Page 22 of Never To Suffer

“But a muffin, Dr. Theo. A whole muffin!” She waves her hands as she speaks, threatening to spill her own coffee on my office floor, or me. “That’s big! Like, that’s almost a proposal in coffee terms! I think. Come on, you can take him to a movie, or the park, or maybe a concert! What about that concert coming up? I know you already have tickets, and I also know you and what’s his name broke up months ago so get back on that horse and ride that hot barista into the vanilla latte with caramel drizzle sunset.”

“I don’t think that’s what that saying means, and I also don’t think a candlelit concert an hour away from here works for a first date.” I remind myself to cancel those tickets later. “Also, Taylor and I broke up a week and a half ago. Not that I’m counting.” She pouts, but she does that frequently. It’s a remnant of her oldself, an attempt at manipulation that does work on some men. “Kennedy, would you like the tickets?”

“No! Besides, I still have time to work on this and set you up, because I’m going to work on this. I mean, just think about it? He works right down stairs, so he could pop up for a quickie between clients after his shift. That’s so fire!”

“Kennedy—”

“I overstepped, didn’t I? Yeah, I’m still working on that. What? I’m twenty-six, not dead!”

“No, I think the phone is ringing, or at least my head is. Thank you for bringing me a coffee, but it’s time to get to work.”

She nods, bopping out of the office, and I pop open the lid on the cup and eye the bottle of whiskey in the drawer of my desk, but I add creamer instead. When I go to put the lid back on, I see a phone number scrawled across the top with a Z under it. I wonder how many times someone has called him Zorro for doing that. I sip gingerly as I stare out the window that overlooks Los Angeles, watching the people hurry to and from their offices like ants. I hate this office for its hustle and bustle, but the rent is decent, the coffee shop downstairs is convenient, and the view is brilliant.

Kennedy’s right, too. The barista is attractive. Zack and I have been trading flirtatious glances for a while now. Taylor tried to use it as a reason we broke up, but he knew I’d never crossed the line with Zack. I glance down at my cup again and release a heavy, overdue sigh. It wouldn’t be crossing the line if I took him out for a drink now.

I push the button on the ancient cd player and let the music fill the office. Most people would expect something light—classical or jazz. But it’s been the same CD for the last few months since it came out. My fingers trace over the signature on the case as I stare at the image of the lead singer.

She’s younger, probably around the same age as Kennedy, which means I’m ancient to her. I saw her at a competition last year and I bought the CD the second it came out. My fascination is borderline creepy, but it’s not like I’m stalking her. Her website, yes, because I’ve been hoping to make another show. She has this charisma to her, this glow of confidence and strength. I’m a moth and she’s the most radiant flame I’ve ever seen before. Maybe it’s the shock-purple hair she had that night, or her wild clothes. It could be her voice and the way she commands the stage and the audience alike. She scratches an itch I haven’t had in a long time and rekindled my love of music.

I meet the two clients I have on the schedule and have video appointments with two more before I get a break, which I’m grateful for. I need the distraction, busying myself helping other people solve their problems rather than dwelling on mine. Packing up a few files and sticking them under my arm, I scroll my phone as I walk toward the office door. Kennedy is already gone, she has a class this afternoon and I’ve been more than willing to work with her schedule to keep her on the path she’s walking. She has a lot of work ahead of her, and she hasn’t hit the difficult bumps in her recovery yet. My former neighbor, and patient, recommended her one day when I bumped into her at the building’s trash room. The poor kid has hung onto the condo even after getting married and moving out, but every tenant she’s tried has run her ragged. I’m worried she’ll sell soon, and who knows what I’ll be stuck with?

Downstairs, I spot an open table in the far back corner of the cafe, where I’m less likely to be bothered. I scoot into the booth and flip open a notepad, there’s a list I need to put on paper before I go up and order.

Eggs. Butter. Heavy cream.

Someone clears their throat next to me. Zack.

“Dr. Clay, you do know this isn’t exactly a table service kind of place, right?”

“I’m sorry, Zack. I had a thought pop into my brain and wanted to get it down before I forgot it. I promise, I was on my way up to order in a few minutes.”

“Kennedy needs to teach you about voice memos. Also, don’t worry, I already have your order. Should be up in a minute.”

There’s no sharpness to his tone, but he knows technology makes me feel like I’ve hit my late eighties, not my early forties. I catch him rubbing his palms on his apron and licking his lips. His dark black hair pokes out from under the knit cap and he fiddles with the lip ring. His parents own a chain of cafes in high-traffic business areas, and he’s started taking night school classes to work on a business degree. The building isn’t far from campus or his apartment from what little he’s told me, but the pressure of running the place himself while going back to school is a heavy burden.

“I’m sorry if the phone number was too aggressive. I got a little carried away talking to Kennedy and I meant it to be a bit of a joke, right?” I’d long forgotten the phone number scrawled onto the lid of my coffee. It’s somewhere in the trash under a pile of tissues from my first client’s breakdown, and now I may have to go fishing it out. Shit. “I mean, I get it. I’m just a barista and you’re a—you know.”

It wasn't a joke, that’s obvious enough a blind person could pick up on his tell tale body language. Especially when he shoves his hands in his pockets and tries not to pout. It’s adorable, and I’m a sucker for his whole skater boy aesthetic. Maybe I should take Kennedy’s advice?

I grab my phone off the table and unlock it before handing it over to him. “I’m less likely to lose it there.”

“Wait, really?” He takes my phone with a shaky hand.

“When are you off?”

“Uhm, now? Actually, ten minutes ago, but I saw you come down so I stayed on to make sure you got a fresh pot.”

“Do you have class tonight?”

“No, I decided to take it easy and not do the summer courses. I am looking into a doctorate program after this, though. Assuming I’m accepted and can come up with the money for one.” His smile is shy, and I can see how tired he is from the bags under his eyes. “I hear people burn out pretty quickly, and I’m already a pile of ash and dust, but it would make my parents proud and be nice as a fall back option. And I’m talking too much.”

“Nonsense. It’s hard work, but it’s worth it. Most of the time.” I tuck my notebook into my bag and stand up. “Alright, let’s get my coffee to-go and grab lunch. I may have some connections to help get you into that program. Maybe I can shed some wisdom on you while we check out the new place next door.”

“Wait, now? Right now? I’m kind of, I’m not dressed for?—”

“It’s tacos and conversation, Zack. Neither of those require you to change your clothes. Hell, you don’t even have to lose the apron.”

When I get home, the sun has long set. Before I can set my bag down, the screaming begins, but she doesn’t leave the bedroom. When the queen is comfortable, she stays that way.

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