“Can I have whipped cream too, thanks?” I ask the barista. Because eating and drinking your feelings are valid. And the skim milk balances out the sugar and cream when you think about it. I hold my card to the machine to pay for the order and then move aside.
“It’ll be interesting to see what the new evidence is,” says the young man in a tone suggesting his words hold much weight. Such an open-minded and unbiased point of view. We are blessed to be in the presence of one of the great minds of our age.
My hero, Cat Shirt Lady, is having none of it, however. “A court of law already found him guilty.”
“Yeah, but they might not have had all the information.” His suspicious gaze slides to me.
Give me strength. I can now vividly recall why I went into hiding in the first place. Why I decided it was better to be silent and anonymous. Situations such as this. Strangers in the street speculating about my guilt or innocence. Though the first time around I was a teenager overwhelmed and out of my depth. Now I am a salty almost thirty-year-old who has had enough. In other words, there comes a time when being polite no longer serves you.
I pick up my drink, turn to the young man, and say, “You’re being a dick.”
His eyebrows reach for the sky.
“I am a real person standing right here just trying to live my life and purchase caffeine.”
Guess he didn’t expect me to defend myself. The poor man is aghast. “I am entitled to my opinion!”
“Yes. You absolutely are. But it takes a special kind of asshole to shove that opinion unasked for in my face.”
“Don’t think you’re supposed to swear at other customers,” says the barista helpfully.
I take a sip of my drink. “This is really good. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
The young man is now in a high state of agitation. “That’s all you’re going to say to her?”
The barista shrugs. “I gave her a warning.”
“You did,” I agree. “I am so warned. Thanks again.”
“Have a nice day.”
“But…” splutters the young man.
Meanwhile, Cat Shirt Lady is standing at the counter ready to give her order. “Oh, shove a sock in it, would you?”
I open the door and step into the sunshine. While this encounter could have gone better, it could also have gone a heck of a lot worse. And I would be lying if I said there wasn’t a small but authentic smile on my face as I walked home.
The knock on my door comes around sunset. Noah is at work, Hana is on a date, Muriel is out of town, and Mateo left like an hour ago. All of the people I’m willing to open the door for at this hour are accounted for. I put down my water bottle on the kitchen counter and pick up my cell. And the person the camera shows standing outside is a major surprise.
I rush to open the door. “Grace?”
“Hey.” My cousin’s smile is cautious. “It’s been a minute.”
“Yeah. What are you doing here?”
Her smile wavers.
“I mean, you’re welcome of course. It’s great to see you.”
“But it’s been a minute,” she repeats with her grin back in place.
“It really has.” I step back. “Come on in.”
Grandma had two daughters—my mother and Grace’s. Aunt Beth moved away for college and did her best to never come back. She works for a bank in Manhattan. But every summer when we were children, Grace was sent to stay in Vermont. We’d go swimming at the lake and do all sorts of things together. This lasted until we were fourteen or so, when she wanted to stay in the city with friends. We texted and stayed in touch for a while. But we haven’t really been in contact for the last nine years or so.
When we were children, I used to pretend that we were sisters. Because we used to look sort of similar, with the same dark blonde hair. Though now hers has been dyed a rich mahogany. And my hair is shoulder length, while hers reaches halfway down her back. She’s wearing a beige slip dress with fine gold necklaces and white sneakers. While I’m back to wearing my old blue jeans and a tank. Though to be fair I had planned on cleaning, and was not expecting company.
