by Harper Bliss
“This is the quiet hour. Everyone’s at work. Kristin has gone upstairs for a bit, and Josephine is on the phone with a supplier in the back.”
“How’s your new adventure going?” Amber asked in between blowing on her tea.
“It’s definitely still in the challenging phase.” They both looked at the door as it opened. A woman walked in. Micky’s pulse picked up speed slightly. She’d made plenty of practice-cups of coffee by now, but this would be her first time without supervision, unless the woman ordered tea like Amber—Micky hoped that she would.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Amber said and headed to a table by the window.
“A tall wet capp, please,” the woman said.
“Excuse me?” Did this woman know she was in a coffee shop?
“My regular. A wet cappuccino.” Her blue eyes seemed to look straight through Micky. If she was a regular, couldn’t she see that Micky was new? Or perhaps she was one of those people who never took notice of who served them.
“I’m very sorry. I’m new here, and thus far, no one has explained to me what a wet cappuccino might be.” Wasn’t all coffee wet by definition?
The woman sighed audibly. She’ll roll her eyes at me next. “Wet means a bigger ratio of milk to foam.” She stood there with a massive air of superiority about her.
“So a latte?” Micky asked.
The woman did roll her eyes then. “If I wanted a latte, I would have ordered a latte.” Her tone of voice was nothing like the friendly customers Micky had served throughout the morning. This woman was loud and brash and certainly didn’t have an Australian accent. She sounded American, and acted like it—like she owned the bloody world.
But Micky knew she couldn’t mock the customer. This was a business, and customer satisfaction was key. “That’ll be three dollars ninety-nine, ma’am,” she said. “Coming right up.” Micky couldn’t help giving the woman a defiant stare, in case she thought she didn’t sound utterly ridiculous.
The woman paid cash without saying another word, then walked to the side of the counter, her heels clicking loudly, to wait for her latte—Micky refused to call it a wet cappuccino, even in her head.
Why must people be so unpleasant and have their head stuck so far up their ass, she wondered as she prepared the beverage. But this was one of the challenges that came with her brand new job: dealing with difficult customers. Micky was sure it wouldn’t be her last. And if the woman was indeed a regular, Micky would be making her many more wet cappuccinos to come.
“Hi, Robin.” Josephine sauntered out of the back door.
So she was called Robin. Without looking up from her phone, she mumbled something, reminding Micky of her son’s favorite way of having a conversation with his mother—unwilling to tear his gaze away from his precious iPhone and showing her that he was actually listening to what she was saying. Micky cataloged Robin as an overly pampered expat.
“Here you go.” She handed Robin her drink, their gazes crossing briefly when she did. Robin had an awfully intense stare.
“Thanks,” she said, and immediately flipped the lid off her paper cup—probably to inspect the foam to milk ratio. “Please teach your new colleague how to make my wet capp properly by tomorrow, Josephine,” she said, turned on her heel, and walked out the door.
“Jesus.” Micky looked at Josephine. “A wet capp? Really?”
“It’s just a latte,” Josephine said matter-of-factly.
“If only I had known that before I got my head bitten off.” Micky looked over at Amber, to gauge if she’d followed the conversation between her and the annoying customer.
“Why don’t you take your break,” Josephine said. “Rest your feet for a bit.” She was at least twenty years younger than Micky, and twenty times better at her job.
✶ ✶ ✶
“Tsk. Americans,” Micky hissed as she sat down opposite Amber.
Amber shot her a friendly smile. “Don’t sweat it. We’re all different.”
“Indeed, some of us are pompous asses.” Micky rotated her ankles and relished the feeling of relief it brought.
Amber looked at her intently. “Why are you getting so upset? She was just another person ordering another cup of coffee.”
Micky shrugged. “I don’t like the way she spoke to me. Did you hear what she said about me to Josephine before leaving? So rude.”
“Just brush it off. It comes with the job. Not everyone can be lovely and full of positive energy like me.” Amber batted her lashes ostentatiously.
Micky had to smile. “She could surely benefit from one of your classes, but she probably doesn’t have time. She probably has to make some other people feel bad about themselves around seven tonight.”
Amber looked at her silently.
“What?” Micky asked.
“Granted, she was being a jerk, but why can’t you let it go?” She narrowed her eyes, as though inspecting Micky’s face in detail.
“Because I didn’t start this job to be treated like dirt, while clearly she was—”
“She was hot,” Amber interrupted her. “Might that have something to do with your level of upset?”
Micky arched up her eyebrows. “Excuse me?”
Amber painted a smile on her face. “Not only that, but I’m guessing that she may have reminded you of someone with the way she waltzed in here and spoke to you.”
Micky couldn’t follow Amber’s train of thought at all.
“Demanding, busy, overly confident?” Amber continued. “Your ex-husband comes to mind.”
“Nuh-uh.” Micky shook her head. “Our marriage may have run its course and ended badly, but Darren is also considerate, a great father, and only half as full of himself as that woman was.”
“You like the type, that’s all I’m saying,” Amber teased.
“Come on, Amber. She’s a, er, woman.”
“I do have eyes in my head. I noticed her female features.”
“You keep pushing me on that, just because of one thing I said once, after too many bottles of wine.” Micky knew she was making a poor attempt at embellishing things. On top of that, Amber knew her too well to let her get away with such a statement.
“This is your workplace now, so not the place to discuss this further, but we do need to have a serious conversation about this, sooner rather than later.”
“Dear Amber, you’re my best friend, and an excellent yoga teacher, but that doesn’t make you my life coach.”
“When are the kids going to their dad’s?” Amber asked, undeterred.
“Day after tomorrow.” Micky simultaneously dreaded and looked forward to that day of the week. She could do with a few days of peace and quiet after starting this job, but she also—always—missed them terribly. Having to shuttle her kids around between her home and her ex’s was something she would always feel guilty about. None of this was their fault, yet they had to suffer because of it.
“So, Friday evening, you’re coming to yoga, then to dinner at mine. We’re going to have an intimate chat. It’s time.”
“Are you propositioning me, Amber? I didn’t know you felt that way about me.” Now Micky batted her lashes in an exaggerated fashion.
“Don’t be silly. You’re like my sister, which is why I’m the right person to confide in.”
“All because of that woman and her ridiculous coffee order?” Micky used playing dumb as a defense mechanism.
“You know why,” Amber said. “I have to go now.”
“Back to work I go as well.” They both stood, and Amber gave Micky an extra long hug before she left.
CHAPTER FOUR
All throughout Friday evening’s yoga class—the first Micky had attended all week—Micky felt ill at ease and unable to center herself. Amber had been on her case more than usual lately, what with first pushing her to get a job, then inviting her over for an intimate chat. Micky had no trouble talking about herself, but there were certain topics she was loath to address.
Now they w
ere walking toward Amber’s flat, past a French restaurant, then an Indian. Micky’s stomach was growling because she was used to having dinner much earlier with her kids, and if they were at their dad’s, she usually had dinner at the same time as well. She sure hoped Amber had already prepared the kale and quinoa salad Micky was almost certain she was going to serve, probably with a green juice on the side, instead of a much-needed glass of wine.
The Pink Bean was located about halfway between the yoga studio where Amber taught and her flat, and whereas before the place had solely inspired extreme comfort in Micky, when she walked past it now, a slew of other emotions rose to the surface. The past week, after her first day of observing and learning, she had arrived at the coffee shop at six thirty sharp every morning—preempting the need for a shower schedule at home, because she ended up leaving the house well before her children did—and worked until Alyssa came in to cover the midday shift.
After her first full week of having a job, Micky wasn’t sure yet she was cut out for it. The days suddenly seemed so much shorter, and this week, when she took an afternoon nap, she actually needed it to be able to stay up until past her kids’ bedtime—and make sure they turned off the light on time.
Once they’d reached Amber’s apartment and Amber, as always, offered her a large glass of water without asking, Micky said, “Please tell me you have cold wine.” Micky had brought a bottle, but after sitting in her bag throughout yoga, it wouldn’t be chilled enough anymore to drink.
“Would I invite you over if I didn’t?” Amber was already headed toward the fridge. As usual, Micky would end up drinking two thirds of the bottle, while Amber gingerly sipped from a glass that didn’t seem to get empty. Amber did have to teach tomorrow, not that she would drink much more on any other evening.
“Kimberly was shamelessly flirting with you,” Micky said once they’d sat down to eat and she’d felt the soothing cold balm of white wine slide down her throat.
“That might be so, but I don’t date students,” Amber replied quickly. She lived by so many rules, Micky sometimes wondered how she got any actual living done.
Micky shook her head. “You meet so many women every single day, some of whom are clearly very interested in you, yet you refuse to enjoy the attention they give you.” Micky was glad to discuss Amber’s lack of love life instead of her own.
“I know most people see it differently, but in my view, it’s unethical.”
“You’re not teaching children. You’re teaching full-grown adults how to, ultimately, bend their legs behind their ears. I really don’t see what’s so unethical about that.”
“First, what I teach might be physical, but I do hope that for most of the people I instruct, the outcome can be felt on a spiritual level as well. Second, my reputation is very important to me. I want to start my own studio soon, and I don’t want potential clients to have any false ideas about me. How I present myself and how I behave need to be aligned.”
Amber was starting to lose Micky, though Micky was desperate to keep the conversation going. She was tired, and this spinach and tofu salad that Amber had served in mason jars and turned upside down in a bowl, wasn’t giving her the comfort she craved from a Friday evening meal, especially after her first official workweek.
“But all you do is teach, hang out in The Pink Bean and juice bars, and make organic salads. How can you expect to meet someone?” Micky held up her hand because she wasn’t finished yet. “And you refuse to go on the internet for a date.”
“I’m glad you brought up the subject,” Amber said, fixing her green stare on Micky. “This is exactly what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Micky sighed. “You always do this. You never want to talk about yourself.”
All Amber did was fix Micky with a strong, silent stare—as though waiting for Micky to realize that what she had just said didn’t make sense and to inform Micky she knew what she was up to.
In response, Micky drank some more. The kids were at their dad’s that weekend. Darren had downsized to a much smaller townhouse as well in Lavender Bay. Olivia and Christopher’s school, a new one they’d had to enroll in after the summer holiday amidst major protest and long tantrums—sentiments Micky fully understood and was trying to make up for every day—was, not coincidentally, smack dab in the middle between her and Darren’s new residences.
Micky could drink as much as she wanted tonight. All she had to do was hobble the few hundred feet home, and she could sleep in as long as she wanted tomorrow.
She refocused her attention on Amber. Of course she knew what she wanted to talk about, but Micky didn’t have the wherewithal to devote a lot of her emotional resources to that particular subject. First and foremost, she was a mother, and she wasn’t in the habit of putting herself first like that. The only time she had prioritized herself was when she’d asked Darren for a divorce, because, by then, in her view, there really was no other option left. She was still paying for all the consequences of that.
“Ready when you are,” Amber said. “We can talk about me all of next week, if you like.” She painted a smile on her lips.
“What do you want from me?” The wine Micky was knocking back steadily was making her a bit volatile.
“Did you serve anymore wet cappuccinos this week?” Amber asked, ignoring Micky’s tone.
Micky huffed out a chuckle. “If you think she’s so hot, why don’t you ask her out? How do you even know she’s”—before her divorce, Micky had never had any issues saying the word, but it never slipped off her tongue that easily anymore—“a lesbian.”
“I just know. I have the most finely tuned gaydar in Darlinghurst, perhaps in all of Sydney. It’s very hard to put into words, but I just know.”
“Make an effort,” Micky said. Why would Micky let Amber off the hook when she was about to be grilled? Amber sighed. Perhaps Amber felt the way Micky often did when she was trying to get some personal information out of her children. Trying and mostly failing. Micky had to admit it was exasperating. She held up her hands. “I’m sorry. I’m being difficult.”
“That’s okay. I never expected this conversation to be easy.” Amber took a tiny sip from her wine. “But you know I’m all about finding your truth and following it. You may think all I care about is nourishing my body with healthy food and spreading the joy and benefits of yoga, but in the end, it’s really all about truth.” Amber clasped her hand to her chest. “About what’s in here.”
Micky and Amber really were the most unlikely of friends. Then again, Amber hadn’t always been like this. Neither had Micky.
“Okay, yes, though that woman annoyed the shit out of me, I found her very attractive. She’s one of those people probably 90 percent of all adults on the planet would find attractive, and she knows it. Big deal,” Micky blurted out.
“It’s not about the wet capp woman, per se, Micky,” Amber said. “I know it’s hard. Even though I’ve been out of the closet for twenty-five years, I know it’s hard to be where you are now.”
“I don’t even know… I’ve never…” Micky stammered. Even though she knew what she felt stir deep inside of her, she always came up empty when she tried to put it into words.
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Amber said, “but the way I see it is that you’ve been married to a man for eighteen years and now you’d like to date a woman.”
“It’s a bit more complicated than that.” Micky didn’t like the defensive tone of her own voice.
“Is it, really?” Amber’s piercing green eyes scrutinized her face. “When you boil it down to its essence, is it really more complicated than that?”
“Yes.” Micky sighed. “I’m forty-four years old. I have two teenage children. And I’ve never even…” Her words stalled again.
“It doesn’t matter how old you are or how many children you have. This is about you. About finding your true self. Nothing else matters.”
Micky shook her head. Amber wasn’t a mother. She couldn’t understand. “How
can I even contemplate the notion without considering what my children will think about it?”
“Don’t you think they want their mom to be happy?”
That question took Micky by surprise. All her life, but especially after the divorce, Micky had poured her energy into trying to make them happy, which, in turn, was a great source of happiness for her. But she’d never taken the time to consider what her children actually wanted for her. They most likely wished their mother had stayed with their father. Micky had upended their lives as well.
“I’m pretty sure they’d prefer it over me being unhappy,” Micky admitted.
“For the sake of argument,” Amber continued, “let’s leave Liv and Chris out of it for now. Let’s focus on you. What do you want?”
What did she want? Darren used to ask her that question often. In the beginning out of genuine interest and once things had started to turn sour between them, with a lot of exasperation in his voice.
“I don’t know.” Micky tried to rely on her standard answer, though that would never fly with Amber.
“I think you do.”
Micky drank again, then said, “It’s just that the concept of… dating a woman is so abstract to me. I might want it quite badly, but I just can’t picture it. I can’t stop thinking about the consequences and about what that would make me.”
Micky witnessed Amber perk up in front of her. She always did that when they reached the crux of a conversation. Amber was the kind of person who drew massive amounts of energy from getting other people to speak their truth—though Micky hadn’t quite reached that point yet.
“What do you think it would make you?” Amber asked, elbows on the table, her gaze resting on Micky, making her uncomfortable.
Micky looked at her hands—anything to get away from Amber’s stare. “A woman who has lived a lie for most of her adult life.”
“That’s where I think your perception lets you down, Micky. I’ve known you for so long. I was your bridesmaid when you married Darren, and I know with 100 percent certainty that you loved him. You were crazy about him. Your marriage was never a lie. I do, however, think you have trouble accepting the possibility that now you’re someone else entirely than you were back then.”
