Chapter 7
1754 Words
The house smelled like old wood and lemon polish, just like it had when I’d moved in at ten. The same stiff curtains, the same cracked porcelain cats sat on the mantel.
Aunt Fiona shut the door, brushed past me, and sat on the floral couch, folding her arms.
“You kept me waiting. Didn’t think you’d actually show up,” she said, voice dry as ever.
I dropped my bag by the door. “You told me to come when I was free.”
I sat across from her. The cushion wheezed under my weight, releasing a puff of stale air that smelled like every quiet dinner and wordless holiday.
“I haven’t heard from you in weeks. No calls. No messages. Is that how you thank someone who raised you?” She didn’t ask how I’d been. She never did.
I blinked at how fast she went in. “I’ve been busy. Things have been hard lately.”
Her brows lifted in mock surprise. “Of course.”
“I’m not trying to ignore you, Aunt. I’m just... trying to figure things out.”
“Well, you can start by figuring out how to be grateful,” she snapped. “Do you think it was easy raising a child that wasn’t mine? I was thirty-eight, Faye. I had just gotten my life on track and then you… ”
“I didn’t show up,” I cut in quietly. “You came and took me in.”
“Because your father was dead, and your mother, my sister, was already gone,” she said. “What was I supposed to do? Leave you to the system?”
“You could’ve,” I admitted. “But you didn’t. And I’ve always been grateful. You fed me, clothed me, sent me to school. I never forgot that.”
She waved me off. “Spare me the sentiment. I need your help now.”
I froze. “What kind of help?”
She sighed, softer now. “Bills are piling up. The water heater’s acting up, the back fence needs fixing. Just some essentials.”
My heartbeat thudded in my ears. “I’m... not really in a place to help right now.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I lost my job a couple weeks ago,” I said, almost ashamed. “Been applying everywhere, but nothing yet.”
She leaned back. “So now you need help.”
“No,” I said quickly. “I’m not asking. I just need a bit of time. Rent’s almost due, my savings are drying up. Just give me a little while.”
“I need the money now, Faye,” she said flatly.
“I don’t have it.”
She let out a dry laugh. “Of course you don’t.”
Shame wrapped around me like a second skin. “If I could help, I would. You know that.”
“You know what’s funny?” she said, tilting her head. “I took care of you for eight years, and not once did I ask for anything.”
“I know…”
“And now, the one time I ask, you say no.”
“I’m not saying no. I’m saying I can’t right now.”
She leaned in, voice sharp. “Do you think I wanted to raise a child that wasn’t mine? No. But I did. I had plans and dreams for myself, but I shelved them for you, because that's what family does. And now you’re telling me I’m not worth a few hundred bucks!?”
“It’s not that simple,” I said quietly.
“Then explain it,” she pressed. “Because it feels like rejection. Feels like abandonment. And you should know how that feels.”
“I’m not abandoning you,” I whispered.
She gave me a look that said otherwise. “Could’ve fooled me.”
“I’ll try,” I offered. “I’ll look for a quick gig, sell something. Just give me a few days.”
“I don’t want your scraps, Faye. I want what’s owed.”
“Owed?”
“Yes.” She stood, like it was final. “For everything I gave you.”
I stood too, slower. “Love isn’t a debt, Aunt Fiona.”
She met my eyes, cold. “It was never love, Faye. It was responsibility.”
That did it.
I picked up my bag and walked to the door. “I’ll call,” I said without looking back.
She didn’t answer.
The door clicked shut behind me. The silence on the other side felt louder than anything.
Saturday Morning
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. I ignored it at first, then remembered all the job applications I’d sent out. I reached for it.
Good morning, Miss Faye Hayes. This is Greywood Café. We'd like to invite you for an interview today at 12:15 PM.
Finally! I jumped up, brushed my teeth, took a quick shower, and swiped on lip gloss. No time for food. By the time I got there, it was 12:10. I liked being early. First impressions mattered, even for a barista job.
The café was cozy with indie music playing low in the background, and the faint smell of cinnamon and espresso. A barista with soft curls and kind eyes pointed me to the manager’s office.
I knocked twice before entering. The manager, a balding man with a clipboard in his hand, looked up from his desk with a sigh. “Faye Bennett?”
“Yes, sir.”
He frowned apologetically. “I’m really sorry, but we just filled the spot five minutes ago. The last guy we interviewed got the job.”
It felt like someone popped the balloon I didn’t know I’d been holding. “Oh,” I said, managing a tight smile. “Okay. Thanks anyway.”
I stepped back into the service area. It was half full. Customers on laptops, couples on dates. I took an empty seat by the window, sat there for a bit, and stared blankly ahead. Going back to an empty apartment felt heavier than usual. I thought about texting Leah, asking if she wanted to hang out. But first, I needed coffee.
I turned to the queue and there were just three people. I quickly joined the line and was one person away from ordering when a sharp screech echoed through the café speakers. Everyone flinched. The music stopped. Then, the screen displaying orders began flickering wildly, flashing error messages before freezing completely. The baristas looked at each other, helpless.
“Not this again,” a barista muttered, jabbing at the touchpad.
A woman behind me sighed. “Can we at least get music? This silence is creepy.”
I leaned and saw the side panel. Outdated system, all connected.
“You need to reboot manually,” I called out. “Probably stuck on an update.”
She blinked. “Huh?”
“Your admin panel. It’s under the counter. Just restart from there.”
She stared at me, lost. “We just… make coffee.”
I nodded and stepped forward. “Can I?”
She hesitated. “If you break it…”
“I won’t.”
She nodded, and I ducked under the counter, past crates and wires. There it was crammed between a dusty power strip and the wall, a beat-up tablet screen with a cracked corner.
I tapped through the settings until I found the local admin menu, then force-closed the update, restarted the media interface, and waited. A few seconds later, the café speakers hummed to life. The playlist resumed. The frozen screens blinked, refreshed, and flickered back to normal.
I climbed out from under the counter and dusted my jeans. “Fixed,” I said simply.
The barista stared. “What… how?”
“Just needed someone who didn’t panic.”
“Are you in IT?”
“Media major,” I said, pushing hair behind my ear. “We don’t just film stuff.”
“Right,” she muttered, clearly still processing.
Then I remembered that I still hadn’t gotten my coffee. I opened my mouth to place an order and someone clapped.
I turned and almost wished I didn't. Liam Westbrook stood right behind me, his mouth tilted in that same irritating, cocky half-smile.
“Well, well,” he said with barely concealed amusement. “Look who finally found a way to be useful. Didn’t peg you for the hands-on type.”
I blinked. “You stalking me now?”
He scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself. I was in line when the music died and half the systems froze. You looked like you were about to take the whole café hostage.”
I rolled my eyes. “Glad to know I provide entertainment.”
He stepped forward. “You know, you’re a lot smarter than you look.”
I crossed my arms. “And you’re still a walking insult, I see.”
I turned to the counter, ready to finally order, when a to-go cup slid onto the surface, with my name on it.
“I didn’t… ”
“I ordered it,” he said. “You look like the type who survives on black coffee.”
“Thanks,” I said flatly, grabbing it. “But I can pay for my own coffee.”
“Consider it a peace offering.”
“For what? Getting me fired?”
A cough behind us reminded me we were blocking the line. Liam nodded toward a table, and we stepped aside.
Once seated, he leaned back. “I’m offering you the internship again.”
“Why?”
“I saw what you did. Quick thinking, calm, no hand-holding. Better than most applicants.”
“There’s a catch,” I said.
“There’s always a catch,” he agreed. “You’ll work directly under me. Keep your temper in check. And don’t walk away at the first inconvenience.”
“I don’t walk away,” I said, though my voice wavered.
“Really? Could’ve fooled me.”
I clenched my jaw, wanting to snap, but I needed this.
“Fine,” I muttered. “I’ll take it.”
His smirk widened. “Smart choice.”
I didn’t answer, just clutched the cup tighter.
He stood. “You start Wednesday. Don’t be late.”
“I’m only doing this to prove you wrong.”
“Whatever gets you through the door,” he said. “See you soon.”
- Writer
