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“You look it,” she says, working on my drink.
Another girl walks out from a backroom, joining Moira behind the counter. They talk to each other a moment, but I’m lost in my own thoughts. What was that? Am I losing it? My pulse is racing and I’m light-headed, but I don’t think I’m sick. Tired, yes. Exhausted is a better word. Desperate. Stressed. But none of that should account for what just happened.
“Here you go,” Moira says, handing the drink to me and a small, hot brown envelope with my bagel. I take them and turn to leave. “I’m off now, want to sit for a minute?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t. I’m—-”
What? There’s something…
“Surely you got time for a friend?”
Friends? Are we? We only met yesterday.
“You know what, you’re right.” I shrug and follow her to one of the two-person tables a distance away from all the other patrons.
“Last night was something, wasn’t it?”
“I guess that’s a good thing to call it.” I roll my eyes and she giggles.
“You’re cute.”
Her smile is wide and brilliant and a familiar hint of self-invalidation grabs at my heart again. I don’t feel cute next to her. Her fiery red hair, alabaster skin, and perfect smile. Somehow she makes the screen-printed T-shirt and dark jeans of her work uniform look sexy.
“Thanks,” I say, my cheeks warming, then change the subject back. “I expected more, I guess. That’s all. They’re all nice people, but I wanted—”
“Power,” she inserts the word I’m looking for.
“Is that ridiculous?”
“No,” she says. “Of course not. We all want power, but maybe the power we seek isn’t what we think it is.”
“What do you mean?”
She shrugs and sips her coffee. I do the same, letting the rich, sweet warmth roll over my tongue and the caffeine works it subtle magic, making me feel more alert, pushing back on the gray fog of exhaustion that’s become my normal.
“I think there is power in the world that we tend to ignore. Routines are power. Accepting reality is power. Recognizing that the status quo isn’t nearly as bad as we make it out to be.”
“Hmm,” I murmur.
She’s wrong, but I’m not going to say it. I’ve felt power. I had it, within me, when I was back in time with the MacGregors. When I confronted the Fae. That was power.
“You don’t agree,” she says.
“Huh? Well, uh,” I don’t want to offend her, so I’m left stuttering as she calls me out.
“It’s fine, you’re not going to hurt my feelings. I’m not a delicate flower.”
“Are you reading my mind?”
“Only in that your thoughts are written clear as day on your face,” she says, flashing a genuine and disarming smile.
“Okay, well, no, I don’t agree. Look at the world.” I turn my head, motioning aroundRedux. Every patron, even those in line ordering, can barely look up from their phones or have their attention buried in a laptop. “Is this the best we can be?”
“I didn’t say that. I said there’s power we don’t recognize. Consistency is its own power. The speed of information is power. Being able to communicate with people on the opposite side of the world is power.”
“Sure, low-key power, I get it. But it’s not magic.”
“Isn’t it?”
