Page 1 of At Your Door

CHAPTER 1

MIA

“Umm, excuse me?”

I can hear a high-pitched voice coming from behind me, but my hands are drenched from washing out one of the blenders, so I’m not in a position to talk to customers right now. But I could already hear the layered conversations coming from all directions, which only tells me one thing–it’s 6 a.m.

In San Francisco, all anyone cared about at that time was coffee. Doesn’t matter your background, your industry, or how much money’s in your bank account—coffee runs the city.

For the next few hours, we’ll all swap roles, jumping in to help extinguish each fire as soon as it sparks.

So, even though I’m supposed to be cleaning, I drop the blender in the sink, slap on my Disney smile, and turn to face a blonde woman juggling a stroller in one hand and a small Vanilla Frappé in the other.

“Hi, can I help you?” I ask.

Her light scoff as she looks me up and down doesn't go unnoticed, “Uh…yeah. I ordered a Vanilla Frappé withnowhip, but this clearly has whipped cream, and my baby can't have all that sugar.”

I can feel my teeth grinding as I hold back from telling her there’s more sugar in that Vanilla Frappé than in a can of soda.Not to mention the caffeine they pretend isn’t in it, even though it’s been on the menu for years. Yet, moms like her come in here every day, proudly buying it for their kids.

“Let me fix that for you.” I reach out to grab the drink and she pulls away at the last second.

“Can you actually remake the whole thing, please?” It’s not really a question. I nod, forcing a semi-tight smile, and there it is—that same sick look only specific customers give me. The kind that screams, “I’m above you.” It used to crush me, but now I’m practically immune.

So, I turn away and remake her sugar-loaded, caffeine-packed Vanilla Frappé, no whipped cream, still smiling. When I turned back, she looked anything but happy, seeing me handle it without a problem.

“Here ya go! Sorry about that.” I can feel the wave of self-satisfaction already coming over me.

“Mhmm, thanks.” And she’s gone within seconds, her bright blonde hair whipping in the breeze, leaving behind a reminiscence of her overly sweet perfume.

I only get to relish in my small success for a moment, before I hear an all too familiar yelp come from across the room, and I quickly turn around to find Eleanor flat on the ground covered in milk.

“Cold foam?” I ask, knowingly.

Her eyes are closed but all she does is nod her head. I don't know how many times I’ve found her like this, but it's slowly becoming a habit. I bite back a giggle before reaching my hand out to pull back up and we both stand there watching as the puddle of milk spreads across the floor.

“Don’t youdarelaugh!”

“I’m not, I swear, I’m not.” But I know my face says otherwise.

“Come on and help me before Joe notices, he can’t know I fucked up my 5th batch.”

Her whispering reminds me that the shop is still packed with customers waiting in line, and panic starts to set in as I look around and realize there are only a few of us on the floor.

“Okay, go grab a new apron while I clean this up. We need to get started on those orders.” My eyes are zeroed in on the amount of empty cups—with names written on them— lined up on the counter.

El’s head whips around to see what’s caught my eye, “Oh, fuck meee!” She cries out.

I’ve been working atA Brew For Youfor almost four years now, and I still can’t get over how fast things go from totally fine to a complete shit show. But watching El dash to the back while I clean up this spill, I know I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else.

We’ve been best friends our whole lives, and when it comes to making coffee, we’re the best duo. Maybe that’s why Joe’s kept us around so long—or he probably just figured he could pay two broke introverts next to nothing while still having us work full-time.

And it’s worked, for quite some time, clearly. Of course, there have been times when we both said “Fuck it, let's quit!” But in reality, it's the best option for me right now.

For one, my 300-square-foot apartment is in the building that sits right on top ofA Brew For You, making it the shortest commute of all time.

Secondly, I couldn't imagine starting completely over at a new job. Just the thought of having to sit through an interview makes me sick.

When we were first hired, desperate for anything, our social anxieties were thrown out the window. Behind the counteris probably the only place I don't feel like I’m going to die when someone talks to me.

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