Wherever Nina Lies by Lynn Weingarten
One
The guy walking toward me is good-looking in an obnoxious way, like he’d play the hot jerk in a TV movie about why drunk driving is bad or how it doesn’t pay to cheat on the SATs. He’s got these big wraparound sunglasses on and a shiny black short-sleeve button-up shirt filled out with the kind of insanely sculpted arm muscles a person only gets when they spend most of their time lifting weights in the mirror and grunting at themselves.
“Hi,” I say. “What can I get for you?” I’ve been working here for a year but I still find it funny when I hear myself ask that, it’s like I’m a kid playing a game about working at a coffee bar, instead of a sixteen-year-old person who actually works at one.
The guy stares at the chalkboard behind me. “Can I haaaaaaaaave”—“a sugar-free skim iced chai.”
“A sugar-free skim iced chai,” I say. And I try not to look over at Brad, who I can feel watching us through the glass pastry case he’s washing.
“Hey, Ellie!” Brad calls out. He’s using his best “casual” voice, which is about an octave higher than his regular one. “Isn’t this such a coincidence? How we were just talking about sugar-free skim iced chais and how good they are? And now this customer is ordering a chai? What was that funny thing you were saying about them? About sugar-free skim iced chais?”
I feel my face turning red. The thing that’s fun about Brad is that he’ll say pretty much anything to anyone; this is also the thing that makes me want to throw a muffin at his head sometimes, one of those scary-huge ones that we sell here for five twenty-five.
I turn back to the guy and make an exaggerated shrug, like, “Who is this nut? And why is he cleaning the pastry case?” But the guy isn’t paying attention to any of this, anyway—he’s too busy checking out his reflection in the back of the espresso machine.
I make his drink and hand it to him. He watches the muscles in his forearm as he pays, and then turns around to leave, he makes it almost to the door, but then turns back at the last second and marches toward the counter. He’s holding his clear plastic cup up to his face. “This doesn’t taste like skim.” He jiggles the cup around. He stares at me, then down at the cup, then back at me. “You gave me a different kind of milk, didn’t you?”
He’s taken his sunglasses off. The skin around his eyes is too tan. And weirdly wrinkly. He makes this intense eye contact for a second, like I’ve been lying to him, but now that his glasses are off, I’ll finally have to ‘fess up.
“Nope,” I say. “That was definitely skim.”
“You’re positive about that?” He keeps the eye contact a second too long and then holds the cup up above his head, looks at the bottom of it, as if that’s where all the fat has deposited itself.
“I’m positive,” I say. “I can make you another one if you want.”
The guy just stands there. “No,” he says. And then he raises his eyebrows. “But I think we both know what you’re trying to do here.” He stands there one second longer, staring, and then finally turns and walks out the door.
I wait two beats after the doors close, then I turn toward Brad. The moment our eyes meet we burst out laughing. “Oh. My,” Brad says. He stands up, holding the spray bottle and rag to his hip. “I thought he looked kinda cute when he first came in, but I should have known his big, shiny glasses were hiding a face full of insaneness.” Brad shakes his head slowly. “Arms like that do not come without a price.”
“Um, speaking of insaneness?”
“Yeah, but I was doing it as a favor! If he had been anything resembling a normal person, my craziness would have been a great conversation starter!”
Brad puts the bottle and rag under the counter and then looks at his bright watch. “Okay, sweetness, you’re off soon, so before you go, I’m just going to run to the back and restock. If anyone comes in who I might think was your soul mate, make sure to tell him I said that he should give you his number!”
“Ha-ha,” I say.
“I’m serious,” Brad says. “Your very own Thomas could be just around the corner.” I roll my eyes. Thomas is Brad’s boyfriend who he met while working here. Thomas was a customer and Brad, who never gets nervous around anyone, was so nervous he dropped a piece of carrot cake on his own shoe. It was quite sweet actually. And they have been happily in love ever since.