Pike (Sin City Saints Hockey 2)

There had been a lot of shit days in the past few weeks. But today, when my little boy woke up hot all over, too sick to even get out of bed, was by far the worst.

“We’ll get to her as soon as we can,” Joan says, trying to placate the man in front of me.

He sighs heavily. “When will that be?”

I finally lose it and snap at them both. “Hey, get in line. You can’t just cut in front of me.”

He scowls, opening his mouth to respond, when Nolan lifts his head slightly and vomits all over me. It’s warm and wet, sliding from my chest down into my bra. I close my eyes, not sure whether to laugh or cry.

“Oh,” Joan says, her eyes wide. “Why don’t you go ahead and bring him back to a room?”

Two hours later, I’m working the main cash register at Just Brew It, the coffee shop near my sister Rue’s apartment. I’ve been working here for the past two weeks. The shop had a “Help Wanted” sign in the window on the first day I went job hunting, and since the manager needed someone to start immediately, it was a good fit. I don’t have much work experience and I’m still learning about coffee, though, and it’s hard to concentrate on anything but Nolan. He was diagnosed with the flu earlier and is home with his aunt.

“I’ll take a grande quad-shot nonfat extra-hot caramel macchiato upside down,” the man at the front of the line says.

“Upside down?”

I scan the register screen for an “Upside Down” button, wondering why the hell someone would want their drink turned upside down. That just sounds like a mess. But what do I know? I’m just a twenty-six-year-old mom, with a worthless art history degree and a mountain of debt my piece-of-shit husband left me to deal with.

“It means they pour it in the reverse order,” the customer tells me. “There’s no button. You just tell whoever is making the drink and they’ll put the coffee in first and then the milk on top.”

“Ah.” I smile gratefully. “Thank you.”

“No problem. I’m a regular and I know you’re new here. I’m Joe, by the way.”

“It’s great to meet you, Joe.” I place his order on my screen and then tell Julie, the barista making his drink, that he wants it upside down.

“Hey, I don’t mean for this to sound weird,” Joe says. “I promise I’m not hitting on you, but can I ask what ethnicity you are? You’re absolutely stunning.”

I gape at him for a second before saying, “Oh, thanks. I’m twenty-five percent Indian and the rest is just a European mishmash.”

“Oh wow, like Native American Indian?”

I shake my head and smile. “No, like the country India Indian. My father’s mother was born in India.”

“How cool.” He inserts his credit card to pay for his drink. “Well, I’m fifty-three and old enough to be your father, but if I were a younger man, I’d take a shot.”

He winks and I laugh. I can tell he’s just being nice and not actually hitting on me. And I appreciate it, because a lot of customers here are impatient. They don’t treat me like a human being, but rather like a robot that takes their coffee orders.

This wasn’t the plan. The real estate business Dean started right after Nolan was born had just begun making a profit last year. I’d clipped every coupon in sight and tried to keep our expenses down since we were living on loans. But now, Dean is gone and I’m the fool left holding the bag. All I have is my little boy, and no way to provide for him unless we live with my sister long term, which…is a no for me.

“Here you go,” I say, handing Joe the receipt for his drink. “We’ll have it for you soon at the end of the counter.”

“Thanks, have a good one.”

“You, too.”

There’s no one else in line, so I start straightening up the display in front of the register, but I stop as the Just Brew It manager, Virgil, approaches me with a frown.

“Mindy?”

I told him my name was Indie several times when I first started. He scoffed and told me he doesn’t call people by nicknames. Now I just answer to Mindy.

“Yes?”

“You’re supposed to be asking every customer if they’d like to add a bakery item to their order.”

“Oh, right. I’m sorry.”

“Remember, if I catch you not suggestive-selling three times in one shift, I’ll have to write you up.”

I nod, deflating. I can’t even make it as an entry-level cashier. How will I ever be able to support me and Nolan completely on my own?

“I’ll try harder,” I promise Virgil.

“Oh, and also…” He pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket. “I had to write you up for being late today.”