Page 25 of Latte Girl
Not-Date
Hailey
Iclosethe front door of our apartment and turn to lean my back against it, sliding down until I’m almost sitting on floor. The past hour is a blur. I closed up the store after fending off Trisha’s questions about what happened outside. I know I took the bus home after that, but I can barely remember the ride. I’ve been cruising on autopilot, just waiting to collapse onto my bed and finally have a chance tothink.
“HelloHailey!”
My mom pokes her head into the hallway from the kitchen, where I can smell spaghetti sauce heating up on the stove. She notices me slumped against the door and her face crumples withconcern.
“Are youalright?”
“Oh,” I say, barely lifting my head, “yeah. Justtired.”
Mom doesn’t pay any attention to my answer. Instead she comes over to crouch down in front of me, still holding a wooden spoon in one hand as she reaches to feel myforehead.
“Hailey, your skin is freezing. Did you get caught intherain?”
I nod as she pulls me to my feet and runs her arms over mine to warmmeup.
“You really don’t look good,” she tells me. “Why don’t you go put some dry clothes on and lay down for a bit while I finish dinner? I have to leave for the centre at seven. You should restuntilthen.”
“I will,” I say, hanging up my coat. “You’re right. I actually don’t feel thatgreat.”
I walk into my room and pull off my blouse and work pants. In just my underwear, I let myself fall onto the bed and pull my blanket on top of me, breathing in the scent of laundry detergent as I wait until warmth starts seeping back into my fingersandtoes.
Jordankissedme.
The word ‘kiss’ feels like an understatement for what happened between us. I’ve never had anyone touch me the way he did, pinning my hands above me and biting down on my lip so hard I almost screamed. The kiss was fueled by the thrill of contradiction: the cold air on my skin and his hot tongue in my mouth, the softness in the way he touched me and the scrape of the brick wall againstmyback.
I should be dancing around my room in my underwear right now. I should be smiling so wide my face goes numb as I wander around, spreading the light of my just-been-kissed glow whereverIgo.
Instead I just feel dizzy. Of all the images of Jordan and I that I have to reflect on, the one that I can’t get out of my head, the one that feels like it’s burned into the back of my eyelids, is the look on his face when he stepped awayfromme.
His features flickered between expressions like a wavering candle about to go out. I saw the lust in his eyes, the hunger for more, but I also saw anger and pain. Then all the heat in his gaze was extinguished and the only thing left was an ashen look ofregret.
I curl up into an even tighter ball, trying to relive the moments before he pulled away from me, to convince myself that I’m reading too much intothings.
My thoughts are interrupted by a knock onthedoor.
“Comein!”
Amanda walks into my room, squeezing a struggling Nemo against her chest. “Mommy says you’re sick. I came to checkonyou.”
For the first time since Trisha opened the back door of the cafe, I feel myself starting to smile. Amanda comes closer tomybed.
“Nemo wants tosnuggleyou.”
I look at the writhing Shih Tzu, who is clearly not in a snuggling mood. Amanda puts him down next to me and I start to protest, but he buries his nose in my blanket, snorts, then jumps about a foot in the air before leaping off the bed and bounding out oftheroom.
I swear that dog’s brain isn’t wiredright.
“Guess not, Amanda Panda,” I say. “You’ll just have to snuggle meinstead.”
She belly flops on top of the blanket, and even though she only stays still for about five seconds before poking me in the stomach and then steamrollering herself up and down my body like a human rolling pin, I’m reminded that being stuck living at home has itsperks.
* * *
Another day,another mad scramble to supply coffee to the endless line of customers who make up themorningrush.
