Once and for All(19)

“That’s why we keep it in the dispenser,” I told him as he got to his feet, picking pieces off his hands and dropping them in a nearby trash can. “My mom wants coffee. I’m supposed to give you her order and point you there on my way out.”

“Great,” he replied, so easygoing, like a person who’d never had a reason not to be. Of course he hadn’t heard what I’d said. Even if he had, I was sure he’d figure I was talking about someone else. Or that I was just sensitive. “Lead the way.”




“It may seem like just coffee,” I said, as we stood in an unexpectedly long line at Jump Java. “But nothing is just anything when it comes to my mother. That’s the first thing you need to know.”

He nodded. “She’s a tough nut, is what you’re saying.”

I looked at him. “Never call her that. Like, ever.”

“Noted.” He shook his head, that one curl bouncing off to the side. “You know, I’m getting the sense you don’t have a lot of confidence in my ability to do this job.”

“You’re correct,” I replied, as the line finally moved a bit.

He had the nerve to look offended. “Why? You don’t even know me.”

“Maybe, but let’s recap my experience with you so far. You delayed your mother’s wedding—”

“Which, in retrospect, might have been a good thing. Imagine if I’d been talking to Demi even longer? She might have come to her senses and saved herself a lot of anguish.”

“—and just today,” I went on, “you broke company property and made a client cry.”

“I made my sister cry,” he corrected me. “At the time, I was not yet an employee. Let’s be clear here.”

The line inched forward, slightly. “Do you always deflect anything that might make you accountable for a problem?”

“For some reason, blame is often directed toward me. I have to be vigilant.”

“For some reason?”

“Weren’t you going to give me the coffee order?”

My jaw clenched, hard, and I told myself to relax. When I couldn’t, I distracted myself by looking over the woman William and I had christened Phone Lady. Every weekday, no matter what time I came in for coffee, she was at that same single table, her laptop open, phone to her ear. There, she would talk, loudly, as if compelled to make everyone hear her end of whatever conversation she was having. Sometimes, it was about her work; she did some kind of medical record transcribing. More often, though, the talk was personal. Earlier in the week, for example, I’d learned both that one of her friends had recently gotten a breast cancer diagnosis and that she herself was allergic to wheat germ. And that had been a short line.

Sure enough, during a pause of the espresso machine, I could now make out her high, slightly twangy voice saying something about airline fares. I said to Ambrose, “William will always want a tall chai latte with skim milk. He’s the constant. It’s my mom that’s the wild card. Most days, she’s going to want an espresso with whole milk. If she’s really stressed, she’ll ask for a double. But if she snaps at you, just get a single. She won’t know the difference and it’s better for everyone.”

Ambrose didn’t respond, and I realized he was studying the pastries. Great. “Hello?” I said. “Are you even—”

“Tall chai latte, skim. Mom asked for a single espresso, so don’t have to make judgment call. Plus two chocolate croissants, warmed up so they’re nice and melty.”

I blinked, surprised he’d at least gotten some of it right. “I didn’t say anything about croissants.”

“Those are for us,” he said.

“I don’t want a croissant.”

“You seem a little crabby. It might help,” he advised. “Don’t worry, it’s on me. Although I might have to borrow a couple of bucks until payday.”

Later, I’d realize that this response pretty much summed up everything that made me nuts about Ambrose in one simple sentence. At the time though, I just stood there, unable to respond. Then my phone beeped. Jilly.

ARE YOU GETTING EXCITED? WORD IS PARTY AT THE A-FRAME WILL BE AMAZING. MAKING MEMORIES!

“Party at the A-frame, huh?” Ambrose asked, reading over my shoulder. “Where’s that?”

I jerked my phone to the side. “Seriously? Do you have any manners at all?”

“You’re the one who pulled out a phone during our conversation,” he noted. When I glared at him, he said, “You know, you really might want to rethink that croissant.”

“Next,” called the bearded guy behind the counter, a little older than me, whose preference for plaid shirts had made William christen him the Lumberjack. “Hey. How’s the wedding business?”

“Crazy as ever,” I said. I gestured at Ambrose. “He’s got the order. But you probably know it better than even I do.”

“Probably,” Lumberjack said. “But tell me anyway.”

“I’m out of here,” I told Ambrose. “Don’t forget extra napkins.”

“Okeydoke,” he said, as I turned away, toward the door. “Have fun at graduation!”

This last comment was said in such a cheerful and easygoing tone, the absolute opposite of how I was feeling, that I felt my jaw clench again. How on earth could someone be so immune to basic social cues, so entirely oblivious to how annoying he was? I was still wondering this as I pulled the door open, Phone Lady’s voice again suddenly audible over other conversations, music, and the beeping register.