Lost Along the Way(42)
“I had to keep tabs on you somehow,” Meg joked.
“I think it’s too early for humor in all of this.”
“I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m just trying to make you laugh a little, I guess.”
“Can we try to figure out a way to help each other here? No one is free from blame in how our relationship disintegrated over the years. You can either try to make it better, or you can cling to the anger that you’ve let overtake your life and remain a hermit on the far reaches of the island. Those are your options. All things considered, I think it’s a pretty easy choice, but what do I know? I’m just living out my own little soap opera over here.”
“I don’t know if there’s any way for us to help each other. We don’t even know each other anymore.”
“Well, then try to get to know us. Honestly, you need to chill the hell out. The mood in this car is not exactly Zen, and if I’m supposed to be the glue that holds this group together, then we are all completely f*cked. Mediation was never my strong suit.”
“Is that her car?” Meg asked, pointing to the side of the road across the street from Jack’s Coffee House. Meg wasn’t surprised that Cara had noticed the small clapboard coffeehouse on the side of the highway, as it was undeniably cute and comforting—just the kind of place she’d like.
“Yes. She must’ve stopped for coffee. This place looks adorable, actually. Do you ever come here?”
“Not really. Twenty minutes is too far away to travel just for a cup of coffee, and in the summer the crowds descend on it with such fury you’d think they were giving away gold bricks with the lattes.”
“Gotcha. Well, are you ready to play nice with her, or what?”
“It’s not that simple, Jane. If I were her I wouldn’t be in a rush to come back. You’re going to have to run this show.”
“I’ve been running this show since the beginning of time. Don’t forget that.”
“How’d that work out for you?” Meg asked.
“Fair point. I didn’t say I was good at it.”
They crossed the street and pushed through the rickety wooden door into the coffeehouse. Meg was immediately overwhelmed by the smell of cedar and arabica beans. The chalkboard behind the counter listed elaborate drinks with cute names that enthralled the Hamptons summer set who liked extremely expensive specialized java. These days, Meg was a simple girl who took her coffee with a splash of whatever kind of milk was available and two packets of sugar. This new trend of half-caf, skinny, low-fat, vanilla, mochaccino nonsense aggravated her. She’d just as soon make it at home in her French press and call it a day—one less reason to leave the house.
She saw Cara talking to the barista with the green apron behind the counter.
“This herbal tea is decaffeinated, right?” Cara asked, examining the tag from the tea bag that was hanging over the rim of her drink.
“I don’t know for sure, but I think so,” the barista answered, not seeming to care one way or the other.
“What do you mean, you think so? You work here, shouldn’t you know?”
“I think it is, but I’m not one hundred percent sure,” the girl behind the counter said again.
“I see. If you went to buy a car and asked the sales guy if the brakes worked and he said ‘I think so,’ would you still drive it? If you went to a drugstore to pick up a prescription and the pharmacist told you that he thinks it’s penicillin, but he’s really not sure, would that be okay with you?” Cara yelled.
“It’s not a narcotic, lady. It’s just tea.”
“I’ll have you know that caffeine is a drug. Why do you think high school kids spend half their free time sucking down cans of Red Bull?”
“Ma’am, there’s a line, so if you could please just step aside . . .”
Meg waited for Cara to turn around and notice the two of them standing in the corner, stifling their laughter, which Meg felt bad about. No one should find humor in someone else’s mental breakdown, but it was just so hard to see Cara lose her marbles over an herbal tea and not laugh.
“I get that pouring coffee is one step removed from nuclear physics, but you should care that you’re giving your customers life-altering chemicals, instead of being preoccupied waiting for some casting agent to call and tell you that you got your big break jogging down the street in white shorts for a tampon commercial. Things matter. So you really should start thinking about how your carelessness can affect others,” Cara reached over and snatched a comment card off the stack, then began scribbling on it furiously. “Yes, I’d like to leave a comment. You suck at your job.” Cara grabbed her tea and a muffin as the barista continued to wait, immobile behind the counter as if she was afraid to make any sudden movements. When Cara spun around, she smashed into Jane, who had moved toward the line and was about to tap her on the shoulder, spilling her tea all over Jane’s cashmere sweater.
“Oh my God, that’s hot!” Jane said, delicately pulling her soaking-wet sweater away from her skin.
“What are you doing here?” Cara yelled before turning back to the barista. “Nice job putting the lid on my cup! Can you do anything right today?”
“Cara, pull it together! You should be more concerned with the fact that my boobs now have third-degree burns!”