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LIZ

Colorado

Saturday

Everybody knows Colorado has many sunny days, and today is one of them.

Fall has never looked more nostalgic, with its gilded aspen trees hugging the sky and leaves rustling in the wind like stacks of antique coins.

The road is almost empty as most people are at the market, shopping for juicy red apples, amber honey, and crusted loaves of homemade bread, or at home, already cooking lunch.

Some people like me are still in bed, trying to cure their hangover after spending the night in one of the hottest clubs in Colorado, or in my case, sipping coffee in a cafe, hoping to look cool.

After Chloe left, I took a break from going out.

She is studying abroad this year, and Thea has a new family, so I have no one to go out with.

“You have to go to her wedding,” my mother says, prompting me to glance at my phone.

My cell phone sits on the table next to my laptop and my tall, whipped coffee.

The mix of instant coffee powder, brown sugar, and hot water is adorned with scrumptious whipped cream.

This is one of my favorite cafes in town. The girl at the counter already considers me a regular––I come here almost every Saturday––usually drizzling caramel on top.

I live for this drink.

“I don’t have to do anything,” I say quietly, sticking a straw into my drink.

I take a sip, and the aroma spreads around my mouth, making my tongue tingle. My mother looks at me, still on speaker, my phone with the volume turned down—not that many people are here.

The coffeehouse is almost empty.

The employee who knows me chats quietly with her coworker while the man in the corner has his arms folded on the table and his brow pressed against them.

His laptop sits on the table, a cup of coffee next to it.

Only moments ago, he worked on his computer before figuring out he could do something better with his time.

And there he is.

He and I are very much alike.

I was struggling to overcome writer’s block when I had this brilliant idea to take my mother’s call to distract myself.

I didn't know she’d bug me again about Thea’s wedding.

“We are her only family,” she says, and I roll my eyes before whipping my gaze away.

Her silence makes me reconsider my attitude, so I look back at my phone.

The kitchen wall stretches behind her while the sun filters through the window, filling the background.

Seated at the table, her fingers hovering over a cup of coffee, her hair pulled into a bun, secured with a blue scarf, she scolds me with her eyes.

“I have nothing against Thea,” I say, lifting my drink to partly conceal my expression. “I love her, and I’m happy for her,” I add before taking a sip and running the tip of my tongue over my lip, collecting a bead of whipped cream. “And the twins.”

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