Caffeine Cold

Boyd

My shifts at the café are becoming fewer as the weeks tick by. I’ve done a good job of bogging myself down with other responsibilities at my work placement to stop feeling. But that finished yesterday.

Sophie never returned my text message from more than two weeks ago, and still every time she crosses my mind, I feel sick to my stomach at the thought of her becoming another man’s wife. Thinking about someone else coming home to her every day. Making her laugh. Wiping her tears. Celebrating her wins.

But what turns my stomach the most is that with this arranged marriage, she’s liable to end up with someone who does none of those things. Someone who treats her as a prop. A stepping stone. The one thing she said she feared when I first asked her out.

It doesn’t make sense. For thirty-two days, I’ve analyzed and weighed everything I know about Sophie against the situation we’re now in, and I can’t come up with an answer.

I need answers. But most of all, I need her to be happy.

Monica pulls me aside after my third order error—there’s a big difference between a regular latte and an iced latte. “What is up with you?”

I feel stupid for confessing that I’m still hung up on Sophie. Judging by Monica’s face, I don’t have to say it out loud.

Sometimes I forget that she’s been my friend since I bought this place. Plus, she’s a mother. If, over the last thirteen years, she’s developed skills anything like my mum’s, I should know better than to try to evade her questions.

She continues re-making the order I screwed up, leaving me to lean against the counter like an obnoxiously large, dust-collecting ornament.

“She’s stuck in my head, Mon. It’s been weeks and I just… I…” A lump forms in my throat, so I have to swallow it down to continue. “I still love her.”

“Well, duh. That’s not a surprise to anyone around here. Trust me. What I can’t understand is why you’re letting her go through with it.” She passes the impressively made drink over the pickup counter to the toe-tapping patron who waited longer than necessary.

When she spins back to face me, I stare at her, questioning how obvious it’s been to people around me. “There is no ‘letting her’ go through with anything. I don’t have a say.”

Something behind me catches Monica’s eye. A wave of hope floods through me as I spin around, hoping to see Sophie walking through the door. That hope is doused by the arrival of Celeste and Ashlyn, who both look like they haven’t slept for a month.

“Boyd, dear, could we talk to you for a moment?” Celeste asks with a tentative smile. The spunky, outspoken woman I’ve come to know and respect is neither of those things today.

I glance at Monica as if I’m asking her for permission.

“Go on. Maybe you do have a say.” She waves me off and returns to the cash register. “Plus, you’re just getting in the way.”

I roll my eyes behind her before turning to Celeste and Ashlyn. “Can I get either of you anything? A tea?”

“No thank you, dear. We won’t be staying long.”

The nausea I’ve been grappling with for days threatens to boil over. I’m not sure what exactly has been the cause. Nothing has changed since Sophie walked out these doors. Other than time is ticking closer to her impending nuptials this weekend, and she disregarded my text message, making her position clear.

I sit on the stool opposite the wall, with Ashlyn and Celeste on either side. “What can I do for you ladies?” I clear my throat, trying to play off the fact my voice just squeaked out like a prepubescent boy. Even Phoenix sounds more masculine than I did just now.

“Well, we’re not really sure, to be honest,” Ashlyn replies.

“Our sweet Sophie is depressed. And I don’t use that word lightly. She’s putting on a good front, going to work, trying to prove her worth, but she comes home and sometimes she doesn’t even pick up Wilson until an hour later. I can hear her crying through the walls, and she doesn’t want to talk to anyone.”

My stomach gurgles as my anger and upset reach a boiling point. I never assumed Sophie was happy with the arrangement, but being depressed is another matter. “What can I do?”

“Go see her. She was happy with you,” Ashlyn adds without hesitation. “She accepted her fate because she was afraid if she chose you, Henry would ruin your career before you even started.”

I lean back on the stool, but there’s nothing to catch me, so I grab onto the table, glad it’s affixed to the wall. She’s doing this because of me? Didn’t she realize that losing her would be worse than not having any career opportunities? I can live with owning a café and making coffee for the rest of my life… I can’t live without her. I won’t let her do this.

Words fail me. My mind is racing and my stomach ache has turned into a surge of adrenaline. I slide my stool back, stand, and stare at a ring from a cup dried on the table. What will I say? How will I change anything? What if she doesn’t want to see me? Doesn’t matter. I need to try.

“Monica, I’m leaving.”

“Good.” She smiles at Celeste and Ashlyn. “It’s about time. Am I right, ladies?”

I’d roll my eyes again if I weren’t so eager to leave. “Can you get someone to clean that table?” I ask as I pull out my phone to order a ride-share.

“Put that away. A knight in shining armour can’t show up in an Uber. I’ll take you.” Ashlyn pushes open the front door with ease and waves at me and Celeste to pick up the pace. It feels like we’re launching a revolution without coming up with a battle plan.

“Sophie doesn’t need a knight in shining armour. But I won’t let her throw her life away trying to be mine.” I march down the sidewalk with intention, feeling like the ominous grey clouds overhead are somehow a prophetic manifestation for what’s coming.

When we reach Ashlyn’s shiny black Mercedes, I slide in the back, draping my legs to the side to fit in behind the passenger seat. There’s a litany of gym gear in the back, including three pairs of shoes, towels, hand wraps, extra tank tops, knee braces, and a container of protein powder. Everything is just thrown on the floor or seat.

“Sorry about the mess. On the bright side, you never know what’ll come in handy.” Ashlyn weaves through west-bound traffic, glancing at me occasionally in the rear-view mirror.

“Thanks for this. I appreciate the ride.”

Part way to Sophie’s office, the ‘what ifs’ start running through my head. What if she refuses to say no to this marriage? What if she gets more angry at me because she thinks I’m trying to control her? What if she’s mad at her friends for coming to speak to me again? But it doesn’t take me long to calm the racing thoughts with logic. If someone I cared about was suffering and needed someone to step up on their behalf to fix things, I wouldn’t hesitate to do it. I have done it. Now Celeste and Ashlyn are doing the same thing. I can’t ignore their pleas. Because, like Sophie said, not every situation is black and white.

Sophie deserves so much more than a life trapped in a marriage under someone else’s control. So even if she doesn’t choose me, I at least want her to choose herself.

We pull up in front of the St. Clair Avenue high-rise, and Ashlyn double parks beside a forest green Subaru.

“Go get your girl. I’ll find parking.”

I wasn’t aware this was a group expedition, but if I can’t get into the building, I may need their help. With a nod and a thank you, I jump out of the passenger side and into the drizzling rain.

Before I reach the door, my heart stalls.