Page 29 of Chasing After You
I swallowed the bite of egg I’d been chewing on and answered him, “No? Why?”
He gave me an odd look, then strolled into the kitchen, opening the large fridge to grab the water carafe. “You just look high. You’re normally all jittery, and you’ve never once sat down to eat while you’ve been here.”
“Oh. Do you need the table?” I asked, ready to give up my seat at the small breakfast nook. They had a formal dining room, but I’d never seen it being used. It made sense since they never had guests. Well, upstairs guests—the kind that were treated to lavish dinners and fancy plates and cups, and not knives and guns and stuff.
Hudson stared at me as if I were stupid, then sighed. “No, I’m just taking some water up to Oliver. You can sit there.”
I settled my butt back in the cushioned bench. “So…”
“I am not having small talk with you,” he said, turning and walking back out of the room with a large glass of ice water in his hand.
I finished my eggs in silence after Hudson left, feeling a mix of confusion and fondness towards him. There was always something about the way he spoke—like he was constantly teetering between teasing and deadly serious—that made it hard to know how to respond. Both he and his brother were so hard to read, and I was already terrible at reading people.
At first, I’d been utterly terrified by them, and I sort of still was, but their teasing jokes and the little ways they cared for Oliver made them feel more human to me in a way. Sometimes I found myself laughing at how robotic and awkward they were when their masks were down. They seemed like aliens who were trying, and hilariously failing, to blend in with the human race.
They acted with deliberate intent, even if it made no sense to others.
Their actions were entirely self-serving. Yes, they did a lot to make Oliver comfortable, healthy, and content, but was that not also self-serving? Happy wife, happy life? Or, I suppose, happy husband, happy life, in this case.
It was nearing 11:30 a.m. when I packed up and grabbed my things. Oliver was already downstairs, slipping his canvas shoes on by the ornate glass door.
“Ready?” he asked, smiling at me as I walked down the staircase towards him.
I nodded, looping the strap of my bag over my shoulder. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
The drive to Wild Roast felt different today. Every red light, every turn, every slow pedestrian crossing the street felt like the universe stalling for time.
Or maybe it was actually me stalling, stretching out the minutes before I’d have to step inside and face whatever the day had in store, and I was just blaming it on the universe.
When we arrived, Oliver followed me inside, brushing past the familiar bell above the door. The cafe was in that pleasant place between being slow and busy, with perhaps ten or so customers scattered throughout, sipping drinks, chatting quietly, and typing away on their laptops. Kellie looked up from the pastry case as we walked in and grinned.
“Hey, boss,” she called. “Hey, Oliver.”
“Morning,” I called back, heading behind the counter while Oliver made himself comfortable at a small table near the front window.
He pulled a book from his bag and began to read, but I could tell he was glancing at the door every few seconds, just like I was. Did he also feel like it was going to happen today? I should’ve asked him on the way over.
I pulled on my apron and went about my duties, pretending not to check the time every ten minutes. Pretending not to glance outside every time a figure moved past the glass. The anticipation was coiled tightly in my chest, like my body knew he was coming.
Today felt liketheday. I was sure of it.
The air carried a kind of pressure that was hard to describe. It was the same feeling that occurred just before a thunderstorm.
“Hey, Josh,” Kellie said as she came over, holding a steaming cup of chai. “You good?”
“Yeah,” I said, not even convincing myself.
Her eyes narrowed. “You’ve gotta stop lying to me, dude. It’s been like you’ve been walking on eggshells for months, and now you’re just weirdly chill and quiet today. Did you get some medicine for your anxiety or something?”
“My… roommate said he thought I was high this morning. I didn’t take anything. Just woke up relaxed, I guess? No meds or anything,” I replied, shrugging. Why did everyone think I was fucked up today?
“Oh, that’s good then. I woke up on the floor today, so I can’t relate,” she sniggered, slapping my back playfully before returning to the register to take a customer’s order.
* * *
The hours passed slowly as I poured lattes, wiped down counters, refilled the milk pitchers and sugar trays. I chatted with some of my regulars. Oliver continued to read at his table, and I was convinced he’d end up finishing his book by the end of my shift. Around 5:30 p.m., I took a short break to sit with him and share some pastries.
Customers came and went. Evening shadows lengthened across the front of the cafe. I hummed along with the songs that played from our speakers.
