“Fine…” I blink a few times, glancing around the nearly empty place. Despite plenty of space with cute rustic tables, there’s only one person there—some guy tucked into the far corner booth with his eyes on his laptop.
Okay, this is doable.
“What can I get for you?” she asks me as I step up, my eyes flicking up to the menu. “If you haven’t been here, I totally recommend the cookie dough mocha.”
I shrug, feeling unnerved by hownormalthis experience is. “Um, yeah… Okay. We can do that.”
She nods, punching her tablet. “What size?”
“Largest size you have.” I glance back to the door, as if someone who hates me might walk right in.
No one comes.
I stand back and wait, while the overly chipper girl in her green sweater makes my iced coffee. I keep my arms folded across my chest, though with every deep breath I force myself to take, my heart rate seems to settle a little more.
Everything is totally fine.
“Here,” the barista slides the coffee across the counter. “I hope your day gets better.” She gives me some weird sympathetic smile as I pick it up.
I guess it’s that obvious I’m a fucking wreck.
“Thank you.” I force a smile, and spin on my heels, slipping out of the place like I didn’t murder the owner’s brother.
I choose not to dwell on it.
But I keep dwelling on it,my mind argues with myself.
The streets are empty, except for the few occasional cars parked diagonally outside of the hardware store a few blocks down. All the other stores aren’t open yet—or maybe just closed?
I don’t know. And I don’t care either.
Taking a sip of the overly sweet coffee, I cringe a little. It might betoosweet, but that’s okay. It’s better than whatever black liquid my mom’s machine shits out.
And speaking of, I should check on her.
Or rather, check to see if she’s screaming at me to come home.
I pull out my phone, and check for notifications.
None.
I pop open the door of my SUV and slide in, putting the coffee away in the cupholder. Something in my gut feels off as I start it, but I do my best to push that away.
Probably just the excessive amounts of sugar in the coffee.
Which I’m totally going to inhale anyway.
I start my car, back out of the spot, and then ease down Main Street back toward the lake. Before I reach the entrance, I swing into the Grab n’ Go, figuring I’ll get whatever’s on my mom’s lengthy list of stew ingredients. I flip the console up and grab the notebook paper.
The parking lot of the little store is more crowded than the coffee shop, but only by a few cars. I carry in the coffee and list, my purse bouncing against my hip. The scent of cold produce and whatever else hits my lungs in a way that makes me frown, but I force myself to continue.
I start down the list, beginning with nonperishables in the far back aisle. I swing the basket around, the lights flickering aboveme in a way that’s more annoying than unnerving. The place seems to be mostly empty, and so I ignore the bathroom door as I hear it swing while reaching for my mom’s preferred lavender body wash on the top shelf.
But I can’t fucking reach it.
“Come on,” I mutter, standing on my tip toes, my shoulder aching as my fingertips brush the white plastic. “You have to be kidding me.”
“Here,” a deep voice booms from behind me, and I catch my breath at the scent of suffocating cologne. “Let me help you with that.”
