Chapter Eight

Nina

I wake up unsure of where I am. I know I'm in my house, but where in my house is unclear. Through groggy eyes, I try to make out my surroundings. Crown molding. A tall ceiling fan covered in dust. Huge curio along the wall beside windows with the curtains drawn. Ah, my living room. I'm buried in a nest of clothes, still wearing the ones I had on last night. Ugh, including my bra.

I make quick work of that, letting the girls fly free as I throw the bra onto the pile. Then I pad to the kitchen to down whatever is left of yesterday's coffee in the pot. It seems a crime, as I sip the cold, burnt brew, especially since I work in a coffee shop. But desperate times and all that.

The phone rings as I wait for the new pot to percolate, and I groan as I see the 805 area code. I deleted Jordy's number from my phone a long time ago, but I still recognize it when she calls, which has been two times in the past five years—yesterday, before she and her fiancé kidnapped me, and now today .

I decline it, then tap my long fingernails on the counter, willing the coffee to hurry up.

I wonder how much shit she talked to Brayden about me once they dropped me off at my house. Not that it matters. Brayden doesn't need to think any good things about me. He's with her, and she'll likely poison him against me. It's probably better that way, anyway.

But during last night's drive, it was easy to pretend. It was easy to imagine he was glancing at me just as much as I was peeking looks at him. The way I studied his jawline, the way his large hands held the steering wheel, how it would feel if he gripped me with the same intensity.

The way he admitted he has feelings for me too.

He's not mine.

By now, Jordy has probably dragged my name through the mud with him, starting with this mess of a house. I already know she's going to blab to the family about what a fuck up I am, how I'm lazy, and most of all, that I'm ruining our grandmother's house I won't let her move into.

And I'm aware of all of that. I am a lazy fuck up, and I am ruining Nanna Dot's house. Our grandmother always kept this place sparkling. She had help from a housekeeper, but in between cleanings, she still tidied every day. The house always smelled good, with the sunshine beaming through clear windows, plants blooming in every corner, and a welcome feel to the whole house. And her kitchen? It was always spotless, ready for her to come in and whip up something comforting and delicious.

She would be appalled if she came here now and saw the mess I'd created of her home. Even after cleaning the other day, it's like the house reproduced the mess overnight. This is all my fault. The dishes from last night's late-night snack. The overflowing garbage. The tiny ant trail on the counter that's bound to be a bigger issue if I don't take care of it now.

I did this, and it's time I did something about it.

While the coffee continues brewing, I slip on some gloves and get to work prying dishes and bowls glued to the counter, smushing old food and dirty napkins in the packed garbage bag, then taking the trash to the can outside. I fill the sink with soapy water and let the dishes soak while I retrieve dishes from the other rooms.

The coffee pot beeps at me, and I pause to grab a cup. As soon as I sit down, though, I lose my momentum. It's like my whole body lets down, and I'm suddenly so tired. And so alone. And so sick of this goddamn house that's way too big and way too much work for just me. But I can't leave. I have a whole bank account of money, and I won't even touch it unless absolutely necessary. I could hire someone to help me, but I don't want anyone to see how bad this place looks. I could buy a new house, one that was much smaller. But then what? If I sell the house, it's like I'm abandoning Nanna Dot. And I was all she had left in the end.

Now I'm here, and I have no one. It's almost like the curse of this house—that anyone who lives here will be forgotten and left to die alone.

I'm so fucking alone.

A few hours later I pull into the parking lot at work. A handful of cars are there, including my manager's. I sigh, preparing myself for a day of micromanaging and veiled insults. Oh, Susan thinks she's being nice, but it's like she took a course for managers that uses a transparent method to reframe insults.

Allow me to demonstrate.

"Oh, I wouldn't have thought to do it that way," means "Wow, Nina, I didn't think someone could do that so wrong."

"That's an interesting way to make coffee," means "I'm not sure you could fuck coffee up so horribly."

"I admire your courage with your appearance," means "You look like shit. Did you look in the mirror before you came to work?"

"Looks like you're on Nina time today," means "I'd fire you if you weren't the only one willing to work the shitty shifts I give you."

To be fair, Susan has only been this awful to me since Maren left. It's like all the abuse she handed Maren has now been transferred to me—and Maren never actually deserved it. I've always treated this place like my social club while Maren actually worked. I suppose it's because she needed the paycheck, and I just need the people. But now, there are days when I wonder if I even need the paycheck, because this job stopped being fun the day Maren left the café.

I push through the doors, and Susan looks up quickly, standing by someone new at the register. She shoots me a curious look, then one of knowing.

"Ah, you didn't check the schedule, did you?" She glances up and down at my outfit, then raises an eyebrow. "I read somewhere that unmatched clothes were making a comeback. I thought it was a joke, but look at you."

I chose to wear my loudest pink shirt today, paired with a turquoise skirt and purple striped socks in my black Mary Jane pumps. Yes, it's bright and colorful—and happy—I needed an extra dose of color to fight the darkness I was feeling inside. And honestly, I couldn't care less what Susan thinks.

"I always work Monday," I say, pulling out my phone and tapping the schedule app. Sure enough, my name isn't on there. Not today, and not on any other day either. My jaw drops and I look up. But Susan isn't paying attention to me. I realize now that she's training the girl next to her. She never trains anyone. She never does anything in this café. And yet, here she is, teaching this chick how to use a frothing wand when I'd never seen my manager use one before.

"Why isn't my name on the schedule?" I ask.

Susan looks up, her expression slightly annoyed as if she can't understand why I'm still there.

"I guess we just ran out of spots this week. Wouldn't you like some time off, anyway?"

"No, I want to work my job, like usual."

Susan laughs, glancing at the girl next to her as if she'll understand some inside joke. To her credit, the girl looks as uncomfortable as I feel.

"Nina, honey, you haven't done your job in years. Why start now?"

Is this bitch for real? Is she fucking blind? I think of the number of waking hours I've wasted on this place. And for what? Not money, that's for sure. Not with the pennies we're paid to sling coffee for the caffeinated elite. I'm the only one who shows up consistently, and she has the nerve to tell me I'm not doing my goddamn job?

Fuck her.

"I've been busting my ass around here," I spit at her. "The other day I didn't get out until late because your dumbass nephew and his sucky band ate all our profits and left me the mess to clean up. Every day is a mystery with you, because I don't know which wild idea I'm going to have to scramble for. You think you have to keep coming up with new stuff, but really you need to focus on what we already have going on and improve on that, and you need more than one person on shift, especially for closing."

I'm just getting started, feeling every single resentment well up inside me as I vomit it all at Susan. I know I should stop, that the things I'm saying won't change a thing. But I'm so angry, I can't help myself.

"I've hardly ever called out sick, and trust me there were days I've wanted to. But I show up because I know if I don't, it's my coworkers who suffer, not you. When was the last time you thought of that? Like when you waited until the last minute to post our schedules, or you hired your nephew's band so that our ears have to bleed while you're cozy at home. Did you think of us? Or even the shop? Because this place ran so much smoother before you became manager and fucked it all up."

"Nina, that's enough. You're not on the schedule because you're f—"

"Fired? Impossible. Because I quit." I throw my crumpled apron on the ground, then turn to the bewildered new hire next to her. "If things get too rough, get out while you can. This place doesn't pay enough for a living wage, and there are plenty of cafés that make better coffee."

Then I storm out of Insomniacs for the last time ever.

I book it to my Cadillac, the rage coursing through me like molten lava in my veins. When I slide onto the seat, I slam the door hard enough that the car creaks at me.

"Sorry, girl," I mutter, patting the dash. Too much of that, and the car will break down for good, just out of spite. I toss my bag in the passenger seat at the same time my phone starts ringing. I manage to dig it out before it goes to voicemail.

"What?" I bark into the phone.

There's silence for a moment, and then, "Don't hang up."

Fuck my life. Fuck fuck fuck. It's Jordy, and damn it all to hell, I should hang it up. But I'm so angry, I stay on the phone. In fact, I take the opportunity to tell her exactly what I think of her.

"Go to hell, Jordy. You are the last person I want to speak to, along with either of our mothers. As far as I'm concerned, you all are dead to me. I'm sick and tired of bearing the weight of your blame for a situation I didn't create, and I'm done being labeled the villain of this family over every single lie you three tell about me. Do you understand?"

I breathe hard, waiting for her answer, almost sure she's going to hang up on me.

"I don't," she starts, and I wind up to lay into her some more. She beats me to it. "But I want to. Brayden and I were talking last night, and he mentioned—"

"Brayden," I laugh. "I should have known the two of you were talking shit about me. This is just rich."

"No, we weren't talking shit," Jordy says. "Well, I was. But Brayden mentioned that I've only heard one side of the story, and that it was from my mom. I didn't quite understand it last night, but I've had some time to think." She pauses, and it's the perfect opportunity for me to hang up. But I don't. Some small part of me, the part that must revel in abuse, wants to hear what she has to say. "Nina, can we meet up? I think we need to talk."

"So you can go right back to our mothers and have a good laugh?"

I know that's not it, but I'm not about to bring up her mission of being my roommate. My hope is that she'll forget the whole thing, and maybe if I cut this off now, I can move on from this crazy family and forget they even exit.

"Goodbye, Jordy. Have a good life."

"Wait," she says before I can hang up. "That's not what's happening. Please give me a chance, I'm trying here. You have to understand how it feels from my side. I loved Nanna Dot. Maybe I didn't live with her, but I was close to her. When she died and cut me out of the will, you have to know how awful that felt. It was like she was taking back every kind thing she ever said to me. And because you got everything, it was easy to hate you because I can't get mad at someone who already died. But Nina, I'm so mad, and I'm so hurt. But I'm trying to overcome all of this just so I can hear your side. This isn't easy."

"Easy?" I laugh loudly. "You have no idea. Where were you that last year of her life? It's like you forgot we were even your family. We can pretend our rift happened when Nanna Dot died, but we stopped being close before that."

She's quiet a moment, and I hear her sniff. She's fucking crying. For a moment, my heart twinges at the realization. But then I harden my heart.

"I have to go."

"Nina, you don't owe me anything, but—"

"You're right, Jordy, I owe you nothing." I look up at the roof of my car as my vision turns blurry. "You know the worst part? You knew me, you knew what I was going through with my mom because your mom was the same kind of asshole. You abandoned me, and when Nanna died, you took their side. You didn't even talk with me. You just completely forgot about our friendship. You threw all that away the moment you believed your mom, when you knew me better than anyone."

It's quiet on her end, but I can hear her breathing.

"I'm sorry," she finally says. "I want to hear you out. Can we meet? Maybe for coffee or something?"

I look at Insomniacs, tightening the grip on my phone. "Fine," I bite out. "But not coffee, I know somewhere better."