My nails clicked against the countertop as the blender worked on my protein shake. I desperately needed a proper manicure and a blowout. My standards were slipping.
“Is that your breakfast?”
I clicked the blender off, nearly jumping out of my skin. “What are you doing here?”
“Came to talk,” my Mom said, slipping her notepad back in her apron and entering the tiny apartment kitchen. She looked as if she’d finished taking an order two seconds ago.
“It’s morning,” I mumbled stupidly. “Isn’t there a breakfast rush that needs your attention?”
She shrugged and pulled up a chair, the vintage chrome legs scraping against the butter-yellow linoleum floor. Even thoughshe was typically a laid-back person, the way she drummed her fingers on her knee and ticked her jaw made every normal movement seem unnatural. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen her nervous, let alone in the kitchen at eight o’clock in the morning.
The thought sent a fresh chill of anxiety down my spine.
I swallowed thickly and poured my shake into a glass. “So, talk. I assume this is about New York.” Leaning my back against the counter, I crossed one ankle over the other and took a sip.
Nothing could help me avoid the conversation–it was time to face it head on.
But her eyebrows drew together, her features coloring with blatant confusion. For some reason, my heart sank. Had it even occurred to her that sheshouldask? Was she really going to tiptoe indefinitely around me?
“What about New York?” she asked.
The question sent an electric flash of anger through me. I chugged my protein shake, held back the full-body shudder, and set it in the dishwasher.
“You know what?” I began, stooping to tug my prized Italian leather Chelsea boots on my feet. “Whatever you need to talk to me about, I’m sure it can wait. I have a busy day ahead of me, okay?” When I finished, my voice had become flat and thin.
She gaped at me as I breezed through the apartment and slipped on my suede trench coat. “I really think we should speak before—”
The sound of the door slamming behind me cut her off.
I barreled down the stairs, through the busy diner, and out onto Main Street.
The churning, ashen clouds above glared at me through the shifting branches and drifting auburn-and-amber leaves. By all accounts, it was my idea of a perfect day—a chilly gust, trees draped in the colors of autumn, and coffee on the horizon. Butall I could think about as I stormed through the swathes of meandering, glitter-eyed tourists, was the oblivious look on my mom’s face.
So when I burst through the doors to the cafe, the scowl on my lips had turned as dark as the sky.
“Woah, you alright?” Rachel greeted.
“I’m fine,” I replied with a sigh. I reached for my purse, but found nothing. “Only, I don’t have my wallet,” I muttered, casting a forlorn glance over my shoulder and out the door. Perhaps I could slip through the back entrance and avoid the diner entirely.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “Georgie covered your drink.”
I squinted at her as if she’d begun speaking a foreign language. “Huh?”
Rachel grinned and nodded to the table by the window, where Georgie sat with two coffees and a mane of curls swept up into a ponytail. I shrugged off my coat as I approached, slipping it over the back of my chair before taking a seat. She didn’t even move from her spot hunched over a notepad.
“You paid for my drink?” I started, eyeing the cortado.
Georgie looked up for a split second. “Yeah, well, I’m barely keeping up with the demand over at the shop. Figured it was time to finally start paying some people back.”
My heart swelled, the conversation with my mom long forgotten.
The free coffee didn’t matter. I wasn’t keeping track of how much I spent on Georgie—although, frankly, I probably encouraged her sugary caffeine addiction a littletoomuch. But I knew she’d felt awful about it, even if none of us cared. It was nice to see that weight off her shoulders.
Even if it was replaced by—
“What is that?” I muttered, cocking my head. Reading upside-down was a super power of mine, but her handwriting would make a pre-school teacher cry.
Georgie dropped her chin into ink-stained palms and rotated the notepad. “This is a list.”
