Page 72 of Latte Girl
“She told meaboutyou.”
A foothold appears on the ledge I’ve been hangingoffof.
“She did? What didshesay?”
The woman raises a dark brown eyebrow that clashes with her hair. “What do you think she said?” she asks, her tone turning the question into anaccusation.
I’m getting ridiculed by a lot of baristastoday.
“Probably that I’m a dickhead she never wants to seeagain.”
A smile pulls at thewoman’slips.
“Among other things,” she tells me, and then gestures to a stool by the counter. “Sit down for aminute.”
“I’m sorry to bother you,” I apologize, sliding onto the stool. “Also, I forget what yournameis.”
“Mel,” shesupplies.
“I’m sorry, Mel. I didn’t know where else to look. She quit her job at the cafe. She told me not to contact her. She even blocked mynumber.”
“Ever thought about just leaving heralone?”
I blink. The thought hits me like a blast of cold air, and I take a few moments to come up with myanswer.
“If that would make her happy, then yes,” I say, pausing to let the truth of the words sink in. “I just want to give her the whole story. I hurt her. I think she deserves toknowwhy.”
“And what is thereasonwhy?”
I look at Mel. I don’t even know her. Maybe it’s the fact that she’s one of my last links to Hailey, or that she has the aura of some sort of lavender-haired guru. Maybe it’s just that this warm air and leather seat are made for long conversations, but suddenly I’m spilling my life story to a purple-hairedstranger.
She just nods through the whole thing, stopping me every now and then to pour a drink or ring someone up. I tell her everything, even the darkest details about my mom. I tell her how Hailey reached inside me and pulled out the best parts of who I am, the ones I didn’t think anyone else could see. I tell her about all the times Iscrewedup.
“I don’t deserve her,” I finish, sounding as hopeless asIfeel.
She claps me on the shoulder. “You’re right,” she says grimly, “and with that attitude, youneverwill.”
“Gee, thanks,” Ireply.
She shrugs. “Honesty is my policy. Now do you want myadvice?”
“I’ll take any adviceyou’vegot.”
“If I’d only heard Hailey’s side of the story, I’d tell you to just let her go and move on. You really did screw up,” she admonishes, “but I’m not a stranger to screwing up. I believe you care about her and I think you’re right; she does deserve to hear everything you just told me. So my first piece of advice is that you quit going on and on about how bad what you did was. The time has come to fix it, not talkaboutit.”
“Buthowdo Ifixit?”
“You start with my second piece of advice,” Mel continues. “Give her some time to herself while you get your act together. Right now you’re jobless, homeless, and your entire life is in shreds. That’s not exactly a solid platform for proving you’ve turned yourself around. Concentrate on that, and give Hailey some time to getherlife in order. She’s too hurt to accept an apologyrightnow.”
“And then?” I ask, ignoring the fact that I have no idea how to do anyofthat.
“Then you have to think of a way to prove you’re sorry with actions, not just words. It should be something that’s meaningful to you, something that will make her realize how serious you areaboutthis.”
“Likewhat?”
“That’s where my advice ends,”laughsMel.
“But even if I do all of those things, how do I find her?” I ask, figuring Mel must hold the keys to every answer inmylife.
It turns outshedoes.
“Come back here when you’re ready,” she tells me. “I’ll see what Icando.”
