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Ariana goes into the kitchen to make the call, and I take a sip of my coffee. The foam is near perfect, but the coffee is a little on the watery side. It’s because of the low-quality coffee beans they have here, and I hate myself the very next second after thinking that.
In a lot of ways, and despite the fact that I fought very hard against it, I’ve become quite a spoiled princess over the years of living with my father, Roxie and the guys.
But that’s not who I really am. And I finally have the chance to prove it. To myself most of all, perhaps.
* * *
One by one, the people studying inside the cafe leave, and no new ones comes in. Ariana called Carrie and Joyce, but found out they have an emergency and won’t be able to meet me until tonight, possibly tomorrow morning. That’s all she told me before she started meticulously cleaning every inch of the counter and coffee machine. It all sparkles now, and the coffee maker looks brand new.
“I should clean the kitchen,” Ariana says apologetically.
“I’ll help,” I say and jump off my stool.
“No, no, sit,” Ariana says in a shocked voice. “You must be so tired from your trip.”
“Actually, I’ve done nothing but sit for the last three days or so,” I say and come around the counter to join her. “I could use some exercise.”
She smiles at that, the expression in her eyes suggesting she doesn’t believe me at all, and is possibly thinking I’m patronizing her.
“So, you run a program here where you train kids how to prepare coffee like a real barista?” I say conversationally, as I open the dishwasher under the sink. A cloud of steam hits me in the face.
“Yes, it’s meant to teach them a skill so it’s easier for them to find a job,” she says.
She sprayed the stove top with too much degreaser and it’s frothing like crazy now that she’s rubbing it so vigorously.
“There aren’t many jobs on the reservation, are there?” I ask and she shakes her head, not meeting my eyes.
“No, there aren’t. Or off it, for that matter,” she says. “But we all help each other out.”
For some reason, she’s jumpy now. I know I can come across as overbearing to some people, and there isn’t much I can do about that, other than what I’m already doing, which is being extra nice and friendly. It doesn’t seem to be working with Ariana.
I start emptying the dishwasher and don’t say anything more, thinking it’s better to let her have some space.
“Do you know where you’re staying yet?” she asks after awhile. And it’s probably just me, but it sounds like maybe she wants me to leave.
“Yes, with a cousin of mine. Tina Eagle Feather. Maybe you know her,” I say. “She’s a law student in Seattle, but she’s taking some time off to reassess things, as she put it.”
“I know Tina,” she says. “She’s your cousin, huh?”
“Yeah, one of the few still left on the reservation,” I say. “Most of my family didn’t see much point sticking around after my grandparents died. They were the ones who held everything together.”
Or so Tina tells me. My mother was never one for staying here to begin with. Nor were any of her close cousins. Maybe roaming is in our blood. My mother sure thought so.
Ariana is now attacking the counters with the same vigor she used on the stove before. Her hands are visibly shaking when she’s not using them to scrub the already spotless surface.
“Are you alright?” I ask.
She shrugs, shakes her head, and nods, all at practically the same time.
“I just… I… no, it’s nothing for you to worry about, you just got here…” she says, making no sense at all. But she’s getting more and more agitated, her eyes doing a weird thing where they’re focusing on anything and everything but mine.
“I came here to help. I want to help,” I say, maybe too forcefully, because she shakes all over this time. “Lora’s working as a legal clerk in the city, so she can’t meet me before six. I’m all yours until then.”
“I… I have somewhere to be now,” she stutters. “I know where Tina lives, I can give you directions.”
She’s acting so odd that I’m once again wishing there was a doctor here I could take her to.
“When’s your husband coming back?” I ask and get a very confused look. “Should you call him?”
