Page 11 of Semi Sweet
I swallowed hard before answering. "Um, that looks like a piece of my mail. Opened."
Evan had this nasty habit of going through my mail. He claimed it was because he needed to know what I was up to, but it was a lame answer. If he really felt that way he'd go through my phone, too, and he'd never done that. I wondered if it had to do with the fact that we didn't get mail or bills often, so when something came in the mail he was nosey. It wasn't right and I never did it to him, but here we were nonetheless.
"Shut up," he snapped, the edge in his voice sharpening. "Shut up and tell me what it is before I lose my mind."
"It could be a variety of things," I attempted to reply calmly. I noticed that my coworkers were congregating in front of their registers watching the scene unfold. I did not want to give them more to talk about. "Do we have to do this right here, right now?"
Evan's red face looked like it might switch to purple as he growled, pulled the paper out of the envelope, and laid it on the counter. I was waiting for a customer to show up so that this argument could be paused, but it was eerily calm. Just the front end audience and someone from the bakery checking their to go kiosk. I was too nervous to pay attention to who it was.
"Tell me what the hell this is."
My eyes quickly scanned the letter.Dear Ms. Hale, We want to thank you for your submission to the Breakthrough Authors Contest, though we enjoyed your submission, we regret to inform you that….
I felt myself crumple slightly as I took in the rejection. I’d been so hopeful that I would make it to the final round. I'd submitted a fantasy romance I’d been excited about at the time, and though it wasn't my best work, I’d been hopeful it would help me on my road to getting discovered. Apparently, it wasn't time for my big break. That was a sting I would have liked to process at home over a cup of coffee or a bowl of ice cream, not in the middle of my Cash Value Market shift.
"I entered a writing contest a while back. First prize was a book deal and all the trimmings. I figured why not?"
"WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO GROW UP!" Evan exclaimed and I heard my coworkers and adversaries titter and dash back to their lanes.
I was mortified but attempted to tip my chin up and keep eye contact with him. "Evan, why—-"
"No, Olivia," he said. "You know how I feel about this. You keep doing it anyway. Don't you have grad school to worry about? A wedding to plan?" When I just stared at him, he shouted. "YOU AREN'T AN AUTHOR, STOP KIDDING YOURSELF!"
I prided myself on normally being strong. I would let the arrogance and cruel words roll off me, but not today. My life was hell because of him, my coworkers were insanely jealous, and he wasn't even a decent human being. Tears spilled down my cheeks and I bit my lip.
Evan glowered at me with cold eyes, his hands balled into tight fists. "Really? You're gonna cry? You don't know how good you have it," he snapped. "All these girls wish they were you. The least you could do is appreciate it."
I couldn't respond. If I did, the scene on display would probably be even more embarrassing. Where the hell was a lotto customer to save me?
Evan picked up the letter and tore it into tiny pieces. Now I wouldn't even know how close I’d been to being a finalist.
"Nothing to say? Fine. You've got nowhere to go anyway. You are stuck with me." He pushed the scraps onto the floor of my booth. "Pick that up and you better be over this when you get home tonight." He walked towards the staircase that led to his uncle's office.
Having reached my limit, I turned and unlocked the door to the storage closet behind me. I let myself in and slammed the door behind me. Back against the door, I allowed myself a minute to cry without anyone watching me, listening for the bell that people could ring for service if they didn't see anyone.
Sometimes I wished I could go back in time. I'd listen to my father when he told me that Evan had no plan. I would have been sad at the time, but better for it now.
Stupid, stupid immature decisions.
***
When my shift was over, I was still feeling pretty hopeless and despondent. Typically I changed before I headed to my class, but I was feeling so low that I merely put a sweatshirt over my uniform and pulled the hood up over my dirty blonde hair.
I sat at my corner table, staring at the blank document I had open. As if being berated by Evan in public wasn't bad enough, now I had no drive to write. It didn't matter if it was a paper for school or something for myself—my mind was exhausted, broken. That made me resent my fiancé just a bit more. Writing was my escape, what I thought was my safe place, and Evan had gone and wrecked it.
"Hey."
The voice made me look up. Sean was standing near my table in his work uniform, the white work coat left behind to keep it sanitary. He held a cardboard coffee cup in one hand and a white bakery box in the other. I noticed it said, “Olivia Hale-Paid,” on the label.
"Hi," I replied. The prospect of a mystery cupcake should excite me, but Evan had sucked the life from me like some sort of evil demon.
"I noticed this came in for you today," Sean explained, "and all us bakery staff wanted to give you this." He placed the cup in front of me. It smelled suspiciously like hot chocolate from the self-serve containers. "We thought it might cheer you up."
I stared at him, not sure what to say. Part of me wanted to tell him I didn't need his sympathy beverages or that he'd never understand what I was going through. At least there were people who weren't laughing at me for once, though the idea that the entire department decided I needed hot chocolate made me want to hide.
I finally managed the nerve to say, "Thanks."
He knocked on the table with his knuckles before he walked away.
