Page 19 of At Your Door

The only thing that saved me was showing her the pictures of my flooded apartment. She couldn’t contain her laughter; she nearly dropped to the ground. Meanwhile, I stood there, completely still, blank-faced, just waiting for her to finish.

This really wasn’t the time or place to indulge her antics. But that’s on me for dropping a bomb on her during a busy shift.Not that my disinterest ever seemed to stop her because, for the past few hours, she’d automatically break into fits of laughter whenever she turned to ask about an order.

Just like now—the small cups of cappuccino are barely filled anymore, with hot liquid spilling down the sides and onto the tiny saucers.

“Uh, excuse me?” a deep voice calls behind me.

I turn to see a tall, dark-haired customer whose eyes are fixed on the two mugs in El’s hands.

It’s practically second nature as I plaster a smile on my face and soften my voice. “Yes, can I help you with anything?”

“Yeah, I’ve been waiting over 10 minutes. Are those supposed to be mine?”

My eyes follow his gesture back to El, whose lips are tight, eyes wide.

She knows she fucked up.

But I can’t face either of them right now; my eyes squeeze shut, refusing to look at the mess in her hands.

And maybe on any other day, I’d be able to roll with the punches. But when I think about the state of my apartment, I know I don’t have the energy to give this guy his two seconds of fame and let him call me out on a clear mistake. Not when I just had to sneak out of my neighbor’s bedroom this morning. I’ve seriously had enough.

So I lie. I turn back to the customer, smiling brightly. “Nope! Not yours. I’m so sorry about the wait. I’ll make sure yours is coming right up!”

I don’t bother ignoring his annoyed expression or waiting for his reply. I turn around, grab the mugs from El, and, through gritted teeth, whisper, “Go make two more. Now.”

On any other day, even if El were the one to mess up, she’d still refuse to remake it and tell me to fuck off. But shemust notice my change in tone because she doesn’t say a word, just grabs two new mugs and races over to the espresso machine.

I immediately go in the opposite direction, dumping the drinks and washing out the mugs. When I returned to the counter, Eleanor was already standing with the customer’s order ready. Like a machine, she transfers it into my hands, and I’m back in front of him with a smile.

“Sorry again about that. Here are your cappuccinos.”

“Uh-huh,” is all I get before he turns away, heading to the outdoor patio.

As he leaves, I let out a big sigh, dropping my head back—a crisis averted. If only I could handle my life that way.

I keep my back to the door, listening to the front doorbell sound, which tells me Eleanor’s already back at the register.

What I don’t expect to hear, though, is the sound of El cackling. Not giggling, not laughing—fucking cackling.

Instantly, my eyes roll. Not again. My annoyance has officially reached its peak as I whip around to see El nearly toppled over the counter.

“You know, it’s really not that fucking fun—”

No. This cannot be happening again.

I hope my face doesn’t show how I feel now because I think I might just burst.

What did I do to deserve this life? Why does the universe want to punish me so badly? Am I that awful of a person?

It feels like I’m watching a horror movie—or maybe a preview of my nightmares—as Eleanor, Griffon, and two other familiar, jaw-droppingly gorgeous girls laugh together.

And now they’re all facing me, and instinctively, I step back.

Griffon tilts her head, a smirk growing on her face. “Hey! Mia, how’s it going?”

“Uh…”

Nervously, I wipe my hands up and down my apron.

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