CHAPTER 1

MIA

“Umm, excuse me?”

I can hear a high-pitched voice coming from behind me, but my hands are drenched from washing out one of the blenders, so I’m not in a position to talk to customers right now. But I could already hear the layered conversations coming from all directions, which only tells me one thing–it’s 6 a.m.

In San Francisco, all anyone cared about at that time was coffee. Doesn’t matter your background, your industry, or how much money’s in your bank account—coffee runs the city.

For the next few hours, we’ll all swap roles, jumping in to help extinguish each fire as soon as it sparks.

So, even though I’m supposed to be cleaning, I drop the blender in the sink, slap on my Disney smile, and turn to face a blonde woman juggling a stroller in one hand and a small Vanilla Frappé in the other.

“Hi, can I help you?” I ask.

Her light scoff as she looks me up and down doesn't go unnoticed, “Uh…yeah. I ordered a Vanilla Frappé with no whip, but this clearly has whipped cream, and my baby can't have all that sugar.”

I can feel my teeth grinding as I hold back from telling her there’s more sugar in that Vanilla Frappé than in a can of soda. Not to mention the caffeine they pretend isn’t in it, even though it’s been on the menu for years. Yet, moms like her come in here every day, proudly buying it for their kids.

“Let me fix that for you.” I reach out to grab the drink and she pulls away at the last second.

“Can you actually remake the whole thing, please?” It’s not really a question. I nod, forcing a semi-tight smile, and there it is—that same sick look only specific customers give me. The kind that screams, “I’m above you.” It used to crush me, but now I’m practically immune.

So, I turn away and remake her sugar-loaded, caffeine-packed Vanilla Frappé, no whipped cream, still smiling. When I turned back, she looked anything but happy, seeing me handle it without a problem.

“Here ya go! Sorry about that.” I can feel the wave of self-satisfaction already coming over me.

“Mhmm, thanks.” And she’s gone within seconds, her bright blonde hair whipping in the breeze, leaving behind a reminiscence of her overly sweet perfume.

I only get to relish in my small success for a moment, before I hear an all too familiar yelp come from across the room, and I quickly turn around to find Eleanor flat on the ground covered in milk.

“Cold foam?” I ask, knowingly.

Her eyes are closed but all she does is nod her head. I don't know how many times I’ve found her like this, but it's slowly becoming a habit. I bite back a giggle before reaching my hand out to pull back up and we both stand there watching as the puddle of milk spreads across the floor.

“Don’t you dare laugh!”

“I’m not, I swear, I’m not.” But I know my face says otherwise.

“Come on and help me before Joe notices, he can’t know I fucked up my 5th batch.”

Her whispering reminds me that the shop is still packed with customers waiting in line, and panic starts to set in as I look around and realize there are only a few of us on the floor.

“Okay, go grab a new apron while I clean this up. We need to get started on those orders.” My eyes are zeroed in on the amount of empty cups—with names written on them— lined up on the counter.

El’s head whips around to see what’s caught my eye, “Oh, fuck meee!” She cries out.

I’ve been working at A Brew For You for almost four years now, and I still can’t get over how fast things go from totally fine to a complete shit show. But watching El dash to the back while I clean up this spill, I know I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else.

We’ve been best friends our whole lives, and when it comes to making coffee, we’re the best duo. Maybe that’s why Joe’s kept us around so long—or he probably just figured he could pay two broke introverts next to nothing while still having us work full-time.

And it’s worked, for quite some time, clearly. Of course, there have been times when we both said “Fuck it, let's quit!” But in reality, it's the best option for me right now.

For one, my 300-square-foot apartment is in the building that sits right on top of A Brew For You , making it the shortest commute of all time.

Secondly, I couldn't imagine starting completely over at a new job. Just the thought of having to sit through an interview makes me sick.

When we were first hired, desperate for anything, our social anxieties were thrown out the window. Behind the counter is probably the only place I don't feel like I’m going to die when someone talks to me.

Or like every word that comes out of my mouth is going to just crumble up into dust. I feel calm, and unlike others, I like the early mornings. The cold and crisp air combined with the smell of fresh coffee beans is magic in itself.

El would much prefer to sleep in, but we both know we work better together. We keep each other on track, force each other to show up, and then when we’re done, we rehash all of our embarrassing moments from the day—usually over takeout, upstairs in my apartment.

Which is what I’m trying to convince El to do when it's finally time to clock out at noon. But I can already tell by the frown on her face that she will say no.

“Why not? Let’s watch a movie!” I whine. I try to make the sad puppy dog eyes at her as we walk out the front door towards her baby blue Subaru.

“Ugh, I wish, but my family’s in town for my nephew's birthday, and you know how my mom gets. She needs my help preparing the food and probably anything else she can think of.” Her hands are waving around in the air as she unlocks her car.

“Yikes. Well, tell Noah I said ‘Happy Birthday!’ And text me when you make it home.” I pat the hood of her car before stepping back onto the curb.

“You too!” El says jokingly. We're both laughing as we go our separate ways.

When I finally step into the small entryway of the old building, my body starts to relax as I slip into cruise control, ready to begin my end-of-the-day routine. I turn to the right and use my key to check the mailbox. Aside from a couple of coupons, it’s completely empty.

Locking it again, I glance up at the narrow spiral staircase and let out a deep sigh. The elevator's been broken since I moved in, but every day, I still glance to the left at the metal gate covering it, hoping that maybe, one day, it’ll be working again.

But for now, I turn back towards the old, creaky, wooden stairs and begin my journey all the way up to the sixth floor, which, until recently, occupied only four residents.

It's probably because the elevator is broken, and you’d have to be either crazy or desperate to want to make the journey up here. I know I’m both.

My neighbor Mary, who lives across the hall, isn’t crazy; she just really wanted a view of the water. My other neighbor, Alex—who travels the world half the time backpacking—lives an insane lifestyle, so I count him as crazy. But the one person I have yet to figure out is my new next-door neighbor.

I’ve been lucky enough to avoid her so far, but judging from the loud music and constant voices coming from her apartment these last few days, I doubt we’d get along.

She’s clearly a loud, party girl who doesn’t care about anyone else, and I’m the complete opposite—I like peace and quiet.

Maybe it’s because I don’t really have friends besides Eleanor. Sometimes I’ll play Uno with Mary, but she’s partially deaf in one ear and I’m still learning sign language, so our conversations are limited. Either way, I enjoy my alone time, and lately, that’s been ruined. Today’s no different. As I round the corner and step onto the sixth floor, I can already hear the music spilling down the hallway.

“Great.” It’s all I can mutter out as I bend over with my apron and bag in hand, barely keeping it off the ground, as I try to catch my breath.

When I finally find the strength to keep moving, my eyes lock on the apartment at the end of the hall—past mine, past Mary’s, past everyone’s. It’s the biggest one on this floor, a two-bedroom I’ve had my eye on since I moved in years ago.

Unfortunately, like many of the apartments in this building, it’s been vacant due to construction and plumbing issues. I don’t know the specifics, but if it’s anything like the maintenance needed in my place, I doubt it’ll ever be available. Not that I could afford it anyway, but that doesn’t stop me from dreaming.

I’m completely knocked out of my daze when I feel my body lurch forward after my foot gets caught on something. I’m barely able to catch myself with my hands before I crash into my front door.

When I finally regained my balance, I immediately looked down to find the culprit. I’m even more confused to find a medium-sized brown box sitting in front of my door.

“Huh?” I’m standing there with my eyebrows furrowed as I consider my past few purchases. My eyes suddenly go wide. Wait, is that what I think it is?!

I ordered it not too long ago, so it really shouldn’t be here yet, but I know it’s the only thing I’ve ordered in a while.

When I pick it up, I’m sure it’s the one. The box isn’t too heavy, but it’s definitely not filled with feathers.

I can hardly contain my excitement as I unlock the door, kick it closed behind me, and hurry to my coffee table to set everything down. Fortunately, I keep a box cutter nearby. As soon as I see apartment number 444 on the shipping label, I don’t hesitate before tearing open the seal.

After seeing Eleanor eyeing it in a store, I immediately started saving up to get it for her birthday coming up. I was worried it wouldn’t arrive in time, but as my hands rip open the flaps of the box and toss aside the tissue paper, I can’t contain my smile when I finally pull out a…

DILDO?!?!