here for a couple of days, and I happen to know that your landlord isn’t all that strict on rent payments, so money shouldn’t be a problem.”
Truthfully, her landlord—AKA me—wouldn’t have ever charged her any rent if he could have afforded it. As it is, she’s paying double what I actually need, because she said that’s what she paid at her old apartment with her brother. And, since she’s moved to Sweet & Salty Downtown, I don’t even reallyneedher rent at all anymore. The store is making enough income these days and getting such a higher influx of work that I was able to negotiate a raise that covers the amount I get from Elodie every month.
Elodie didn’t much care that I no longer needed rent from her when I told her and incessantly wires money to me on thefirst of each month anyway. Unsure what else to do, I’ve been putting it all into a savings account, letting it sit there accruing interest for the day she lets me give it back to her.
“Yeah,” she says, noncommittal. “I might go see him.”
I frown as, face blank, she rubs at an imaginary spot on the espresso machine.
“Elo—”
I’m cut off by her alarm blaring from her pocket.
Her eyes widen when she looks at the clock. She curses. “I’m gonna be late.” She removes her apron in a flurry of movement, braids flying as she looks around the shop. “Where’s Carla?”
Carla being her relief so that she can clock out. Carla also being not here, despite Elodie’s rising stress.
“She’ll be here,” I say, trying to soothe, following Elodie to the employees-only door, where she hovers, glancing between the counter and the hallway where Carla should be appearing.
A second alarm goes off. A second curse said in her fairy-sweet voice.
“I’ll cover the front,” I offer. “You can go to your quicksand survival class.”
I have no clue what sorts of classes she’s actually going to every week, but that seems in line with the sort of hobbies she takes up. Maybe eventamecompared to what she’s usually up to.
One last frantic peek down the hall, and she hunches in on herself. “Okay,” she agrees as a third alarm rings. “Thanks.”
She doesn’t sound all that thankful, but I let it slide in favor of making sure she stays safe, even though I know she’ll feel some type of way about it. I wonder, though, if I just…
My hand rises to tinker with one of two health-and-food-safety compliant braids in her hair, letting the softness of it glide against my skin as I wrap it around my fist. “Stay safe in your commute, okay?”
She stares at me for several long moments she cannot afford, then answers, “I’m always safe in my commute. I’m not stupid.”
