The Fourteen Day Soul Detox (5 page)

“Would you have come?”

“No.”

“Uh huh. You know what, Jamie?
I’m tired of it. I’m tired of feeling sorry for you. I’m
tired of everyone tiptoeing around you and not bringing up how
screwed up you are. I’m especially tired of everyone not
mentioning this.” She grabbed my left hand.

Surprised, I lifted my head away from
the steering wheel, only to have Amy shove my wedding finger into my
own face.

“And don’t you dare tell me
that you wore it for work, because I know for a fact that you never
take that thing off,” she said.

“What, do you have cameras in my
shower?” I said, pulling my hand back to cover my wedding
finger with my other hand.

“Why do you still wear that
thing? Is it just to ensure that you can never move past losing
Logan?”

“It’s been a year, Amy. A
year
,” I said.

“If he was still alive, you
wouldn’t even be together after what he did to you,” she
said, rolling her eyes in apparent frustration.

“And that’s supposed to
make this easier?” I said.

“To move on, yes. Have you even
talked to a guy who wasn’t ordering a drink from you since
Logan died?”

“Yes,” I said.

She pointed a finger at me. “I’m
not talking about you sleeping with Vanessa’s ex-husband. You
know how screwed up I think that is,” she said, glaring at me.

I stared at her, dumbfounded. “Are
you and Vanessa talking again?”

“No, of course not,” she
said, smacking her forehead before throwing up her hands. “But
that doesn’t change the fact that I think you sleeping with Cam
is all kinds of screwed up. Like either of you need any more
baggage.”

“Thanks, Amy. Please, don’t
hold anything back. What else am I doing wrong with my life?”

She closed her eyes, breathing through
her nose. “I wasn’t trying to—I didn’t mean
to dump all of this on you on your birthday, okay? It’s just
hard. I want you to be happy and you obviously don’t want to
be.”

“Unfortunately for you, you can’t
control other people’s lives. I know you know everything and
you have this perfect life with your perfect husband and all, but I
was dealt a different set of cards.” I crossed my arms over my
chest.

She placed her manicured fingers to her
temples. “See, it’s when you talk like that that really
bothers me, and not because you’re trying to insult me and
Peter. You’re thirty, not ninety, stop being so self-defeating.
And for God’s sake, eat something; you always look so sickly
lately. Can’t you at least eat at that money-hole of a coffee
shop?”

I glared at her.

She sighed, dropping her hands. “I’m
sorry,” she said, but she didn’t sound sorry. “Will
you come back into the restaurant?”

“No, I’m not hungry,”
I said, raising my eyebrows at her. “And I need to go throw
some more money into a hole.”

“Fine,” she said, looking
to the car’s ceiling. “Well, are we still going to that
kids’ movie this Sunday? What was it called?”

“
Lucky Stars
,” I
said. “Sarah and I are going; you can come if you want to.”

“Well, I do, and Peter does too,”
she said.

“Great, see you at the theater,”
I said.

“I guess I’ll bring you
everyone’s presents then.” She heaved a sigh. “Happy
birthday.”

“Thanks,” I grumbled as she
exited the car. “Hey Amy!” I called out to her.

She ducked her head back into the car.

“Thank you for sparing me the
humiliation of doing that scene in front of everyone.”

“Yeah,” she said, before
closing my car door.

I texted Susan while still sitting in
my car in the restaurant parking lot.

Me:
Why
can’t you be my real sister?

Susan:
Amy crawl up your ass again?

Me:
With
a pitchfork. I seriously don’t know where she gets it. Both my
dad and Sharon are such nice, well-adjusted people.

Susan:
Maybe
from all those teeny-bopper sitcoms she used to torture us with
.

Me
:
Omg I forgot about those! Those were horrible.

Susan:
Fucking
awful.

Me:
Btw
I’m killing your wife tonight.

Susan:
Yeah
she told me, something about her introducing you to the guy of your
dreams.

Me:
She
would spin it like that.

Susan:
Gotta
go. Boss coming. See you soon. And, you’re not killing Beza.

Backing out of my spot, I drove the
half mile downtown where The Coffee Spot sat sandwiched between a
Cajun restaurant and the public library building.

The familiar mural on the library wall
of Jack climbing a beanstalk to a paradise made entirely of books
greeted me as I exited my car. Jack had a happy-go-lucky look on his
face, having no idea that a fearsome literary giant was waiting for
him in a castle made of the classics. Like everything else in this
town, the library architecture was done in a mission style, all red
tile roofs and thick white walls.

The Coffee Stop stood out from the
library’s cutesy exterior. Six years ago, when Logan and I
bought The Coffee Spot’s building, we remodeled the whole thing
to look like a Parisian shop. We designed the exterior and interior,
and even had one of Logan’s friends do the installations so we
could be there through every step of the process.

Huge windows spanned the outer wall,
all of which was sheltered by a long, red awning. ‘The Coffee
Stop’ was written in wide letters across the windows. The sun
was going full blast above us, though the wind blasting through the
street was fighting it for dominance. The blossoming cherry tree
planted in front of the coffee shop swayed as if it was waving.
Petals blew past like a whirlwind of pink snowflakes, catching on my
shirt and hair.

Flicking the petals off me, I hurried
up to the shop’s entrance and threw open the door. As soon as I
was safely inside, I shut the door on the wind. The warm coffee smell
comforted me with its familiarity as much as the soft classical music
did.

Turning, I watched the petals swirl
past the windows in the wind. Some petals took a straight path,
flying onward like they wanted to reach somewhere other than the
drainage holes on the sides of the street. Other pink petals were in
no hurry, they swirled around, forming small columns of color.

“Look! It’s the birthday
girl!” A familiar voice shouted from behind me.

Spinning on my heel, I turned to see
Chris beaming at me from across the cash register. The line of
customers in front of him glanced over at me. One older woman gave me
a smile and a nod, though I didn’t recognize her.

Smiling back, I made my way to the
opening behind the coffee counter.

“Hey Chris,” I said,
patting him on the shoulder as I passed. Chris looked too big behind
the coffee counter, and like any great baker, he only got bigger the
longer I knew him.

I slid past him to the back where I
kept the spare aprons. After making sure to grab one of the smaller
aprons—Chris’s spares could wrap around me twice—I
washed my hands and stepped up behind Chris. “You want to take
off?” I asked him.

He turned a wide smile on me, his white
teeth contrasting with his dark brown skin and short black bristle
beard. “I’m good,” he said. “I’ll help
you close.”

“Are you sure? Haven’t you
been here since four-thirty?”

“Yeah, it’s all good,”
he said.

“Okay, if you’re sure,”
I said, shrugging. “Well, what do you want to take, register or
espresso machine?”

“Register,” he said.

Jumping on the espresso machine, I
adjusted the grind. Chris tamped down the ground espresso beans
harder than I could, and if I pulled shots from his grinds, they’d
be weak and watery.

It took a few wasted shots, but soon I
was pulling great shots. Taking the small pitcher of milk, I let the
steam wand rest just under the milk’s surface and turned the
knob to start the steam going.

When the temperature of the milk was
right and the foam at the top was just perfect, I turned off the
steam. Lining up the cups, I made the dry cappuccino first, using the
majority of my foam.

I called out the order, placing the
cappuccino on the bar. Turning my attention to the next drink, I
stirred the flavor in with the shot, and then poured the hot foamed
milk in while holding the foam back with a spoon. When the cup was
almost full, I let the foam pour in. Shaking my hand back and forth,
I then did a quick motion up, making a white fern leaf in the foam. I
repeated the process with the next drink, but made a heart instead.

As new orders came in, I hurried
between the espresso machine and the blenders and ice for the cold
drinks.

Chris kept the cups coming, chatting up
both the new and regular customers alike. He was almost constantly
laughing, and if I didn’t know the customer, I could never tell
whether they were unknown, or someone Chris was friends with at
college. When the lunch rush dwindled, I blew out the steam wands and
wiped down my station.

Chris always managed to keep it
pristine when he worked the espresso machine, while I worked in a
general mess of chocolate and coffee grind spills until the lulls in
customers.

“Happy birthday to you, happy
birthday to you,” Chris sang, holding a banana nut muffin out
to me.

I closed my eyes and blew out an
imaginary candle. “I wish for a million dollars,” I said.

“No, you’re not supposed to
tell,” he whispered. Then he stuffed the muffin into my mouth.

“Ah,” I garbled with the
muffin hanging out of my mouth, before taking a big bite. After
swallowing, I raised my finger at him. “I’d be pissed if
that didn’t taste so freaking amazing. Is that a different
recipe?”

He grinned. “I’ll never
tell.”

I took another big bite. “Crack,
you put crack into it, didn’t you?”

His smile grew wider. “So how is
your hot sister?” he asked.

“Still married,” I said
before stuffing the rest of the muffin into my mouth.

“That’s fine with me; I
just meant she’s nice to look at.” He shrugged his wide
shoulders. “You know, even though she knew I was covering for
you here, she called to un-invite me just in case I might change my
mind.” He furrowed his brow and a grimace turned down the
corner of his lips. “I’ve always been so nice to her. Is
she racist or something?”

“Um, I’ve never heard her
say anything racist that I can remember.” I shook my head. “If
it makes you feel any better, she uninvited everyone I invited. I’m
pretty sure she was rude to everyone else too.”

“Good, because I was thinking of
starting a petition to stop you having her plan your parties,”
he said.

“My signature will be the first
one on there, trust me,” I said, raising my eyebrows at him.
“Hence me coming in an hour earlier than expected.”

He glanced over at the clock. “Whoa,
I thought it was later! That bad?”

“Worse,” I said as I
grabbed a clean towel and ran it under warm water. “Remember
when that rock busted through our door window a couple years ago and
a piece of glass stuck in my arm?”

“Yeah, I remember, that sucker
was this big.” He held his thumb and index finger up about two
inches apart.

“Ten stitches,” I said.
“I’d take five pieces of glass to avoid another birthday
luncheon planned by my sister.” I held up my hand, extending
out my fingers for emphasis.

Chris whistled.

Wringing out the towel, I nodded.
“Anyway, I’m going to get a head start on closing.”

“You doing that birthday
sleepover thing with those hot lesbians?”

I smacked him with the damp towel.
“Shut up you,” I said.

He threw up his hands with a grin.
“Just asking. Touchy, touchy.”

With quick efficient movements, I wiped
down the tables and chairs around the shop.

The only remaining customer, a regular
who usually came in during the morning, called to me from across the
shop, “I’m just going to pack up here in a minute,
Jamie.”

“No worries, Margret, we’re
still open for another hour. Just getting a head start,” I
said. “You want me to grab you any water or anything?”

“Oh, no, I’m great, thanks
Jamie,” she said, turning back to her laptop.

Leaning over, I cleared the kid’s
books from the coffee table before wiping it down.

The door jingled behind me, but I
figured that Chris would handle the customers.

A cookie had exploded across the couch
cushions and I was furiously wiping it away when I heard a low
familiar chuckle from right behind me.

I jumped up and spun around.

Cameron stood a few paces away, his
eyes still on my backside with a half-amused, half-heated look on his
face.

“Enjoying the show?” I
asked, attempting to glare at him, but I had a hard time fighting a
grin.

He stepped closer and said in a low
voice, “Loved the show.”

“How long were you standing
there?”

He just bobbed his eyebrows. Then he
narrowed his eyes. “I thought you weren’t going to be
here.”

I shrugged. “Yeah, the whole
thing got canceled. I’m really not that disappointed.”

Behind the counter, Chris widened his
eyes at me then shook his head.

I focused back to Cameron. “You
want your usual?”

He paused before saying, “Yeah,
that’d be great.”

I walked around the counter, and set up
a double shot on the espresso machine.

“Hey Chris, how’s it
going?” Cameron said as he walked up to the counter.

“Good, Cam. You?”

“I am doing perfectly, got a
great new client today and he’s got friends who need a lot of
custom work,” he said with a grin.