The Coffee Girl

I switch the coffee machine on; I switch it off.

That’s pretty much all that my life has amounted to at this point. Two years of college and thousands of dollars neatly handed to the government and all I can say for myself is that I work at a coffee shop, am bitched around by my strangely hormonal manager, and can’t even categorize a relationship (or whatever) with someone that always managed to boggle my mind.

Rachel stood at the register next to me. Her eyes had been glazed over with lust and rainbows ever since we saw the Hawks two days prior. Damn Sharpie and his ability to be normal! But, even though she seemed out of it for most of our shift, Rachel had managed to throw out the old ‘are you okay?’ every so often, probably wondering why my brow had permanently furrowed and my mouth was blowing out fire every time I spoke to an annoying customer. Oh, Rachel and her sister-like curiosity.

“Just because it’s called the Holidays, doesn’t mean you’re in the Barbados.” Malcolm’s pretentious voice echoed throughout the coffee shop, despite the few customers softly conversing in line and the espresso machine working in overdrive. He strode forward with his hands behind his back and his white-blonde hair – as usual – gelled back to perfection. One more comment like that and Mr. Perfect would feel my knee connecting with his coffee beans.

The Holidays entitled some sort of joy, whether from friends or family, but I felt none. All I felt was anger and aggression. Anger at Jonathan who couldn’t make up his mind for somebody who captained an entire NHL team, and aggression at Malcolm who was drawing closer and closer to the edge of my mental stability.

“Remember to turn off the machine properly this time,” he continued, cocking an eyebrow in that same pretentious manner.

“I will,” was all I replied, turning around to face the line of customers waiting. Then, through the blizzard of snow that had unexpectedly hit Chicago, came Jonathan with his ski hat dotted by flecks of white. His eyes connected with mine as soon as he entered the shop; the soft jingle of the door indicating his arrival. I was torn in half at this point, unsure of what to feel. There were only two possibilities of he had come here. 1: He’d finally made up his mind and wanted something more. 2: He’d finally made up his mind and realized that I wasn’t the girl he wanted to risk his image for. Either way, I was nervous.

With a swift nod of his head, he indicated to the back of the shop. Pulling off his hat, he ruffled his hair as I told Rachel I needed a few minutes and to cover for me. Malcolm, being the overconfident jackass that he was, was talking to a table of women and didn’t notice me leave my post behind the register. My hands had unconsciously clenched into tight, sweaty fists by the time I reached Jonathan at the back. His cheeks were red, I immediately noticed, redder than usual. The tinge of his warm skin meeting the cold, December air made me want to reach forward and touch him – perhaps warm him up a bit. But I didn’t. I kept all limbs firmly in place at my sides.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice hoarse from what I assumed to be the cold weather. I stared at him, not really wanting to feed into the cliché and say ‘hey’ back. He nodded softly, as though reading my mind, and ran a hand through his brown hair once again. “This is all really messed up.” A muffled chuckle escaped his mouth as he simultaneously bit his lip.

“No kidding,” I replied flatly. He was stalling. Whatever he had to say, I knew that he knew I wouldn’t like it. What was it with guys thinking it was better to spare a girl’s feelings, even if only for a few seconds, instead of telling her the truth?

His dark eyes swept over the coffee shop quickly before reaching a hand out and wrapping it around my arm, dragging me farther to the back. “Look,” he began with another lick of his lips, “I know what I’m doing is...”

I might as well help him out with his mental hiccup. “Stupid, annoying, douchebaggy—”

Jonathan held up a hand to stop me. “Okay, okay, I get it.” I folded my arms over my chest. “But you have to understand where I’m coming from.” I don’t. He must have read my expression because he sighed. “Kaner getting drunk and flirting with girls is a big deal, but he’s different.” I waited and he dropped his head, obviously upset that he had to spell it out. “I’m captain. And as much as I don’t want to acknowledge it, I’m in the public eye.”

I snorted. “In the public eye of all your puck bunnies.”

“No,” he replied swiftly, “in the public eye of coaches and managers and my freaking parents!”

I furrowed my brow. “I’m sorry, I’m still not getting what this has to do with me.” I paused. “Unless this has to do with the fact that I’m just the girl that was picked up by Patrick for a quick fling to get over his girlfriend.” Jonathan dropped his head and I knew what the answer was. I clicked my tongue against the roof of my mouth as realization set in. “You’re embarrassed of me...great.”

I turned around to walk back to my register before feeling Jonathan’s chilled fingers wrap around my wrist, pulling me back to face him. “I’m not embarrassed of you,” he said as though I was completely stupid in thinking that. “I just – I don’t want people getting the wrong idea.”

“So...?” I asked expectantly.

“So what?”

“Have you decided? Am I worthy to be seen on your arm or is this going to be a whole Marilyn Monroe, JFK thing?” Jonathan sighed and let his hand slip away from mine. I stared at his face for a moment, searching for something that I wasn’t quite sure of myself. Whatever it was, I’d found it because my body seemed to move at its own will closer towards him. His body stiffened as he stared down at me. “I have feelings for you, Jonathan. Admittedly, I’m not sure if they’re good or bad at the moment,” he cracked a smile, revealing his teeth and making the ends of his eyes crinkle with more joy than I had seen these entire ‘Holidays’, “but they’re strong.”

His smile slowly faded and his eyes remained on me, scrutinizing my expression for a falter. He nodded and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “I’m not – uh – good at this stuff.” He avoided my eyes for a moment as he looked out of the window at the powdery paradise outside. He sucked in a breath. “I – uh – feel the same way.” My mouth twitched into a small smile. I could tell he didn’t want me making a big deal about this. “In a less girly way, though.” I laughed airily and looked down. Figures. I reached forward to take hold of his hand, but he pulled away. My smile fell into my usual frown. I was beginning to get emotional whiplash with him. Jonathan’s eyes quickly scanned the store, as though hoping no one saw.

I was sick and tired of this. Sick and tired of always being sick and tired. It was like a vicious circle with him. “You know what,” my hands had clenched into fists again, “screw you, Jonathan.” I noticed him slightly flinch and prided myself in the fact that I had made him feel something bad for once. Just then, as though Hell itself had found out how miserable I actually was and wanted to make it worse, I noticed Malcolm speeding towards us; his hands swinging at his sides and a determined expression on his angular features. Crap!

“What do you think you are doing?” his voice was an angry whisper. His eyes trailed over Jonathan, obviously remembering him from their last encounter, but his scowl didn’t falter.

“I’m just talking,” I said, “it was – uh – important.” I looked over at Jonathan and he bit his lip. Malcolm eyed us both.

Then he turned to me and spat; “It better have been a life or death situation!” He tightly gripped my arm and pulled me towards him. The jerking motion made me stumble on my feet and fall into a nearby chair. Jonathan immediately intervened, grabbing a hold of Malcolm’s perfect collar.

Jonathan’s face had grown red again. “Touch her like that again...” his hand trembled with rage against Malcolm’s chest and I noticed Malcolm cowering at the sight of the 6 foot 2 hockey player in front of him, “and I swear my foot will end up in—”

“Stop!” I breathed aggressively, pushing my hands against Jonathan’s chest. I didn’t need a knight in shining armour or a superhero. My head swivelled from Jonathan to Malcolm then back again. “I think you should go,” I whispered. I could see the protest in Jonathan’s eyes, but he didn’t say anything. “Just go.” Dropping his hand from Malcolm’s shirt, he nodded once then moved towards the doors and out of the shop. Next to me, Malcolm was desperately trying to catch his breath after what I knew he’d tell everybody was a life-threatening scenario.

My eyes followed the black jacket and ski hat as they passed by the coffee shop windows and crossed the street. Regret flowed through as I mused as to whether I should have left Patrick, drunk, on the side of the road that fateful night.