We Were Never Here(44)
Out on Rogers, Mona’s assembling nutty lattes.
Will they get her order right
And make a beverage to delight?
“All right, so you’re here at Kibble,” Priya proclaimed, arms crossed, “and Café Mona is on Rogers Street, and that’s where you always get a latte. Are you supposed to go there next? Ooh, thanks!” She took the cupcake half from my outstretched hand.
“Maybe? It seems a bit obvious. And I don’t get nutty lattes—I get oat milk. Shut up.” We giggled at my milk snobbery. I reread it. “The rhythm is weird too. With the first two lines.”
Russell cruised into the office, thick blond hair bopping.
“I should probably at least turn on my computer,” Priya said.
“Same. Hopefully this can wait.” I tossed the slip of paper onto my desk.
“I want play-by-plays—this is the most exciting thing that’s happened at work since a bad batch of spinach sickened cats aaaall over the Eastern Seaboard.” She flourished her palm.
“Oh God. Let’s hope my birthday does not end with cat diarrhea.”
I answered some emails while polishing off the cupcake. When I picked up the scrap again, sugar zapping through my blood, I almost laughed aloud:
Already, she’s Kibbling through her epic day!
Out on Rogers, Mona’s assembling nutty lattes.
The first letters of the first words: A-S-K-T-H-E-D-O-O-R-M-A-N. I grabbed my building pass and headed for the elevator.
Jeffrey leveled a blank, rheumy stare at me instead of answering, then shuffled over to his desk and produced a small stuffed animal. It was a cat—black and white and a few inches tall. I thanked him and turned it over in my hands, looking for more. Kristen and I both liked cats, but we had no special associations with them. My job at Kibble—was that the clue?
Upstairs, the toy’s shiny black eyes watched me as I worked. The scavenger hunt hovered over my shoulders: Kristen and I hadn’t communicated in code like this since college. Was there a deeper implication here?
A text from Kristen: “Happy birthday, my beautiful friend! How’s your day?”
I hesitated for a second, then wrote, “Thank you! I cannot believe you went to all this trouble, you puzzle-making genius!” I picked up the cat again.
This time, I noticed that what I’d taken to be a blue collar was actually a thin strip of fabric. I unwound it (like a noose, I thought, or a garrote) and spread it across my desk.
Oh hey, the Fourth exciting clue! // Soon you will get your proper due. // Yes, now the showboating must end // Before I over milk this trend. // You’ve shown a lotta logic here // The ending is now drawing near.
“Get your proper due,” “showboating must end,” “ending drawing near”…what did it say about my general emotional state that it all sounded ominous?
Priya popped by, her cheeks flush with excitement. She furrowed her brow at the blue snippet.
“I have no idea,” she announced, leaning back. “Y’all are too fancy for me.”
“It’s weird that Fourth is capitalized, right? That’s gotta mean something.”
“It is weird, since otherwise there aren’t really any typos. This too.” She pinned the strip under her finger. “?‘Over milk’—that should be hyphenated.”
“It’s an odd phrase, ‘over-milk this trend.’ You don’t really milk a trend.” I stared for a second, feeling the pieces slide into place the way the pins align on a picked lock. I grabbed a Sharpie and scratched at the fabric:
Oh hey, the Fourth exciting clue! // Soon you will get your proper due. // Yes, now the showboating must end // Before I over milk this trend. // You’ve shown a lotta logic here // The ending is now drawing near.
I chuckled. “Get oat milk lotta—latte—now. The fourth word of every line.”
Priya clapped her hands. “Go see your man!”
I made her promise to cover for me, then skidded out onto Rogers Street. The rain had stopped and the sun squinted between the clouds. I was almost to Café Mona’s door when I remembered Aaron wouldn’t be there—he mostly worked afternoons.
Well, crap. Did I have to find another clue inside the coffee shop? Inside, I paused and pictured Kristen hanging out here before planting the next riddle, inside my beautiful, impenetrable Café Mona—slung across the mismatched chairs and lumpy sofas, wrapping her fingers around their fat, chipped mugs. It felt incongruous, a mismatched collage.
Aaron was there, ensconced in a green armchair and buried in a book. A smile stretched across his face as I headed toward him.
“Well, if it isn’t the birthday queen!” He stood to kiss me, then wrapped me in a hug. My shoulders eased and my heart rate slowed. “Having a good day?”
“Yep!” I sat. “I’m several clues deep into Kristen’s scavenger hunt. Did she loop you into it?”
“Sure did!” He leaned forward. “What are the other clues?”
I pulled them out of my purse one by one; Aaron kept shaking his head, astonished. He’d been the one to plant the invisible-ink circle inside the mug and slide it to the front, I learned. Not Kristen.