Getting Over Garrett Delaney(51)
Author: Abby McDonald

“Ah, but you can’t tell anyone how simple it is.” Josh grins. “You promised.”

I pause as the track switches on his mix CD, a familiar melody bursting out of the tinny speakers. “What is this song? You played it in the car before.”

“The Thermals,” he replies. “You like them? They’re playing in Northampton in a couple of weeks.” Josh pauses. “I could get tickets, if you want. . . .”

“Sure, sounds fun,” I reply, scrubbing my hands clean in the sink (since I’m guessing that licking the sugar off wouldn’t be the classiest move). “Maybe we make it a group thing? I know Kayla would like them, and maybe Garrett, too.”

“Garrett?” Josh stops clearing the baking ingredients.

“You know, my friend-slash-former-obsession?” I make a face. “That’s right, you weren’t here yesterday. He’s back from camp.”

Josh doesn’t say anything, he just goes back to cleaning the countertop, so I add, “LuAnn and Aiko went kind of crazy over it, but I’m fine. I mean, we’re friends. Anyway, I’ll ask about the gig.”

“Sure.” Josh shrugs. “Could you . . . ?” He gestures for me to move out of the way. “I need to get to . . .”

“Oh, sorry!” I scoot back into the doorway. “Do you want me to do anything else?”

“No, you’re good.” Josh looks up briefly. “You know, you should probably get out front, in case of customers. . . .”

I blink, thrown. “OK, right. Let me know when the rolls are done.”

“Sure.” Josh turns away again. “The oven buzzer is pretty loud, you’ll hear it.”

A customer arrives out in the café, so I don’t have time to dwell on Josh’s weird mood swing, but it must be the day for it, because everyone who walks through that door all morning seems to have a dour scowl on their face, even with the sweet, sweet scents of cinnamon and sugar wafting through the air. When I get back from my lunch break, Aiko is slouched behind the register, morosely flipping through a zine.

“Not you, too!” I cry. “What is it with today?”

She sighs. “Denton’s pissed at me because I said he looked like a hipster douche in his new sunglasses.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, well, it’s true. And Dominique hasn’t shown yet, and LuAnn has barricaded herself in the back office for some reason and is refusing to come out.”

“Is she OK?”

“No idea.” Aiko shrugs. “She practically knocked me down bolting out of here. I thought I’d check in a minute.”

“I’ll go.” I quickly order the Beast to make LuAnn’s favorite mocha drink. “Anything sugary left?” I ask Josh through the hatch, but he has the music turned up and can’t hear me.

At least, I hope he can’t. Like I said, mood swings everywhere.

The office is locked, so I tap lightly on the door. “LuAnn? Is everything OK?”

No reply.

“I’ve got you a coffee,” I say, tapping again. “With extra whipped cream and marshmallows.”

There’s silence, and then I hear the lock slide back. The door opens a crack, and LuAnn peeks out. “Caffeine?” she says hopefully.

I hold the mug back, just out of reach. “Not unless you let me in.”

There’s a pause, then the door opens wider. I slip inside as LuAnn goes and slumps in Carlos’s desk chair and spins it back and forth. She looks miserable.

“What’s up?” I ask gently, handing over the mug. “Aiko said . . .”

“That I freaked out?” She exhales, tugging the sleeves of her orange cardigan over her hands. “Tell her I’m sorry.”

“Hey, we’ve all done it!” I grin, but she doesn’t crack a smile. “Does that mean you’re not coming out?”

“It depends.” She wavers. “Is he still there?”

“Who?”

“Him,” she says, and I can hear the capitalization in her tone. It takes me a moment to get there, but then I realize what she means.

“Oh,” I breathe, wide eyed. “You mean . . . ?”

“Yup.”

“Let me check.” I open the door and peer down the hallway into the main café space. “What does he look like?”

“A lying, cheating ass**le,” LuAnn says, still spinning in the chair.

“I’m going to need something more to go on,” I tell her, surveying the floor for possible candidates for the man who broke her heart so thoroughly she’s still reeling years later. “OK, there’s an older guy in a Hawaiian-print shirt. . . .”

LuAnn snorts. “Give me some credit.”

“Fine.” I move on. “Those guys are way too young, and that one looks like he’s over fifty, so that leaves . . .” I stop, landing on a kind of cute, scruffy guy with dark hair. He’s wearing skinny jeans and a vintage-y T-shirt, and is sitting on one of the couches up front with his arm slung over some girl’s shoulder. Some young, pretty, adoring girl.

Bingo.

I turn back to LuAnn. “Does he know you work here?”

She nods sadly.

“What an ass!” I glare across the floor, as if I could pull a Matilda and ignite something out of sheer fury. “Bringing her here, like a trophy. Tacky.”

“Very.” She sighs. “But he doesn’t see it like that. He wants us to be friends.”

“Ugh!”

“Ugh,” she echoes, but she doesn’t sound outraged or vengeful, just . . . worn out. I know all too well how that feels. Not everyone can wind up happily platonic like me and Garrett.

I wait with her a moment, but I can see customers beginning to line up by the front counter. “I have to get back out there,” I say reluctantly. “Are you going to be OK?”

“Sure.” She musters a smile. “I’ll just wait it out, plotting all the ways I could kill him.”

“Well, as long as you’re being productive!” I give her a quick hug. “And if it makes you feel any better, you’re so much prettier than she is.”

LuAnn smiles, a real one this time. “It shouldn’t, but it does.”

The rest of the day passes uneventfully enough. LuAnn’s ex leaves, she emerges from hiding, and Dominique breezes in to replace Aiko on the afternoon shift — not that her Ice Queen glares help lift the mood at all. One potential customer even turns right around and walks out after taking in the tables full of depressed patrons and the miserable staff.