Confessions From A Coffee Shop (15 page)

After she settled down, Samantha patted my arm. “You see, everyone’s doing it.” She followed it with another round of uncontrollable giggles‌—‌solo this time, because Lucy and my father were again focused on the game.

I sat back in my chair, baffled by this revelation. My eyes were on the commotion on the field, but I was too stunned to take it in; that is, until I heard the crack of the bat, and everyone jumped up from their seats. I rose, too, for a better view‌—‌thank goodness, because the ball was heading right for Dad’s head. Instinctively, I put my hand out and caught the ball before it crashed into Dad’s face. Everyone cheered.

Damn that stung!
I grinned, not letting on how much my hand hurt. I had been to hundreds of games, and not once had I come close to catching a ball. It was Ortiz, I realized, who had hit the homer. Dad hugged me, and then Samantha, Lucy, and some random fans did the same. Not only was this a homerun, but if the Sox won today, more than likely they’d have home field advantage in the playoffs. This homer was a big deal‌—‌and I caught the ball! I was part of Red Sox history.

I sat back down, holding the ball in my hand.

“That has to be a lucky sign for your writing career,” Samantha whispered in my ear. “Finish your book, Cori.”

* * *

As soon as my father and I entered the kitchen, he said, “Guess who caught an Ortiz home run?” and giggled like a schoolgirl.

Uncle Roger looked pissed, his eyes on the ball I waved in the air. He had turned down Dad’s invite to today’s game to help my aunt hang artwork in the gallery. I was helping her finish up tomorrow afternoon.

Even Mom, the rabid Red Sox hater, seemed impressed. Kat sauntered up to me like a Manx cat on the prowl and gave me a peck on the cheek. Then she ripped the ball out of my hand. I flexed and wiggled my fingers. I still didn’t have much feeling in my hand.

“Want an ice pack?” asked my aunt.

“Yes, please. It’s killing me.” I shook my hand vigorously.

Dad relayed the story, omitting that the ball was zooming toward his head and he was frozen in terror. I decided to tell Kat that bit later on. Leave the poor man alone in front of my mother.

“One of Cori’s friends snapped a photo,” Dad said, to my surprise. He passed around his cell phone for everyone to look.

Kat’s smile vanished instantly.

When I saw the photo, I knew why. I hadn’t planned on telling Kat that Sam happened to be at the game. From the photo, it looked like it was just Sam. Lucy wasn’t in the picture at all. Damn, this was bad.

Turning to Mom, I asked, “You blog?”

It was enough to distract Kat, which was my intention.

“I’m sorry, Cori, is that English?” Mom readjusted the silk scarf she wore to hide the age lines around her neck. She had started the habit several years ago, and I couldn’t remember the last time I had seen her without one, even in summer.

“You know what I mean.” I almost ratted Dad out but changed tack at the last minute. “I found your blog today. How long have you had a blog?”

“Since my publisher told me to start one.” Her look informed me I was an idiot. “A lot of authors have blogs these days.”

“I don’t.”

Mom opened her mouth, closed it, and then said diplomatically, “You should start one.”

I was blown away. I had been expecting her to make a crack that I hadn’t finished my novel.

Aunt Barbara slipped an ice pack into my hand. “I have a blog for the gallery. I can help you set one up, if you’d like.”

“Am I the only one in this kitchen who doesn’t have a blog, Facebook, or Twitter account?”

“I believe you are. You never were very good with technology. Basketball yes. Computers, no. Remember when you had to write a computer program in the fourth grade? You came home in tears and said you never wanted to touch a computer again.” Aunt Barbara patted my head. “Blogging isn’t that hard. And I think you should start a Goodreads account.”

“What in the hell is that?”

“A website for readers.”

I groaned. How in the world was I going to keep up with my jobs, writing, and all this shit?

Kat handed the ball back to me, bringing me back to reality. “What do you think about self-publishing?” I directed the question to my aunt, but Mom answered.

“I’m thinking of going that route.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Cut out the middle man completely and make more money.” She sipped her wine. “But, Cori, I want you to promise me one thing: don’t get bogged down by all the social media. You need to finish your book.”

Again, her tone shocked me. She really meant it. My mother was even giving me the “you can do it” look.

Before I could tell Mom that the ending was still percolating in my head, Mom changed the subject, asking about Kat’s success at matchmaking Harold. I didn’t mind, because right then a new idea for my novel’s ending entered my mind. I excused myself to Aunt Barbara’s office to jot down some notes.

I was sitting at my aunt’s desk when I heard a click.

“Ah, my daughter at work.” I turned to see Mom had snapped a photo.

A second click captured another.

Why was she being so nice? Why had Dad invited me to the game today?

Then it hit me: they were getting a divorce.

It was the only rational explanation for Mom’s behavior. They were preparing me for big news. Had her private eye found something after all?

Chapter Eight

On Thursday morning, I received a text from Samantha.
“Can you do lunch?”

“
Where and when?”
I quickly responded.

“
Wherever you like. My day is wide open
,” she replied, which clued me in immediately.

Whenever I walked into Beantown Café in the morning, my mind briefly flew to Samantha and her company’s layoffs. The bastards waited until Thursday to deactivate her badge and pull her aside in front of everyone. What a degrading way to let someone go.

My shift ended at ten, so I asked if Sam wanted to meet then. If I could have, I would have walked out right then and there, except that I needed the money.

The three hours following Sam’s text were hell. Fortunately, customers came and went, which kept me busy, but it didn’t stop my mind from wandering to how Sam must feel. As soon as my shift ended, I ran all the way to the Last Drop on Boylston Street. Samantha sat at the bar, nursing a beer. She gazed absently at the TV, which was replaying last night’s Sox game.

“Hey there.” I slid into the barstool next to her. “Can I buy you another?”

“Jesus! You scared the shit out of me.” She placed a hand on her chest, sucking in a deep breath.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” I put a hand on her back to comfort her. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I was just thinking …” She stared at the TV and lifted her glass for a generous swig.

At first, I thought she just wanted me to hang out at the bar with her and drink, to keep her company. Then I noticed she was barely in control of her emotions. It was only a matter of seconds before she broke down.

“There’s a table in the back. No one’s there.” I rose, gently pulling her arm.

She nodded, and started to motion to the bartender, but I lowered her hand. “Don’t worry. I got this. Head on back, and I’ll be there in a minute.”

She didn’t even look at me, just slunk to the back table dejectedly.

I asked the bartender what Sam was drinking, and ordered two of the same. Tattoos ran up and down both of his arms and neck, and two metal spikes stuck out of each ear. He nodded in Samantha’s direction. “I’ll bring them back there if you want to join her.”

“Thanks,” I said, and hotfooted to the back of the restaurant, taking a seat opposite her.

“I really thought I was safe,” Samantha confessed. “Yes, I was stressed, but deep down I thought it would be okay.” She stared at the brick wall behind me.

I reached across to place my hand on hers. What could I say?

“All week they had been picking people off my team. I thought, ‘Hey, they need me now. Who else will do all the work?’” She rubbed her face with both hands. “God! I feel so stupid now. I don’t even have my resume updated. I thought that if I did, it would curse me for sure. They’ve wiped out my contacts and didn’t hand over my Rolodex. And my email access‌—‌gone.” She laughed bitterly. “They were kind enough to box up all my photos and knickknacks from my desk. Isn’t that sweet of the assholes?” She raised her near-empty beer glass to her lips and slurped angrily, draining it.

The bartender placed fresh beers down in front of us almost immediately, and we both took generous swallows.

“I was in shock when the HR person told me to inspect my boxes to see if all of my stuff was there. One of my shoes was missing. He said I could make an appointment to get it after hours. God, I feel like such a shit now. All those hours I put in. All the sacrifices, my blown relationship‌—‌everything for a company that won’t even let me in to get my shoe. And it’s an expensive shoe!” She slammed a hand down on the table.

I processed the information. So it had been work. When Lucy said it wasn’t Samantha’s job that ruined their relationship, she’d fibbed.

“What am I going to tell my family?” The shame in her voice was hard to take. “Plus, I’m supposed to be having dinner with Lucy tonight to celebrate surviving the cuts, because they announced yesterday that it would all be over before Friday. How do I face her, Cori?” Tears streamed from her eyes and I rushed from my side of the table to hers.

She put her head on my shoulder, one arm wrapped around my stomach. I let her cry it out.

“Trust me, Sam, no one is going to say anything when they see you. They’ll just want to be there for you.” I hesitated, and then added, “Even Lucy.”

“But I let that job ruin our relationship.” Sam pulled away from me, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “I was going to tell Lucy tonight that I’m still in love with her, ask her to give me another chance.” She sniffled. “Now look at me! I’m unemployed‌—‌I’m a wreck. Fuck! I feel like such a loser.” She slapped her hand down on the table again, causing the beer glasses to jump half an inch.

“I don’t know Lucy all that well. But I know you, and I can’t believe for one minute that you’d love someone shallow enough to run for the hills when the going got tough. Maybe it’s not the time for the relationship talk, but I’m betting Lucy will be there for you tonight, as a friend at least. There’s no need to rush things. See where the chips fall.”

Sam nodded and looked away. “Well, I can always go work for my father. Manage one of his stores. Need any carpet?” She tried to laugh it off, but a string of snot blew out of her nose at her snort, and she started crying again.

I fished in my backpack for some Kleenex and handed them to her.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, wiping her eyes. She blew her nose viciously, sounding like a goose honking at a passerby.

“I bet if you do that in front of Lucy, her heart will melt,” I joked.

Sam pinched my arm and smiled sadly. “This is the moment you show your true colors, you jerk.” She set the wadded-up tissues on the table. “Thanks for coming today.”

“No worries, Sam. Would you like another?” I motioned to her nearly empty glass. She nodded, and I left to order another round.

“Can you please keep an eye on us and refill our drinks if they get low?” I asked the barkeep.

He nodded his assent. “Looks like she’s having a rough one. Did her husband leave her or something?” His concerned look told me he wasn’t just fishing for gossip.

“Something like that.”

“Who in their right mind would leave a hottie like her?” He shook his head, but his greasy hair didn’t budge.

I shrugged, and thought of Lucy. What had really gone wrong in their relationship? If Kat wasn’t such a busybody, I’d have enlisted her help, but my gut told me to back off that plan. My best bet was to get closer to Lucy‌—‌to see if I could get those two back together. It was obvious they both still had tender feelings for each other. Then I remembered Kat was helping Lucy find dates on Match.com. Shit. I needed to get her to back off and quick. How, though, without letting the cat out of the bag?

Samantha blew her nose again as I sat back down. Even red-nosed and with puffy eyes, she looked damn sexy to me‌—‌in a pathetic way. Would Lucy think the same when she saw her tonight? Hopefully.

“I must look lovely right now.” She dabbed at her eyes, streaking her mascara even further.

“I happen to find raccoons very attractive,” I teased.

“Very funny, wise guy.” She pulled a compact out of her purse and tried to wipe away the smudges. “What do you have planned today?”

I sucked in some air and then bit my lower lip, deep in thought. “Not much, just hang out with an old friend and get shitfaced. You?”

“Oddly enough, I have the same plan.” She flashed a cheerless smile.

The bartender delivered the next round. I raised my glass. “To getting shitfaced.”

We clinked glasses and downed a third of our beers. Thank God I didn’t have to teach later that day. My students had the night off to complete a take-home exam. I had planned on writing, but there was no way I could leave Samantha to dwell on getting fired alone. Yep, it was an excuse, but a decent one.

“What time are you meeting Lucy tonight?”

“Around seven.”

“Shall I get us a pitcher of water, so you aren’t too drunk?” I started to rise, chastising myself for not thinking of it sooner.

Samantha waved the idea away. “No water. Let’s order a bunch of greasy food and try to stay sober that way. I can’t remember the last time I binged on junk food and beer all day.” She thought for a moment. “Maybe in college.”

With her figure, it didn’t look like she ever binged on anything, but I wasn’t going to put a damper on her mood.

Sam grabbed a menu from behind the metal bucket that held paper towels and condiments and browsed her options.

She tapped a finger on the appetizer sampler: onion rings, fried mozzarella, chicken fingers, and buffalo wings. “That’s the one.” Then she hopped up to place the order with the bartender.

It took longer than I had expected, which gave me the chance to check my texts. Nothing from Kat. Good. Usually we hung out on Thursdays, my afternoon off, but lately she’d been busy. Doing what, God knows. Actually, I feared she was out shopping with Mom.