“Tough call, but I’ll go with vanilla today.”
“Sure thing, Vee. Be up in just a minute.”
While Carter makes my coffee, I sink into a booth and check my phone. I respond to Caroline’s message asking if I’m coming in for my shift today with a thumbs up. She has a lot of questions for me, and since I’ve been avoiding them on the phone, there’s no doubt she’s going to bombard me with them as soon as I get in this afternoon.
Having the last two days off was pure luck, but it’s run out. If I don’t go in today, I’ll lose out, and it will put me behind in my budget.
I rub my temples, trying to get the ache to back off. Diving into the bottom of two extremely cheap bottles of wine over the course of the last two days has left me feeling like a tractor drove over me a dozen times.
It couldn’t be helped, not really.
Blame it on the fear. Or the low-grade depression I fall into every year around this time. In the end the why doesn’t matter, because those reasons will never go away. All that matters is the need to get my head back on straight and keep moving forward.
“Vee, latte’s up!” Carter calls from the counter and slides my cup toward me as I approach.
“Thanks. Really need it today.” I smile.
He tilts his head a little. “Had a rough night?”
“A few rough nights.” I take a sip of the drink, already feeling better as the vanilla flavor hits my tongue.
Carter’s expression turns to concern. “Work’s been crazy. That’s all,” I say.
I’m not a drinker, which is why a bottle of wine has been able to demolish me in such a way that even the sound of the coffee bean grinder makes me want to scratch my eyes out.
“Take it easy then. You’re too young to burn out already.” He winks and heads back to the register to take an order from a young couple that’s just come in.
I pull my sunglasses down over my eyes as soon as I’m back on the sidewalk and the sun continues its assault. The walk back to my apartment calms me now that I have the needed caffeine in hand.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. Assuming it’s Caroline again, I pull it out as I climb the stairs to my floor.
I’d like to speak to you tonight.
Great. Ivan’s message wipes away the calm that I’ve finally achieved and the pain behind my eye resurges viciously.
I’m going to lose my job. After I ran out of my shift the other night, he called, and I sent him to voicemail. He sent a text, and I left it unanswered.
Stopping just short of my apartment, I send him a quick response.
Sorry about the other night. A migraine hit me out of nowhere, and I had to go home.
The three little dots dance right away.
Caroline mentioned you were sick. Is the headache gone now?
The fake migraine, yes, but the self-induced pounding from consuming too much cheap wine lingers.
I’m better, yes. I’ll be in on time tonight.
I’m glad. I have a meeting. When I’m done, I’ll come find you on the floor.
Damn.
All right. See you then.
Pushing my door open with my foot, it takes me until I drop my phone on the little table near the door to realize it had already been open.
Someone shoves me against the door, slamming it shut, and I drop my half-filled coffee to the floor.
