Page 2 of Built to Last
A glance out of my bedroom window tells me it’s another overcast day, summer having well and truly given way to autumn, and I find myself grateful for our proximity to the cosy coffee spot. Being cold is one of the circles in my own personal hell so I’ll need to dress warmly. Thanks to the fatigue that comes with my chronic pain and hypermobility, I often get extra cold when I’m struggling with my energy levels. I settle on a cosy ensemble of high-waisted mom jeans, an oversized rose-pink jumper, and my docs. Beads mimicking pearls are sewn around the neckline of my jumper, elevating the otherwise casual look.
On a day-to-day basis my style is a lot more laid-back than Aria’s, despite my love of pastels and pretty things. Sure enough, when I meet her in the hallway to grab my coat, she’s wearing a tan blazer that complements her long copper curls and a crisp white blouse.
“Ready to go, Rose?” she asks, shouldering her handbag.
“Yeah,” I answer with a wide smile.
Tendrils of warmth and the aroma of freshly ground coffee reach out, welcoming me like an old friend when I pull open the door to Snug. The familiar off-white walls, adorned with work from local artists, and dark wooden tables paired with jewel-toned velvet-upholstered armchairs, are a comforting sight. I’ve sold a few paintings through the coffee shop in the past, though it’s been a while since I displayed anything here.
Aria and I weave our way through the tables, heading towards our favourite spot. It’s half-past nine, the morning rush dying down to make way for the calm and cosy atmosphere I love about this place. Draping my coat over the back of my amethyst-purple chair, I settle into the comfort of my usual seat with a view of the doorway. Aria takes the seat opposite me, a rosy flush from the cold a stark contrast to her porcelain complexion.
The owner, Violet, a Black woman in her late fifties, finishes setting four take away cups into a cardboard carrier for the customer waiting at the counter, her smile widening when she spots us over their shoulder.
“Have a good day,” she tells them, handing over the coffee. “Girls!” Violet exclaims, bustling around the counter to make her way over to our table. “How are my favourite customers?”
“You say that to all your regulars,” Aria teases, crystal-blue eyes shining with amusement.
“But I mean it when I say it to you two,” Violet replies with a sly grin.
Shortly after Aria and I moved into our flat, I came into Snug in search of somewhere cosy to work on concept sketches for my paintings. Violet welcomed me to the area with open arms and I soon became a regular, introducing Aria to the place as well. Over the years Violet’s become a confidant whose experience and wisdom I value immensely—neither Aria nor I are close with our own parents, something we bonded over back in our university days, and the older woman’s friendship helps fill that void for both of us. Today she wears dark slim-leg jeans, a burnt orange three-quarter sleeve blouse, her usual plain black apron over the top, and her braids are pulled up in a bun. She’s the most vibrant and stylish grandmother I’ve ever met.
We chat for a bit, Violet filling us in on the latest antics her grandchildren have been up to before she brings over our usual drink orders. I’m unable to stop the soft moan of pleasure as the first sip of vanilla latte passes my lips. I don’t know what Violet’s secret is but the coffee here is the best I’ve ever had.
“How did it go yesterday?”
I was staring into the mug in my hands but my head whips up in surprise at the question. Aria casually taps her teaspoon on the rim of her mug, brow furrowing in concern over my wide-eyed expression. It’s then I realise she’s asking about the party, not what I’ve since dubbed the Supermarket Incident.Obviously. My friend is a force to be reckoned with but psychic abilities remain beyond even her reach. I tighten my grip on the ceramic, seeking comfort from its warmth. Hopefully Aria won’t be upset over how I handled things at the party yesterday.
Taking another sip of coffee to dispel the lingering tightness in my throat I reply, “Not good. You might be hearing from the mum, Mrs Billings.”
“Why, what happened?”
I recap the conversation I had with Mrs Billings, finishing with how I refused to agree to a refund before leaving.
“Good, you did the right thing. If she wanted giftbags for everyone she should have booked the correct party package, simple as that,” she huffs. “If she calls I’ll deal with it, but I imagine the wind will have come out of her sails now she’s slept on it. Or she’ll just leave a shitty review online instead.” Her eyes roll heavenward and I snort a laugh.
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Won’t be the last either,” she laments. “I take it the Billings drama is the reason I didn’t see you last night?”
Just as I’m about to own up to the real reason I was hiding away in my room all evening, Aria’s phone rings.
“Sorry, one sec.” She holds up a finger in the universal sign for ‘give me a moment’ and answers the phone. Grateful for the reprieve, I release a slow breath and settle back in my chair to wait.
“What do you mean cancel?” Aria’s sharp tone catches my attention. It doesn’t happen often but Dreamer Entertainment does get the odd cancellation. Sometimes people get sick or theirfinancial situation changes and they can’t do a big birthday party anymore, but Aria’s never been this upset about it before. Sure, she’ll lose out on the full fee, but everyone has to pay a non-refundable deposit to secure a booking.
“You were supposed to starttomorrow. I don’t care if you got a better offer. We had an agreement, I paid a deposit.”
Oh shit. Aria’s been working hard to expand Dreamer Entertainment and her next step forward is an educational show for primary school-age children calledLost in the Woods,written to help facilitate discussions between teachers and pupils about walking home from school safely. She’s worked so hard on it and even has a few bookings already. Her set designer and builder are supposed to be starting tomorrow, is it one of them cancelling?
“How am I supposed to find a replacement on such short notice?” Aria asks through gritted teeth. “Then I expect you to return my deposit in full by the end of the day or I will make it your problem.” She runs a hand through her copper curls in frustration. “I don’t care that it’s a Sunday. Send a screenshot showing that you’ve made the transfer by the end of today, or next time we speak there will be no trace of the calm, reasonable woman you’re dealing with right now.” Her voice is ice cold, sending a shiver down my spine even though I’m not the one she’s pissed off with. “Get it done.” Aria aggressively jabs her finger at the end call icon on the screen before putting her phone back on the table between us, wincing when it lands with a bit more force than necessary.
“That didn’t sound good. What happened?”
“The set designer just cancelled. She’s been invited to attend some retreat in France last-minute because someone else dropped out and she said she couldn’t turn it down.” Aria shakes her head in disbelief. “Do you mind if we go? I’m sorry but I have to try and find a replacement.”
“Of course not. I’ll settle up here, you head home and get to making phone calls.”
“Are you sure?” she asks, already pulling on her coat.
