I am not a demanding person. All I asked from life was to have a nice job I was good at, find a nice guy to settle down with and have our nice family, and then to live our nice happily-ever-after preferably in a suburb with good public schools. Since many of my high school and college friends have surpassed me in almost all these areas, clearly, the flaw is with me.
Suddenly I feel someone sit next to me, and a voice says, “I’ll be your boyfriend if you want?”
I look up to find a teenage boy smirking at me. Judging from the eyeliner and black clothing, I assume he must be an art student at Columbia or the Art Institute.
Well, okay, maybe I demand a nice guy in my age bracket.
Feeling ridiculous to be caught out crying on a park bench, I smile politely at him before standing and taking off in a slow, sad jog toward home to get started on the depressing task of piecing my life back together.
LOST IN MY thoughts on my way home, I run into a chalkboard sign on the sidewalk and almost fall over. Great, I might as well add a broken limb on top of everything else falling apart in my life. I straighten up the sign and see that it’s advertising a new coffeehouse that opened a couple days ago in my Gold Coast neighborhood.
Need a wicked brew? Step into The Cauldron.
Still in need of my morning caffeine (and a cure for this emotional hangover), I could use a wicked brew.
As soon as I open the door, I appreciate the welcoming vibe. The décor is simultaneously cozy and industrial with exposed brick walls and a fireplace on one side. Everything is very Restoration Hardware—dark wood tables and metal chairs are mixed in with comfy, worn leather sofas and chairs tucked into corners and lots of vintage-looking lighting. By the counter, there is a glass display filled with pastries, sandwiches, and salads. A guy who looks around my age stands behind the register.
“Good morning. How are you?” he says.
Good manners force me to lie. “Fine, thank you. You?”
“Great! I woke up this morning, the sun was shining, and I’m alive. What can be better than that?”
I smile and nod politely at his new-agey comment. Between that and his surfer-like, naturally blond hair and light blue eyes, I decide he must be a transplant from California.
“So what can I get you this morning?” he asks.
“I’ll have a large latte with almond milk and a banana, please.”
I grab a banana from the basket on the counter while he rings me up. My gaze wanders over to the pastry case, but I seem to have lost my appetite along with everything else. And, anyway, I have rules about this. Six days a week, I eat ultra-healthy. Then on the weekend, I’m allowed one meal of whatever I want. I never break my rules, not even for a breakup or job loss. If I start breaking the rules now, I can’t imagine what new chaos will erupt in my already disastrous life. Best to stick to the program.
While I wait for my latte, I walk around the place, idly looking at the various books and magazines on display. Seems like a great place to hang out in peace. Unfortunately, that’s not something I have the luxury of doing today—I have a wedding to cancel and a job to find (and more tears to shed).
“Excuse me, miss? Here’s your latte.” The guy from the cash register sets down a paper cup on the table where I’m sitting.
I jump a little at the sound of his voice. I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t even notice I’d sat down. Composing myself, I smile up at him. “Thank you.”
“I meant to call your name, but I forgot to ask.”
“No worries. It’s Allison.” I wrap my hand around the warm cup and stand.
“Thanks for coming in, Allison. I’m Eric. Hope to see you again.”
He has a kind smile. Exactly the type of smile I need today. “This is a cute place. I’ll definitely be back.”
“And, here, take this too.” Eric hands me a small bag. “It’s on the house.”
“Oh! Um, thanks. What is it?”
“A lemon blueberry scone. It’s my mother’s recipe.”
“Wow, thank you. That’s really nice of you. I look forward to trying it.”
He breaks into a grin, and then I really must go because I’m not sure how much kindness I can handle in my fragile state without melting down in public again.
I walk into Adobo Grill as ready as I’ll ever be for my birthday dinner—meaning I dropped some Visine into my eyes and took care to wear waterproof mascara. I spy Jordan by the bar and take a deep breath. While I haven’t told her all my news, I’m wondering if she’s already heard from either Stacey or Kate.
When Jordan sees me, she starts waving wildly. “Woo-hoo, Allison! Hey, birthday girl!”
She stands and I notice that she’s holding a ridiculously large, garish balloon with a monkey saying something about going bananas because it’s your birthday. I swallow and make my way over with a smile plastered on my face and a fake-it-till-you-make-it attitude.
“Jordan!” I give her a warm hug and then point to the balloon with a small laugh. “You shouldn’t have.”
“Ha, ha! Well, how else is everyone going to know it’s your birthday?” She looks over my shoulder. “Where’s Neil? I thought he was joining us for a pre-dinner drink?”
“Um, he can’t make it tonight.”
“Oh, no! Is he sick?”
“Yeah, he’s not feeling too great,” I say, trying to keep both myself and my voice calm.
At least I hope that’s the case, though I suspect I’m the only one not feeling too great, since Neil now has Stacey to comfort him.
“Huh? There must be something going around because Kate called me, and she’s under the weather too. So I guess it’s just you, me, and Stacey tonight.”
“Yeah. …” I drawl out, still trying to control my emotions. “I don’t think Stacey is going to make it either.”
“You’re kidding? Did she call you?”
“Not exactly.” My stomach knots and feeling a lump begin to form in my throat, I wave my hand toward the hostess stand. “Let’s just get a table because I need a drink.”
Narrowing her eyes, Jordan regards me strangely for a second before saying, “Okay, let’s do that,” in a placating tone.
Once we’re seated, with tequila drinks in hand and a hearty serving of guacamole made tableside, Jordan holds up her glass. “To your annual celebration of turning twenty-nine!”
“Cheers to that.” I raise my glass, wishing I could turn the clock back six years and warn my younger self to avoid the mistake called Neil.
After our first sips, Jordan sets down her drink, crosses her arms on the table, and looks me in the eye. “Okay. What’s going on?”
I raise my eyebrows at her as I take a second and then third sip of my margarita before putting it down.
“Yesterday I was fired and then I came home and Neil broke off our engagement.” I pause and inhale. And then—“He’s in love with somebody else.”
“Noooo. …” With her eyes wide, Jordan stares at me but doesn’t say anything else for what feels like forever. She’s actually speechless. A rarity. Once she digests the information, she reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “I’m so sorry, babe. How are you doing?”