Page 11 of Sorry, We're Closed

“No. You know what is not fair, Sawyer? What you have put me through, put this family through. Stop with the selfishness.” She spits each word with such viciousness, deep breathing through my nose is the only thing stopping the tears from rolling down my face,

“Please. Can we talk about this at home?”

Her eyes widen, her cheeks trembling, and her mind dumbfounded. I hear her nose inhale and watch her blotted lips separate before I am saved by the bell. Literally.

The front door swings open, and a cooling breeze finds its way into my shirt buttons, chilling the heat building in my chest.

“What’s up, sweet lips? Cappuccino and double espresso to go, please!”

Mother’s eyes refused to leave mine until she turns away, and suddenly everything that happened disappears into thin air. She pops one hip out and leans on her elbows, pushing her chest forward and into the empty space between her arms. I ignore the fear of what would happen as soon as I get home and begin making the drinks for the man in the builder’s gear.

Mother flirts with the man, the man flirts with her. He takes a napkin and slips his phone number over to her which she shoves into her bra. I force myself next to mother as I hand the drinks over to the man who smells overwhelmingly strong of bathroom cologne.

Being this close to my mother is never comfortable, let alone never knowing what is going through her mind at any given time. The man waves to her as he leaves us alone in the café once again, and I’m not willing to hear about this again, not here, not now.

I scoop all my ingredients together to make my usual coffee, the machine whirring as my hands shake. Syrup drips off the side of my tumbler, milk spills over the bench and drips onto the floor, I burn my coffee ever so slightly, leaving a harsh aroma which only adds to the bitter cold between her and me.

With a rapid mix of a spoon I found on the side, I place the lid on to the tumbler, my hands slipping and sliding until the lid clicks into place, and I silently carry myself into the staff room.

Breathe, Sawyer, breathe.

I sink into the sofa, the tear in the cushion causing the material underneath me to feel uneven and awkward. I sip on my coffee as I exhale, trying to calm myself because I still have a whole day trapped here with her, that’s if she even stays past twelve.

My drink never tastes the same when it’s rushed. The coffee overwhelms my mouth with its bitter flavour, the layers of syrup which haven’t fully mixed lather against my tongue and the milk feels thin since I didn’t have enough time to allow for it to froth and become the fluffy texture that I always love.

I feel my eyes drifting, the room getting darker and there’s a sudden sense of peace. Silence, except for the distant rattling of the fridge. My brunette curls tickle against my forehead as I roll my head back, serving as a constant reminder that I can’t sleep. I can’t sleep this away.

I need to get it together and get back out there. I can’t keep avoiding her because that’s when she will come and find me, that’s when she will need to know where I am, who I am with, and what I am thinking because if all of that is not what she wants me to have and to be, then it’ll never be good enough.

I down what I have left of my coffee, the warm, thickness of this syrupy concoction encasing my throat. I focus on my breathing; it feels like one of the only things I ever have control of.

In for three, hold for three, out for three.

My hand wraps around the handle –in for three, hold for three– my breath hitches with the sudden pushing force on the other side of the door. I stumble backwards and into the storage shelves as my mother powers through the door and snatches her handbag, digging and digging.

“Are you alright? What are you looking for?”

I rub my palm over my lower back, a swelling already appearing from the impact.

“I’m off. Got somewhere to be.”

She clutches her phone from her bag and taps a sequence of numbers, following a message. He only left the café minutes ago. Before I can speak, she snaps out a, “See you.”

Her words drift out of the fire exit door which slams itself shut. I don’t know why I always think that she will stay, but the disappointment still settles itself in. I can’t leave the café empty for this long.

In, hold, out.

I attempt to leave the staffroom again and continue my day, disappearing into mugs and cups of the deepest, richest, coffee.

Person after person, the odd smile that I could force which leads to coins in my tip jar, cheerful conversations which are definitely more beneficial for those over the counter than for me, and finally the day is coming to an end – seven minutes until close.

I pace around the café and collect all the dirty mugs from those who chose to sit in.

Six minutes.

I gather the spray and cloth and wipe down the few tables we have and prop the chairs upside down, ready for me to sweep.

Five minutes.

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