Page 24 of The Hampton Beach Café 4
Frances sighed, putting her ‘dealing with Kennedy in a mood’ face on.
“I know, but honestly, it's just so confusing—how can this be more complicated than a liquor license? I want to make sure everything is up to code so that we can accommodate everyone—keep everyone safe, and make you happy. But half the requirements seem like they’re out to really mess up accessibility. We need paving stones instead of gravel so that wheelchair users can easily access the area—but the guidelines state concrete or gravel only. I want to make it a no-smoking zone because we have so many kids that come in here, but section twelve seems to state that even though it’s my property, I can’t restrict the public like that…?”
Kennedy scoffed. “You know,Frances, it's not that hard. Just follow the rules and regulations like everyone else. Besides, how many wheelchair users do you even get coming in here?”
Frances bristled at Kennedy's nasty tone and unnecessary emphasis on her name.
“I am following the rules,Kennedy. I just want to make sure that everyone can enjoy the garden area without any problems—and for the record, one wheelchair user would be enough to justify creating a space where everyone can access it regardless of their mobility. What’s wrong, Kennedy? You were so up to scratch on the accessible bathrooms and the layout, but this is too much for you?”
“Nothing’s wrong. Just seems like no matter how well educated you are and how apparently successful and high-powered you are, you still struggle with a little document for planning approval.”
What the heck was going on. Just a few days ago, Kennedy had been laughing and joking with her and Alex as they walked back to the café from a lunch meeting. Why was she even here this morning? They weren’t scheduled to meet again until next week.
“Really, because it really seems like something is wrong.”
Frances popped the stack of documents on the counter between them and went around to make Kennedy the coffee she wanted.
As she turned to say something else, she saw that Kennedy had flounced off to the table in the corner.
Was she avoiding her? If that were true, why come here at all?
The espresso machine ground and hissed as it worked, tipping a double shot into the porcelain mug she placed underneath it.
She could hear Kennedy ranting under her breath. She should have put some effort into trying to hear, but she was getting sick of this constant gamble on whether or not Kennedy was feeling normal or nasty.
“Look, Kennedy,” she said loudly as she finished pouring the coffee and walked it over to the table. “I don’t know why you’re being so horrible today, and before, I figured that was just how you are—but now I’ve seen you be normal and friendly and nice! You can’t swing wildly from one end of the spectrum to the other. It’s unfair!”
“Not fair!?” Kennedy stood from her seat. “You wanna know what’s not fair?”
Frances swallowed hard. Apparently, aggression hadn’t been the right way to go.
“You know the only thing my father ever did apart from leave? He ruined me. He got inside my head, and he ruined me. My dad was always the one who pushed me to never give up,” she said. “No matter what.”
Frances sighed. “What do you mean?”
Kennedy took a deep breath, her face turning red.
“Growing up, my dad was always telling me to never give up, even when things were hard, even when people disagree, even when it hurts, even when it hurts others. Back then, I thought it was inspiring. I felt like I could conquer anything as long as I didn't give up. But I was a child.”
The volume of her rant had been growing higher without Frances really noticing, but when her voice broke, and she paused, the silence echoed around the shop.”
“But eventually…” she continued, “…even after he left, even though it was hurting me, I kept trying. Doing what my dad kept telling me to do—never give up. He said that love was worth fighting for, no matter what. Hypocrite”
What does any of this have to do with me?Frances thought.
Kennedy leaned forward, her voice trembling with anger and pain. “Before you came back, Clarkson and I were getting close. He was opening up…We had a connection. But now, it's like he only has eyes for you, and it’s high school all over again—and that’s not fair.”
Rage welled up in her stomach, and the sympathy she had been feeling for Kennedy seemed to evaporate.
“What!?” she exclaimed. “This is aboutClarkson?Again!? I‘ve already told you, we’re not together, we never were, and I have no interest in him! For the love of all that is good and right—drop it!”
“I can’t!” Kennedy shouted. “I believed you, that you weren’t a thing, and I asked him out yesterday. He told me…he told me no. And it can only be because of you—you’re the only thing that’s changed!”
She couldn’t be serious, could she? A twenty-year-long crush and a messed-up concept of persistence.
A weird thought entered her mind—what if Kennedy was the brick thrower? No…she was too strict and narrow on the rules for that.
“Yeah, well, our father really did a number on the both of us,” Frances almost shouted, putting her coffee down so hard in the saucer that the frothed milk sitting on top sloshed out and across the table. “On everyone, apparently…you know my mom spent half her life since he left traipsing around the country trying to find him? Spent thousands of dollars. And all I ever got from him was a stack of letters defending his actions in invisible ink. Growing up, I thought he was perfect…turns out he’s a narcissistic compulsive liar.”
