Page 14 of Storm in a Teacup
My heart twitches in my chest, a sting of jealousy along with appreciation of that kind of happiness. Many months apart and months in therapy have made me acknowledge that I never loved Atti that much. So much so that he was the only person in the room for me. I’m not sure I even believed that was possible. However, I’m still not sure it’s possible—for everyone at least. It’s possible for Rachel and Isla, for Mel and Julien, but not for me.
“Melinda.” I turn quickly to see the woman who said my name. Ah, the only person besides Auntie Carolyn who calls me Melinda. Gladys, who owns the beauty parlor down the street.
“Oh, hi, Gladys,” I say, plastering a smile on my face. “Nice to see you.”
She harrumphs. “I waved, but you didn’t acknowledge me.”
“Just now? I was watching Isla sing, sorry.”
“No. This morning.”
My smile drops. “Oh. Well, I didn’t see you.”
“You young people, always so distracted by your phones that the outside world means nothing to you,” she scolds.
“I wasn’t on my phone.” I make it a habit to not stare at myphone and walk. Far too many accidents have been caused by me doing that. “I just didn’t see you, Gladys. I swear I would never purposely ignore you.” After this conversation, I might.
She harrumphs again, but continues to talk at me. This time about how late the light in our shop was on the other night. “I thought you were being burgled.”
“Just doing a little work.”
Once Gladys finishes her list of grievances against me, she continues on with her grievances against everyone else on the block. I finish my wine. God, that’s upsetting. I nod along, anxiously searching for a moment to escape.
I finally catch one when she takes a breath.
“I need to go find a restroom,” I say, slipping away before she can comment on my departure.
I turn down a little hallway, figuring that even if I don’t have to use the restroom, I wouldn’t mind a breath. I spot the small WC at the end of the hall, but find myself distracted by the swinging door to my right. Mostly because of the loud clanging coming from behind it. I push my way in to witness a tall man in a white apron whacking pastry dough with a rolling pin.
“Is that the best method?” I ask, leaning against the door frame.
Ben swivels around swiftly, rolling pin held up like a defensive weapon. He lowers it when he sees me.
“No. Probably not.” He sets the rolling pin beside the dough he was assaulting. “Hi. What are you doing back here?”
I look pointedly at the dough. “Call me curious—I wanted to see what the banging was about.” I step closer, narrowing the large gap between us. “Also, I was wondering where you were.”
“Hiding,” he says frankly.
“From David?”
His eyebrows shoot up. “How doyouknow David?” He looks around nervously, then in a low whisper says, “Bench girl, are you a spy? Was this a long-winded heist to steal my bread and butter?”
At a normal volume, I answer, “I just met him like five minutes ago. He was talking to Rachel about how you guys haven’t spoken in six months.”
Ben fidgets with the tie of his apron. “Well, we haven’t. And we’re going to keep not talking for longer.”
“Why?” I ask. Then add as an afterthought, “If you don’t mind me prying.”
Ben looks away. “I’m…but he doesn’t…I thought distance would…but it hasn’t…” He sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “It’s a long story,” he settles on.
I nod, understanding that it is not my business. However, I can’t help but ask one more question. “Are you okay?”
“Honestly? Never.” He chuckles, but it comes out ingenuine.
“I get that,” I say quietly, hating to agree but knowing that I do recognize what he means.
We look at each other, an understanding passing between us. Then a round of applause from outside the kitchen doors breaks the thread. Isla must have finished another song.
