12. Facade

twelve

Facade

Amanda

W e did not have sex and as I expected, and the bed was empty when I woke up. Erica is coming to pick me up for a pumpkin spice-themed morning at the coffeehouse. I’ll spend the afternoon like I always do, watching Halloween movies and napping on the couch while I wait for my boyfriend to get home from work. It’s my first adventure out since I started my mental health leave. I need to get it over with though so I can try to get back into my routine since I’ll be returning to work in a few weeks.

I kick the blankets back and stare out the window at the bleak and stormy day. The weather is perfect for fall. There’s a light drizzle falling from the sky. The tiny raindrops stick to my window as if greeting me for the day. It’s as if Mother Nature knew I needed a day like today. Rainy days are some of my favorites. This also means it will be cold enough for an oversized Halloween sweater. I swing my feet out of bed and trudge off to the bathroom to get ready for our breakfast date. Once I’ve tidied my hair and put on a light layer of makeup, I head to my closet to dress, selecting a comfortable pair of fleece-lined fake leather yoga tights and my frayed, army green sweater with black pumpkins.

My phone chimes as I am scrutinizing my outfit in the mirror. I swipe it open to read that text from Erica, letting me know she’s on her way to pick me up. Before I can text her back, there’s a knock on the front door. I freeze, my heart thunders in my ears and the panic creeps over me. Not today, I think to myself. I just want to feel normal. The thought of having to answer the front door absolutely terrifies me, but it shouldn’t. I try to give myself a pep talk, working up enough courage to at least make my way to the upstairs landing. I glance down at my phone, remembering the front door camera, and check the app. It’s strange it doesn’t even show the front door camera has been activated. The app shows the camera is off instead and flashing low battery. That’s inconvenient. I silently battle myself in my head, trying to decide whether or not I am brave enough to go to the door. I take a deep breath and descend the stairs slowly, one step at a time. When I reach the bottom, I carefully tiptoe across the entryway to the large window next to the front door to peek out around the edges of the curtain to see if anyone is there. The curtains are thick and heavy to keep the heat out in the summer and in during the winter. It makes them easier to pull a small fold aside. When I gaze out, my eyes search the porch. It’s empty except for a bouquet of black sunflowers. My favorite flowers. It’s why we have so many along the back fence line near the garden. I ordered black sunflower seeds from the internet, and gleefully planted them. When they finally grew, there were no black sunflowers in the bunch. I laugh to myself, remembering how disappointed I was. My boyfriend searched all over the city and came home the next day to surprise me with some he found at a local florist. Maybe these are from him, I think, twisting the deadbolt over slowly and easing the door open just enough to dash out quickly and swipe the flowers from the step.

There’s a card rubber-banded to them, but I don’t read it until I’m back inside the safety of the house with the heavy wood door locked again. I take the flowers to the kitchen and lay them on the counter. My hands tremble as I slide open the card to reveal a handwritten note. “Masterpiece,” is all it reads. It’s not signed, but there’s only one person they could be from, right? Except I distinctly remember the masked man calling me a masterpiece, but that was a dream, so I can’t remember it. Shaking, I fall to the ground, pulling my knees into my body, still clutching the card between my fingers. Hot tears fill my eyes, threatening to spill over the brims and ruin my makeup. I drop the card on the ground without a thought and stand up to grab a paper towel from the countertop. Eyeing the flowers wearily as I dab and blot the tears away before they can run down my face, smearing my makeup. I don’t want Erica to know about this.

Go figure, my phone buzzes and I know it’s her letting me know she’s here. A car horn honks and that’s all the confirmation I need to know it’s Erica without even having to check my text. I don’t have time to think about the flowers anymore, and honestly I don’t want to. I just want to go have a nice normal breakfast with my friend, then come home and have a nice normal afternoon spent on the couch watching a Halloween movie. Normal. Is that so much to ask for, universe?

I set the house alarm and lock the door, then toss the keys in my bag, planting a big fake smile on my face so she doesn’t think anything is wrong.

“Girl, look at you all cute and Halloweened up for our little coffee date,” Erica hollers at me from the car.

My fake smile transforms into a genuine one, and I wave at her. She always has the best compliments. My life would be incredibly dull without my partner in crime, even though we don’t see each other nearly as much as we should. I open the car door and slide inside. She has the seat warmer pre-heated for me, making the leather nice and cozy. I snuggle in, relaxing, and click my seatbelt into place.

“I should let you dress me from now on. You look hot today, like you just stepped out of a fall magazine,” Erica pats my sweater. “It’s soft, too. I’m so jealous.”

I roll my eyes at her, and give her a once over. “You must be kidding me. Your accessory game is on point. The only reason you want me to dress you is because you know I ordered this from one of those boujee boutique websites on social media and you wish you grabbed a bunch for yours.”

“Busted, and guilty. You know I can’t help myself. Won’t you please consider doing some stylist work on the side for me? You can curate an entire line all your own,” she begs.

I laugh. “Oh yeah, and what would we call it? Lonely, mood reader?”

But I think about her offer. That’s something I could do if I actually quit my job. I could curate an adorable clothing line, market the crap out of it, and have a blast attending the giant clothing conventions she’s always telling me about in Texas.

“He’s still working late and never around, I take it?” Erica asks, her lips pursing together in a hard frown. She’s been my ride or die since we moved into the dorms together freshman year. We instantly just clicked and ever since then, we’ve always been a little overprotective of one another.

“Yeah,” I sigh as we pull into the coffee shop a few blocks away. One perk of living on the edge of the city is all the adorable shops and bistros sprinkled nearby. Erica’s boutique is across the street from our favorite spot. It works out perfectly to meet for breakfast a few times a month. It’s also near the gym and only a few shops away on the same street in the same shopping center. I glare at the gym, then quickly look away, hoping she didn’t notice and was too busy focusing on parallel parking.

She sandwiches the car into the spot, perfectly shifting into park and cutting the engine.

The door jingles when we walk inside. The aroma of freshly ground coffee and sweet pastries hits my nose instantly. My stomach rumbles and I realize I am a lot hungrier than I realized. We don’t bother stopping at the counter. Justin will swing by with all of our favorite seasonal treats. We booked ahead with him last week to reserve all our favorites. He owns the coffee shop—and if you ask me, I think he has a bit of a thing for Erica, but she refuses to acknowledge it. I secretly think she likes him back, but they are both too stubborn and shy when it comes to the other to do anything about it. Erica waves at him behind the counter as we pass by on our way to our spot. I smile, knowing it’s the little things like that wave that make me suspicious.

Our favorite table is small and nuzzled in the corner against the edge of one window with a view of the Main Street and many of the shops. It’s perfect for people watching, which we love to do. We always have the best time making up strange backstories for our unsuspecting muses.

Once we’ve had a few minutes to get settled in, Justin smiles over at us and gives Erica a big wave back. He’s cute. The two of them are perfect for one another. I’ve practically written them an entire meet-cute in my head, and neither one of them knows about it. It’s probably better that way.

He pops over cheerfully a few minutes later with a tray full of fall goodies and our coffee orders.

“There’s my two favorite locals,” he says with a smile as he unloads everything onto the table skillfully from the gleaming silver serving platter.

Erica and Justin exchange witty banter for a few minutes, until he excuses himself. The coffee shop is always busy, he never has time to chat for long.

“He’s cute,” I blurt out bluntly, once he’s out of earshot.

Erica blushes slightly. “And?” She replies.

“And the two of you would be cute together,” I tease. “You should ask him out on a date. You know he would never have the confidence to ask you.”

She laughs me off. “He’s way out of my league. I could never.”

“Babe, you’re going to leave me no choice. If you won’t, I’m definitely leaving your number scribbled on one of these napkins.” I gesture to the pile of napkins on the table.

She quips an eyebrow at me. “Do what you must.”

“You want me to leave your number on a napkin?” I ask, surprised at how little she is putting up a fight.

She shrugs. “Why not? What do I have to lose? If you make things weird, I guess we just have to find a new coffee shop; or I tell him you finally broke up with your boyfriend, meant to write your number, then wrote mine by mistake in your mass hysteria and heartbreak.”

It’s my turn to look down my nose at her. “Bitch,” I mumble before snatching a pastry from the arrangement in front of us.

“Proud of it,” Erica says with a laugh.

We spend at least an hour eating and people watching before she invites me to see the store and some of the new things she just got in for the winter inventory. I scribble her number on a napkin as promised and we each leave a ten for a tip. I personally adore Justin and appreciate how hard he works to be the life of the coffee shop. It’s a staple in our community. As we head out, we both wave goodbye to him.

“See you in a few weeks, ladies,” he hollers at us.