IT FUCKING PISSES me off that I’m sitting here. But the reality is, I acted like an asshole earlier and I do have a conscience.
The smell of this place jogs my memory; Sunday mornings and homemade cinnamon rolls, fights between me and Julian over which ones had more icing while driving Mom crazy. Now she doesn’t remember it and that makes my heart fucking shrivel inside my chest.
The sound of a plate laid on the table drags me back to the now. I stare up at Ember who doesn’t look all that happy to see me. Not that I can fault her for that.
“One cinnamon roll and one hazelnut coffee.” Her words are clipped as is her tone. “You asked for me?” A lightbulb goes off in her eyes. “How did you know I was here? Did you follow me?”
“Follow you? No.” I pick up the cup, pausing before it reaches my lips. “You didn’t spit in this, did you?”
Her nose wrinkles but she’s still not smiling. “No. Why would I do that?”
I take a sip then set it down on the table. “Wow. That’s really fucking good.”
“Anna’s is the best.” She fists a hand on her hip, still staring me down with those penetrating green eyes. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“Oh yeah, right.” I point around toward the back of her shirt with my index finger. “It says Anna’s Pastry so I just used some deductive reasoning and took a shot. Plus,” I add, unable to prevent my lips from twitching. “No Mickey Mouse.”
Ember lets out a strained laugh. It’s obvious she can’t tell if I’m being playful or mocking her. I think I’m teasing, but I’m so out of practice from having any normal interaction that it comes out uncertain. The sound of my own chuckle is entirely foreign that for a second I look around nervously and wonder where it’s coming from. I don’t want to laugh, because I don’t want to allow myself that simple pleasure.
“Anna is pretty strict about work attire,” she explains. She glances over her shoulder at the line forming in front of the counter, then at the dude behind the register who is watching her like a hawk. “Anyway, I need to get back to work.”
“Wait.”
She’s about three steps away when my voice stops her and she turns around. “Yeah?”
“I wanted to… apologize for earlier.”
She cocks her head to the side, eyes probing as if I’m under a microscope. The way she studies me makes me shift in my seat. “Is this an apology of your own volition?” Again, her words make my lips want to crack into a grin. But this time I hold steady.
“Yes.”
With a brisk nod of her head, she retorts. “Okay then. Apology for acting like an asshole accepted. See ya.” She’s nearly to the counter when she pivots on her heel and I end up staring at the side of her face. “I’m sorry, too.” Then she spins around and saunters off, reminiscent of a tornado. The way she whirls in and causes all sorts of commotion, then walks away, not realizing the damage she’s left behind.
Or maybe that’s me.
I LEFT WORK in a hurry. It was a long day and I’m anxious to take a hot shower and wash the remnants of it from my skin. As I steer Zack’s silver Honda into the driveway, I shift the car into park and close my eyes. Fingers curled tightly around the wheel, I drop my head against it, a mountain of exhaustion releasing on a heavy sigh.
Gathering strength to lift myself up, my eyes wander to Dad in the garage and I wonder what he’s doing here. He’s sitting on the workbench amidst the tools, his shoulders hunched over. My father is rarely in a bad mood and warning bells go off. My stomach drops to the ground as I worry my lip between my teeth.
I leave the bag of cinnamon rolls on the passenger seat and exit the car, heading straight for the garage. “Dad?” He doesn’t respond, so I walk over and lay a hand on his shoulder. He startles and practically falls off the bench, his hand going to his chest.
“Oh, honey, I didn’t hear you.”
Dad rights himself and I take a seat next to him. “What’s going on? What’s wrong? You’re not supposed to be here today.”
He places a hand over mine and pats it a few times, giving me a weak smile. “Okay, first of all calm down. Everything’s fine.” The strain in his voice doesn’t reassure me. He exhales and the air around us grows heavy. “Your mom had a difficult day and she needed me.” My jaw tenses as my free hand grips the bench, nails digging into the wood. “There was a letter today in the mail addressed to your brother. It was from an old friend of his from high school. Someone… who didn’t know he, well,” he pauses, tempering the emotion in his throat. “That he’d passed away.”
“Oh, Dad.”