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In two weeks’ time, I’ve overheard her break up with two boyfriends, get swoony-eyes from nearly every male customer that’s walked through the door, and have been inundated with her moody music selections—mostly revolving around BØRNS and Lykke Li and Jeff Buckley—anytime her manager goes on break.
With long curly blond hair, tattoos, and a style that revolves around hippie-chic, it’s like Penny Lane from Almost Famous just came to life and got a job in Chelsea.
But seeing as we’ve never actually had a conversation, I don’t know anything more about her than her outward appearance.
Nevertheless, I get the feeling she’s living the kind of life I want for myself—happy, confident, and filled with enough drama to keep it interesting. Not to mention, given her obvious gift for flirtation, it’s probably safe to say she’s held more than two penises in her hands and knows what it feels like to have one in other places too.
I take a sip of my coffee and try to focus on the task at hand—sending out more job applications and interview requests, but fuck, it’s hard to focus.
Graduating from school and moving into the real world has been a big adjustment.
With classes, I always had something to focus on. A task at hand, an assignment to turn in.
The uncertainty I feel now is a stark contrast. In fact, with more than a hundred resumes floating out in the wild, and only a limited number of publishers to pursue, I feel like I’m sitting idle, just waiting for something to happen.
What that something is, I have no idea.
I mean, who says I’ll even get up the courage to pounce on an opportunity when the time is right?
Seeing Milo Ives at the shop today has been the most exciting, adrenaline-inducing thing that’s happened over the last two weeks, and I couldn’t even muster the courage to tell him who I was.
What is wrong with me?
I take a sip from my cup and swallow the cooling coffee along with my sigh. Barista Lena is two tables over, chatting with a handsome, tatted customer in a beanie, and I’m…doing nothing.
Aggravated, I swipe my phone off the table and start scrolling through apps to occupy my mind. When none of the useless drivel satisfies me, I go back to the beginning and stare at the little phone icon where I know my list of contacts is.
Where I know Milo’s illegally procured number is.
What could it hurt? I mean, who knows? I might be able to right my awkward wrong and have a conversation with him where I don’t have to pretend I’m a complete stranger?
Stranger things have happened…right?
I squeeze my eyes tight and my fist closed, but when I open both of those, I also open a new text message.
Okay. First of all, just be cool, Maybe.
Just be cool and say hello. It’s literally that simple.
Hi, Milo! It’s Maybe! I actually saw you at the shop today and you didn’t exactly recognize me, but the girl who took your order was me! Hahahahaha! CRAZY, RIGHT?
Cheese and rice. Why am I shouting at him?
Delete.
Hey, Milo. It’s Maybe. Maybe Willis. Evan’s sister. Do you remember me?
Considering I was standing right in front of him today and he thought I was a complete stranger, this seems moot.
Delete.
Yo yo yo, Milo.
Son of a weirdo. Delete.
So…just out of curiosity…you didn’t happen to suffer some sort of brain injury that makes you forget people, did you? Oh, ha. It’s Maybe Willis, by the way.
Valid question, but ugh. Delete.
I start to type out what will be my thirtieth failed text message, but an actual human interrupts me. “Hey there.”
It’s Lena the barista, and she’s talking to me. Not to be dramatic or anything, but I’ve been coming in here for two weeks, and I don’t think this has ever happened before.
“How’s it going?” she asks while I glance over my shoulder to make sure there’s not another customer behind me.
When all I find behind me is wall, I shrug, look side to side almost comically, and then answer. “Pretty good, I guess.”
Her keen blue eyes search mine. “Do you know that you have the prettiest aura I think I’ve ever seen?”
Uh…what?
“Aura?” I ask with an awkward titter in my throat.
“Yes, girl.” Her smile is bright and beaming. “Your vibe. Your spirit. Your aura. It’s the prettiest shade of pink I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“Well…thanks, I think?” I respond with a tilt of my head. “I mean, I’m not quite sure what all that means, but it sounds pretty good.”
“Trust me, it’s good,” she says through a small laugh. “Your name is Maybe, right?”
At first, I’m surprised she knows who I am. Like, maybe she has the ability to read minds or something in addition to auras. But a quick glance down at the table—and my coffee cup—reminds me that she’s been writing it for the last two weeks.
