The guilt had nearly ended with me dropping out, but he’d told me how proud he was of me and how great I was for going to college. He squeezed me so tight at the curbside outside our house on my last day. I held back my tears, saving the sobs for once I turned the corner and his small waving figure disappeared. I couldn’t disappoint him. My going to college intensified his determination to leave.
Within two months he’d completed all the forms himself with a little guidance from me. He’d gotten in and made it through the rigorous entrance exam. Then came the tuition bomb. Even with a generous financial aid package, a private boarding school wasn’t cheap, but this had all come in right as I was graduating. My job offered me a salary, which barely made it work, but I didn’t have the luxury of shopping around for something better. Every penny, except for my rent, was squirreled away for Tyler’s education and maintenance.
My phone pinged with the notification from Tyler’s school. Someone in the financial aid office was up early. The email came in from them. The screen went white as the scan of the financial aid letter downloaded like it was running on dial-up.
Taking my croissant and coffee, I balanced my blazer over my arm and my bag on my shoulder.
I bumped the door open with my hip and looked up at the early morning sun. It was still warm out, but orange and yellow peeked from between some of the branches. The crunchy fall leaves always made even a walk to my parents’ house much more fun. A perfect crunch under my shoe reminded me of hiding out in the piles of leaves as a kid, not wanting to go home, staring up at the sky, watching planes pass overhead and wishing I’d get to fly in one someday—still wishing.
Tyler’s excited chattering broke through my memory rabbit hole.
“My cello teacher said he’d tutor me before classes. I’ve got to go. I love you, Z.”
“Bye, Ty. Be safe!”
A woman who looked more like she was going clubbing than mixing in with business professionals stood on the corner, handing out fliers and talking up how the charges in their club came up as a steakhouse if the men’s wives had any questions.
Real nice.
I slipped on a wet patch on the sidewalk, my heels wobbling. I should’ve worn my flats to work, but I’d forgotten them in the office last night.
The tasty smell of the coffee and croissant made my mouth water. Maybe I should’ve sat inside to eat my croissant at least. But I didn’t have time. Besides, the perfect blends of sweet and savory would no longer be burn-the-roof-of-my-mouth hot once I got to the office.
My stupid data finally loaded. The scans finally came up with full resolution.
Lightheadedness blurred my vision. That wasn’t a small bump in our expected family contribution. Holy shit! Did they think we’d won the lottery since the summer?
A deep voice called out his love of steak to the woman standing by the street.
Turning the corner with my phone in hand, I slammed into a man. But a wall probably would’ve had more give. The full contents of the furnace-hot cookie crumble cappuccino escaped my cup, blasting the lid straight into my face. My eyes opened through the spray of cookie flecks in time to watch the rest of the now crumpled cup splash all over the front of my white shirt as my feet shot out from under me.
As if a burning hot coffee shower weren’t enough, I watched in slow motion as my chocolate croissant fell out of the brown butter-soaked paper bag like a lover slipping out in the dead of night and bounced on the sidewalk before being promptly trampled on by a pair of shiny black shoes.
“Oh shit,” he yelled. “I didn’t see you—”
“Yes, I know you didn’t,” I shouted right back from the ground. “You were too busy trying to pick up the blonde wearing a bandana for a dress.”
He glared down at me like he wasn’t the reason I had wet sidewalk water seeping through my clothes and touching my ass.
“Me? I’m walking around the corner having a friendly conversation with someone on the street. You’re the one not looking where you’re going.”
Leaning down he offered me his hand.
I smacked it away and pushed myself up off the ground and glared right back. If I weren’t so pissed maybe I’d have noticed his light brown eyes or his perfectly imperfect five o’clock shadow or the close curls on his head, but all I zeroed in on was the way he’d somehow managed to keep every droplet of coffee off his buttoned-down shirt (with the rolled-up sleeves revealing his muscled forearms) while burning hot coffee continued to soak into my shirt.
The one luxury I allowed myself drenched a shirt I couldn’t afford to have dry cleaned. My rare-treat croissant was now squished on the bottom of his shoe.
“I didn’t expect someone to be charging down the street like a linebacker.”
His scowl deepened. “I love how this is my fault when you ran into me. If I were in a generous mood I probably would’ve offered to buy you another coffee—”
“I don’t need your charity.” Tugging my shirt from my chest, I searched my bag for napkins to sop up some of the mess.
“Good, because I didn’t plan on offering. Did you want what was left of your croissant?” Pointedly following my gaze with his, he lifted his shoe, showing off my formerly buttery, flaky, pastry.
I’d never wanted face-melting laser vision more. Or a magical hammer to harness the power of lightning and turn him into a smoldering crater in the sidewalk. Instead, I gritted my teeth with my arm out to the side to keep my blazer from getting covered in coffee too. “Have a nice day, asshole.”
He brushed past me. “Have a nice life, lady,” he called over his shoulder.
I glared before turning back to my trashed treat, splattered and smooshed all over the ground. It would be my last one of those for a while. I stared longingly at the one perfectly intact chocolate chip sitting straight up on the sidewalk. Poor guy, made it this far only to end up as pavement paint.
Checking the time, I could add ‘almost late’ to the list of the ways my life had been thrown into a tailspin. And I’d been doused with an entire cup of mocha cookie crumble cappuccino. I needed to change—fast.
2
Leo
‘Sorry, careful!’ had been on my tongue before she’d opened her mouth and unleashed on me like the crash had been all my fault.
Yes, I’d been on my phone and distracted before our collision, but so was she.
Yes, I’d failed to catch her or the cup of coffee that had splattered all over her.
Yes, I’d been kind of distracted by her wide green eyes with lashes so thick there had to be glue and one of those caterpillar fake eyelash things involved.
Yes, I hadn’t helped her up the second she’d fallen.
It had happened so quickly I’d been in shock for a solid two seconds before offering her my hand like I would any player on an opposing team I’d knocked off their feet.
She’d smacked my hand away and scrambled back up, laying into me.
It was already a day and I didn’t need to add someone’s crappy bullshit to the smoldering pile of rubble that was my life.
So, her “Have a nice day, asshole” put her at the top of my shitty day shit list. At least I had someone to be the focus of my frustration. Had it felt nice to snap at her? Hell yeah, it had.