“So nice to meet you!” the woman calls from behind me. “Hope you enjoy your stay!”
Not likely, I think, but don’t bother to say. I wave over my shoulder as I push open the door of the shop, a tinkling bell accompanying my entrance. A flyer for an annual Apricot Faire is posted in the window. Just the thought makes my stomach turn, but I push on, needing answers more than I need a dirty martini after a sixteen-hour workday.
The smell inside the cozy café instantly reminds me that I haven’t yet inhaled my standard double espresso. Maybe the lack of caffeine is responsible for the complete collapse of my brain?
An older white woman zips back and forth behind the counter, humming merrily while she preps for the day.
I wait a whole five seconds for her to notice me. When she doesn’t, I march right up to the counter. “Excuse me?” I keep my voice as measured and polite as possible given the circumstances. So, you know, not very.
The woman startles, her gray cloud of hair bobbing as she jumps. “Oh my! I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there.”
I manage to lift one corner of my lips in a tight smile. “No problem. I need a double shot of espresso and some information.”
She putters around behind the counter, bringing a pair of reading glasses from the top of her head to her eyes. “A double shot of espresso? Wouldn’t you rather have a vanilla latte or a caramel macchiato? Our special drink of the month is a lavender honey latte and we have pumpkin spice all year round!”
“God no.” My eyes narrow on her as she starts fiddling with the espresso machine, my faith in her abilities to pull me the burst of caffeine I need dwindling. “How about that information while you’re working on that?”
She laughs and it tinkles just like the door chime. I find both sounds equally irritating. “I’m not sure what kind of information I can provide, but fire away.”
“First question is an easy one. Where the hell am I?” I lean both hands on the counter, tempted to vault over the stupidly pink thing and make my own damn espresso.
The woman pulls a tiny mug down from a shelf. “Well, I don’t think there’s any need for that kind of language.”
I wait for her to answer my question, but apparently my use of the wordhellhas rendered her speechless. I sigh, my thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of my nose. “So sorry. Could you tell me where I am? Please.”
“Heart Springs, of course!” She packs the ground espresso into its pod, and we finally might be getting somewhere.
“Right. That much I’ve already established. But whereexactlyam I?”
“Where are any of us, really?”
“That is, in fact, what I’m trying to figure out.”
Her laugh titters once again. “You’re too funny, Miss…”
“Andrews. Campbell Andrews. And it’s Ms.” And I’m really not all that funny. I don’t have time for jokes.
The espresso machine roars to life and for a second, all I do is listen to the glorious sound of the rich brew dripping into its cup.
Then the woman turns around, handing me the mug,and for the first time I get a good look at her face. And her nametag.
I almost drop my cup. “Mimi! You were our waitress last night! You left us that passive-aggressive bullshit note on our check!” I look frantically to the corners of the coffee shop, looking for hidden cameras because clearlyPunk’dis being revived and I somehow ended up as the first victim. “Seriously, what the fuck is going on here?”
“I have never seen you before in my life, Ms. Andrews.” Mimi’s hands land on her hips. “And I told you there’s no need for that kind of language, young lady.”
I snort. “I’m neither young nor a lady. And excuse the profanity but I’m freaking the fuck out here. I woke up this morning…” I hear the words as they come out of my mouth.
And there’s the answer, staring me right in the face.
Duh.
I haven’t actually woken up yet. Clearly this is all some kind of elaborate dream, the meaning of which I will not be examining further once I do actually stir myself from this nightmare.
“Of course, this is all just a dream. It’s all in my head.” I chug the espresso because I’m not one to leave good coffee behind, even if this is all just my subconscious being a royal prick. “Sorry to disturb you, Mimi, won’t happen again. Though I still think your little note from last night was shitty!”
“See you again tomorrow, Ms. Andrews!”
“You definitely won’t!” I push out the front door of the café, this time enjoying a casual stroll back to the kind of house I would live in only in some obscure alternate realitywhere I believed in love and marriage and happily ever after and “settling down.”
