Page 216 of Worth the Trip

“What?”

“I need to prepare.”

“For what?”

“History.”

“You are staying behind this counter.”

“That feels oppressive.”

“You’re four minutes younger than me. Respect your elder.”

“Noli, you got four minutes on me. Please stop acting like you signed my birth certificate.”

“Somebody had to come out first and establish order.”

“You were four minutes old. You didn’t establish shit.”

I laughed. “Go work.”

“Abusing seniority. Exactly what I thought.”

The next hour belonged to customers. Orders stacked faster than we could call them out. Jasmine and Tasha moved around each other with the ease of women who knew our operation well enough to anticipate what came next, and every time instinct tugged me toward a task someone else already had, I redirected.

A retired teacher bought two cups, chose a book for her granddaughter, then tried to pay for one of the literacy bags.

“They’re complimentary.”

“Then let me donate.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

She folded several bills and placed them in the donation jar. “Baby, sometimes people want to help something good keep going. Let us.”

I looked at her.

Then the money.

And left it exactly where she put it.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Her name was Odessa Greene. Thirty-four years teaching kindergarten, she told me, before her knees and her common sense retired her. She accepted my card after learning Scoops & Stories held weekly reading events in Self Ridge.

“If y’all ever bring that over here, call me. I still know how many kindergarteners can fit on a rug before somebody starts lying about personal space.”

I laughed. “I might do that.”

“Do. Retirement got too many weekdays.”

She left with two cups and a bag of books.

I tucked her name into memory.