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Suddenly, I am hot and nauseous and dizzy. There’s a ringing in my ears. I can see my father’s lips still moving but none of it sinks in. I shove the chair back from the table, standing up abruptly.
“Excuse me,” I manage to bite out. My father has drilled manners into me. Even in a moment like this, it comes out like a reflex.
I turn to walk away, so furious that my skin actually tingles from the anger. I’m not even sure where I’m going. Anywhere but here, I guess.
Before I know it, I am pushing open the restaurant door and walking outside. People coming in turn away from me, and it registers somewhere in the back of my head that they must see the hostility on my face. It doesn’t surprise me, though. I feel violent right now, so full of rage that it makes me ill.
I am not normally an angry man. But even I have my limits. To set up this whole deal assuming I can be coerced into marrying Ada. To charge ahead without even asking my opinion, when clearly it all hinges on a relationship I don’t even want.
It’s obvious now that he had this in mind the whole time. He just waited for the last second to spring it on me, hoping I would be backed into a corner and unable to refuse.
“Aiden, wait!” I hear my sister’s voice but ignore it. I pace anxiously back and forth on the sidewalk in a desperate but unsuccessful attempt to calm myself. Soon, I can see her standing next to me out of the corner of my eye.
“Ada’s a bitch,” I blurt out, not even caring that I’m cursing in public and in front of a nice restaurant, too. “A bitch. I won’t do it,” I insist, as though convincing her is the same as convincing my father.
She puts her hand on my arm, a gesture that is meant to be comforting. I feel my blood pressure spike instead, wanting to yell and scream. I swallow it down, barely, some part of my brain remembering this isn’t her fault.
“Let’s go get a coffee,” I suggest. I need some time to figure out what I’m going to do, and I can’t go back in there yet. More importantly, I need to calm down. Maybe a coffee and a chance to clear my head will help.
She slips her arm into mine, escorting me down the sidewalk as if I might run away any second. For all I know, she’s right. I just might.
We walk in silence until she finally speaks up, the first opinion she’s voiced on the matter. “For what it’s worth, I think Ada’s a bitch, too,” she agrees loyally. Despite myself, I laugh.
But deep down, it just confirms what I already know. There isnothingmy father can do that will convince me to marry that horrible woman. Nothing.
Now how do I get out of it?
3
JOSEPHINE
The coffee house, despite our financial concerns, does steady business. Enough to keep our long-time employees busy and working, at least. We’ve cut down on staffing and stopped hiring as many new people as we did in the past, but we’re far from being out of business, either.
That is, if we don’t get evicted. That, of course, will bring a dramatic and sudden end to the business.
Today, like always, the phone is not ringing off the hook, but customers do keep appearing. A glance in the cash drawer tells me we’ve at least turned a profit.
And that, perhaps, is the most unfair part of the whole stinking deal. We do good work, and people like it here. Under any other circumstance, we’d be proud. It’s only the overwhelming medical debt that is crippling us.
The number of customers we’d need to relieve that burden would simply be utterly obscene. I guess I should be happy that, on one hand, our shop isn’t really a failure. But it’s almost more bitter that way, admitting there seems to be no path out. No matter how much we make, it will never be enough. Not for what we’re facing.
The chime on the door jerks me out of my glum thoughts, and I watch a refined young woman enter. She has a very groomed, posh appearance, the kind that screams out she doesn’t have to think about money the way I do. I am both filled with instant jealousy and hope, because these women tend to make valuable customers.
“I want to hire you for an engagement party,” she says in lieu of introduction. I don’t mind the brusque, borderline rude, way she cuts to the chase. I’m too busy hearing the jangle of money in my head.
“Certainly,” I say politely. “Let me just grab a form to take down all the information.”
The party, it turns out, is only a few days away. I don’t mind the rush job, especially since it means I get to charge more for some of her requests. Her order is extravagant and not cheap, meaning that making time to fit her in is well worth it.
Not only that, but she also pays in full before she leaves. I crinkle the bills in my fist, trying hard not to look too giddy in front of the other customers. When I manage to contain myself in a more appropriate manner, I calmly slide the money into the cash register, having to consciously make an effort not to burst out into song.
If we could get about ten more jobs like that,I think to myself. A part of me knows what a ridiculous hope that is. If I got that many private catering jobs over the next few days, I’d have to hire more staff to even fill them.
But I’m determined to keep my spirits up, so I focus on being optimistic.Maybe it really will work itself out somehow, in our darkest hour. It could happen…right?
Business stays…well, if not booming, at least steady. For the next few hours, I have enough to do to keep my mind busy and distracted from my grim worries. It’s something of a relief, and it keeps me from wallowing in my fears of an uncertain future.
Even better, I find something more pleasant to think about when a shockingly handsome man enters the coffee house. He catches my eye right away. For a brief moment, I imagine myself slipping him my number, pretending I am someone bolder, someone more adventurous.
