our orders from the barista and find a table near the window of the busy coffee shop. Caffeine is the only way I’ll manage the rest of this day after the chaos that Charlie caused. But we’ve found her perfectly perfect—incredibly expensive—decorations.
She’s topping off her bragging by talking incessantly about her children.
We settle for a small metal table in a crowded corner, and I wipe the crumbs from its surface. She finally takes a breath.
“So, what about you? Are you guys going to try IVF?” She drums excitedly on the table. “You and Camden have never taken so long to decide anything. A whirlwind romance, a short engagement, a home purchased immediately afterward, but no babies. I know you want them. What’s the deal?”
My pulse quickens. I never should have told her about the fertility treatments or my hopes in general. That was before. I shift my eyes to my paper cup and take a sip, burning my tongue.
“Hot,” I say with a gasp. “I’m going to grab a water.”
The long line is a reprieve, but I’ll need to return to Charlie, who doesn’t forget a thing. This new secret is already challenging me.
Larry even had some snide comments about how easily and quickly I gave him more money. I’m never surprised when he demands money between monthly installments, but it’s always a struggle to come up with it when he does.
A wave of nausea hits my gut, making the water more a necessity than a distraction tactic.
I try to forget about Larry, about IVF, because allowing my anxiety to spiral won’t help when I return to Charlie, who is smiling at me from across the packed room as if she knows something.
The memories I keep locked away don’t need to be released to remind me; maybe she does.
“Olivia?” a sweet voice asks from behind me.
I spin around, facing the redhead in jeans and a long-sleeve crop top who’s speaking to me. It takes me a moment to place her. Elle, the woman from Dr. Marcellus’ office.
“Hi, Elle. What a surprise!” I announce loud enough for Charlie to hear.
If I play this right, I may be able to skirt Charlie’s questions. She wouldn’t dare push the subject in front of a stranger.
“A timely coincidence,” she says, swiping some hair from her cheek. “I’m glad I bumped into you. I should have gotten your number Thursday, but I felt so silly asking. My husband and I are new to the area, and I’d wanted—this is funny—to grab coffee with you.”
“Well, then. It is an excellently timed coincidence,” I tell her.
She peeks around me. I follow her gaze to the now-open register.
“A water, please,” I say to the young man behind the counter, then turn to Elle. “What are you getting?”
She waves her hand at me, “No, that’s—"
“I insist.” I really do. I need her to owe me—to save me from Charlie.
“Americano, please, black.”
As we move out of line to wait for our drinks, I respond to Charlie’s curious eyes with a smile and a wave.
“I’m here with a friend,” I say to Elle. “You should join us.”
“I wouldn’t want to impose.” Elle shifts between her feet.
“We’d be happy to have you, if you’d like. No time like the present to have our coffee date.”
“Okay, if you don’t mind,” she says, her shoulders relaxing. “It’s harder to make friends these days.”
There’s something intriguing about Elle. She doesn’t seem to hide behind a mask like the rest of my friends.
“Not if you know the right person,” I say, grabbing my water and her coffee from the counter.
I hand the coffee to Elle, then retrieve a vacant chair and slide it to our table for her.
“How’s your tongue?” Charlie prods.
She doesn’t want to know how my tongue is, not really. I speak fluent Charlie.
“This is Elle.” I lift my hand to present her as she sits down elegantly between us. “She’s new to town. I thought she could use some company.”
A hint of a glare flashes across Charlie’s eyes before shifting to a large grin to greet our new acquaintance.
“Nice to meet you, Elle,” Charlie says.
“We actually met, sort of,” Elle tells her.
Charlie just stares at her with a blank expression, aside from her fake smile. It is odd. It took me a minute to recognize Elle when I first talked to her at Dr. Marcellus’ office, but I still recalled meeting her, and Charlie never forgets a thing.
“You know, it was probably someone else,” Elle says, making a wiping motion in the air. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Don’t sweat it,” Charlie responds. “Do you like kitchenware?”
As Charlie jumps right in, the ideal host for any direct sales associate, I lean back against my chair, satisfied.