I realize I’m staring dumbly at him. “Uh. Dinner? Sure. I’ll text you when I get off,” I say, and then flee the apartment.
There’s no way I’m going to make it through a New Year’s brunch at Xavier’s restaurant without caffeine and food, so on the way to work, I stop at Higher Grounds. Zoe has the best coffee in Williamsburg. I should know—when I worked here during my Very Bad Year, it took me three weeks to learn how to make it properly. The scones aren’t great. I could make better ones in my sleep, but I’m so hungry I don’t care.
When I walk in, the familiar scent of ground coffee, vanilla, and something that’s unique to Higher Grounds envelops me, and it’s strangely comforting in my familiar yet foreign new world. Zoe, the owner, stands behind the counter with her long black braids tied up off her face in a colorful wrap.
“Hi, Zoe,” I say as I approach. “I’d kill for a latte and blueberry scone. To go, please. I’m already late for—” I abruptly stop talking. Because she’s staring at me with her eyebrows knit together. And with good reason. I might have spent four months behind that counter, but I don’t work here, and as far as everyone in the place is concerned, I never worked here. Zoe doesn’t know me from Adam, and I’m talking to her like we’re old friends.
“Have we met?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “How do you know my name?”
“Oh, well…” How am I going to talk my way out of this? I give her my most sincere not-a-stalker smile. “I was in here a couple of months ago—” Zoe won’t recall that far back, will she? Except she’s one of those people who has an amazing talent for remembering customers and making them feel welcome. If we’d talked before, she’d know. “And… I overheard someone call you Zoe,” I improvise. “And coincidentally, I had a—um—a cat named Zoe. She died.” Oh great, now in one of my multiple lives, I have a dead cat. I hang my head, looking as sad as possible over my dearly departed pet and banking on the fact that Zoe will take pity on me. “So, that’s how I knew your name, and obviously it stuck with me.”
This is New York City, so I’m certainly not the strangest person to ever come into the café, but I’m willing to bet I’m the strangest person this week. I can almost see Zoe’s brain working out how to handle me in the kindest way possible. “Oh… I’m honored to have had the same name as your… furry friend. Poor Zoe. How are you?”
“Holding up the best I can,” I say. “It’s hard when you lose a pet. They’re like family.” Shut up, Sadie.
“Yeah.” She nods. “I’m so sorry. Remind me of your name again?”
“It’s Sadie,” I tell her, relieved that she seems to be playing along. “Sadie, sort of like”—I make air quotes with my fingers—“‘Sadie, the Cat Lady.’ That’s me.” Oh my God, it’s that nervous babble again. Somebody please put me out of my misery.
Zoe backs away from me, and who could blame her? “Well, let me get you that latte.”
When she turns to use the milk frother, I press my palms to my face and shake my head. Pretending I haven’t lived through this year before is going to be more difficult than I expected. There are so many pitfalls. I’m really going to have to work harder to keep track of what I’m not supposed to know and learn to think before I talk. I should only be using the information I have to fix the things I messed up during my Very Bad Year.
It occurs to me that I should have paid attention to some hot stock tips or lottery numbers the last time around. But, Oh, well. It’s too late now. Besides, if I suddenly started buying tech stock, it would be even less plausible than this dead cat situation I’ve gotten myself into.
I glance to my left and find an older woman glaring at me. Mrs. Kaminski. No way am I acknowledging that we’ve met before. She loves to sit at the counter and bark orders at the staff. Zoe doesn’t seem to mind, and sometimes she even gives her free coffee.
When my latte and scone are ready to go, I make sure to leave a big tip. Zoe earned it for putting up with me. I scarf down my sustenance on the four-block walk to Xavier’s, and when I arrive, I slip in the back-alley door, mercifully undetected.
Kasumi is standing at one of the industrial metal worktables slicing strawberries to go on top of Xavier’s pearled sugar and preserved lemon waffles. “Sadie,” she whispers after I toss my purse in the staff break room and tie an apron around my waist. “Thank God you’re here. Xavier is on a tear over something—who knows what?” She rolls her eyes because we’re all used to Xavier’s tantrums. “Are you okay? You were super weird on the phone this morning.”
“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just—” For a wild second, I consider blurting out that a fortune teller sent me a year back in time to fix my messed-up life. Who wouldn’t believe a story like that? Thankfully, I come to my senses. “It’s just that I was a little hungover this morning.”
“Yeah, me too. Alex’s new friends can really drink, can’t they?”
At the Wall Street investment banking firm where Alex has worked for the past few months, the motto seems to be Work hard and play harder. I thought people in the restaurant industry were drinkers, but we’ve got nothing on those finance guys who toil until all hours and then drop hundreds of dollars a night at bougie bars with tufted leather seats and cigar rooms in back. None of that is really Alex’s scene, but he’s new at the firm and sometimes has to play the game.
“Alex is such a good guy,” Kasumi muses, mirroring my thoughts. “I’m surprised he can spend so much time with those douchey finance-bros.”
“I’m sorry about Zach hitting on you at the party,” I say. Zach, the host of the New Year’s party, just happens to be the guy who caused Alex’s and my big breakup. Except I remind myself that technically I was the cause of our big breakup when I allowed myself to be baited into a very public argument with Zach in front of Alex and all of his coworkers. I don’t know what I was thinking, but I won’t let that happen again.
Before we can discuss the party anymore, Xavier bursts into the room. “Sadie,” he roars. “Where were you?”
“Um.” I look around wildly. Kasumi grabs a bag of plums that have been at the restaurant this whole time and shoves it across the table. “Plums!” I swing the bag in Xavier’s direction. “The plums never arrived, and I know how you wanted stone fruit galettes on the menu today, so I ran to the Food Bazaar and grabbed some.”
Xavier eyes the bag, probably looking for some way to find fault with it, and when he can’t, he levels a glare at me. “Fine. Get to work rolling out the dough, and don’t make it too thick.”