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“They don’t like how I’m raising him.” It was a half-truth. Awkward, and stilted, she wasn’t sure if Jessica would hear the falsity behind the words. “You know what they’re like. Ultra conservative.” Even down to the alcoholic wife and the husband who really didn’t give a fuck about anything other than himself, his money, and his politics.
“How can they disapprove? Erin is loved, and he’s happy. In fact, every time I see him, I’m surprised at how happy the kid is. Considering his dad just died, you know?” She shook her head. “Surely that’s proof of how good a job you’re doing.”
Samantha cleared her throat, uneasy with how close to the truth they were running with this conversation. “Where’s that coffee?” she asked, trying to change the subject.
It worked, but Jess’s narrowed eyes told her that this chat wasn’t over.
She sighed at the thought, but reached forward for the mug Jessica passed her. It wasn’t what she really wanted to drink—but it was the best of a bad job. She hated almond milk, and the way the café shop sweetened everything with Stevia? Ugh. Still, she never wanted to offend Jess. This kind of lifestyle was important to her vegan friend, and whatever Samantha was, she was supportive.
Even if that meant having to put up with bad coffee and sandwiches made from chickpea flour wraps.
When Jess rounded the counter, a dull oak plank that had been salvaged from somewhere or other, she jerked her chin at a free table in the corner of the café.
The place was filled with ethnic colors that were definitely cheerful. Even if the coffee wasn’t the best, a part of Samantha always felt lifted after coming here. They were in the heart of a really African neighborhood. So, the tribal decorations were the real deal, provided by a few of the families who owned the coffee shop—Jessica’s included. The first time her friend had shown her this place, she’d pointed to a scarf that her grandmother had worn about her head in the old country.
It still astonished Samantha to see it because the colors were so vibrant, it was like it had been made last year and not last century.
The tables were all scrubbed oak too, and the chairs were comfortable armchairs that invited customers to take a seat and relax with a book. The vibe here was so chilled that Samantha always liked meeting her friend here.
It was so different to the life she’d led with Jamie. So simple and basic. Just like her life had once been.
The truth was, even though she’d never be able to tell Jess everything, she was so grateful she’d bumped into the other woman at a yoga class.
Some days, Samantha felt sure Jessica and Erin were the only things that had gotten her through the darkest moments with Jamie.
Throat thick again, she tried to shake off the emotion haunting her. She’d been doing so well, but recent events had really stirred the old ghosts up. She’d tried to put Jamie and his abuse in the past, burying it away like it was a dead body. But now, things were being dragged to the surface and for all that she was strong, Samantha wasn’t sure if she could handle having to deal with the resurrection of memories that belonged firmly in the past.
Settling on the chintz armchair, she watched as Jess cast a weathered eye over the coffee shop. It was their quiet time, just before the post-workday-end rush. Things grew calm after lunch and got busier again around six. Samantha liked to visit at threeish on these days. It meant Jess could relax some after a stressful lunch period, but also keep things ticking over with the other members of staff picking up most of the strain.
When Jessica rested her ample curves in a matching chintz armchair, bright purple, however, in contrast to Samantha’s bright pink, she tilted her head back against the rest and murmured, “Don’t think I’ve forgotten,” she warned. Her chestnut eyes were serious. Her lips mutinous. “I don’t like this. You’re putting yourself in a dangerous man’s pocket.”
Samantha couldn’t stop herself from snorting. “He’s not in the mob, Jess.” And her friend really didn’t know the danger Samantha had been in before...
“No, but he might as well be. You know how those international conglomerates work. Everything is so linked, that the network is tangled.”
“You’ve been watching too many Facebook videos about anti-capitalism,” Samantha accused, wagging her finger at Jessica as she leaned forward to grab the cookie Jessica had tucked onto the saucer holding her coffee mug.
“No. I haven’t. I shared that photo with you. The one that shows how few corporations actually exist in the world? They’re all owned by the same people. They just have different names so they seem separate, but they’re not. Mr Lewis’s Stradi Group is one of those corporations. When I was reading it, I noticed it because hell, how could I not? I know someone who actually knows him.”
Samantha narrowed her eyes at Jessica as she tried not to wince at the flaxseed cookie. How people ate this stuff was beyond her, but she had to admit, it was good for the environment so she always took some home for Erin to have as a treat.
If he was raised with this crap, he wouldn’t know that things like Oreos existed.
Yum, Oreos.
Mouth-watering enough to let her swallow the damn cookie down, Samantha grumbled, “What do you want me to do, Jess? Lose Erin to those bottom feeders?”
“No,” Jessica said on a sigh. She reached up to curl one of her lustrous corkscrew locks around her finger. In contrast to Samantha’s deadly dull, straighter than straight hair, it was a vibrant and vivacious display of abundance.
Samantha was always jealous of Jess’s hair.
“Then, what?” Samantha shrugged. “What can I do?”
“Anything apart from get into bed with the devil.” She took a sip of her coffee, then mumbled, “Surely there’s somebody else who could help?”
“Nobody that Frank and Janice respect more than Josh. And even then, they don’t respect him that much. Remember, I told you they thought we were having an affair.”
Jessica chuckled. “Yeah, I always thought that was the dumbest thing ever. I mean, really, they only had to see the two of you together to know you were piss scared of him.”
