Decaf Coffee and Cherry Pie

The steady churn of the coffee maker filled the room with its heavy aroma. A calm and familiar scent that gave Anne a sense of nostalgia. The routine nothingness that filled her time nowadays left a hollow pit in her stomach. The itch to do something, anything, clawed at her insides. Day in and day out, Anne waited on the same people. Before her, a little old lady who came every afternoon for her cup of decaf and a slice of cherry pie, by far the most popular items on the menu. The afternoon is too late for caffeine, Rosemary had once told her, insisting that she would one day reach an age when such a notion made sense. A life without her beloved cup-o-Joe was a frightening prospect to the 32-year-old. Coffee was often what got Anne through the day, boosting her mood and energy, allowing her to keep up with the competition in the fast-paced world of business. But here, in grandma Rose's little diner, the world moved at a snail's pace. Anne hated every moment of it.

"Anne, dear, could I trouble you for a bit more cream?" Mrs. Hart asked, her weathered hands dabbing a napkin to the corner of her mouth.

Anne forced a smile. "Of course."

If there was one thing her stint in the business world had taught her, it was customer service. It may have given her a heart condition from years of stress and pressure, but she learned the value of a smile and nod. In the corporate world, people didn't want to hear your opinion; they only wanted agreement.

A quick dash to the fridge, and she returned with the requested item, only to find her grandmother engaged with the lady.

"She really is such a good girl," Mrs. Hart was saying.

"Don't I know it? Anne has been such a lifesaver these past few weeks."

The two startled as Anne approached. "Your cream." She placed the dish on the table before turning to leave.

"Just a moment, Annie." Rosemary placed a hand on her arm.

Anne suppressed the cringe she felt at her old nickname. She never liked it when she was a child. Now, it was like utensils scraped across porcelain plates, a sound she had recently become well acquainted with, much to her displeasure.

"What is it, grandma?"

"Would you mind terribly taking the trash in the kitchen out? Poor Joe threw out his back again."

Did being a relative mean Anne had to take on all the tasks no one else wanted to do? She suppressed a sigh. "Of course."

The bin weighed nearly as much as she did, and emptying the thing into the dumpster out back required lifting it over her head. Wasn't this entire trip meant to help her recover? Wasn't she supposed to be resting? Instead, she spent her days soaked in grease, surrounded by the tantalizing yet forbidden scent of coffee, and buried in compliments from her grandmother's friends, who loved to dote on her. The ladies and their constant pestering would push her over the edge soon. If she had to listen to one more person offer to set her up with their grandson, she might just shove a slice of that famous cherry pie into their face.

Straining, she hoisted the trashcan up to the rim of the dumpster, lifting the base until the contents flowed freely. It was nearly empty when, from her pocket, the telltale ringtone of her boss chimed. The urge to scream overcame every other sensation. She dropped the bin in a fit of rage, letting the remaining waste spill onto the concrete.

That man had paid her no mind until she was suddenly unavailable to work. Dr. Rojas told Anne she needed less stress in her life, and with her job being the leading cause, she took a leave of absence. It wasn't her first choice, but her doctor insisted it was vital to her recovery. Still, her employer called regularly, inquiring when she would return.

Fishing the device from her pocket, Anne glared at the screen. Darrel Douglas' smiling visage from the time they had visited Barbados together filled the surface. Sure, now he cared that she was gone because he felt the absence of her solid work ethic. No one else put in the level of dedication that Anne did, and the entire office knew it.

But that was all Darrel valued her for, her diligence and competency. Not the fact the Anne loved the man and would do anything to please him. Never willing to call them a couple in front of others, Darrel was more than willing to let himself into her bed. Dates, vacations, even nights spent curled up together in front of the tv, none of that made them a couple in his eyes. A fact he made clear when Anne called him out on it. He was her boss, her direct superior, which, from his perspective, made their involvement unethical. Never mind that their company had no policy against such a relationship. Phrases like "it would make you look bad" or "I'm only looking out for your well-being" fell flat when the truth of his infidelity came to light. Their status had to remain secret lest his other lover learned the truth.

Anne stared at her phone until the call went to voicemail. A moment later, the notification pinged, informing her she had a message. The contents would only serve to infuriate her further, but she couldn't help her curiosity.

"Hey Anne, it's Darrel," the message said. "I was wondering if you had a timetable for when you were planning to come back. I know you've been under a lot of pressure lately, but we could use your expertise." He paused. "Also, the higher-ups are kind of breathing down my neck here. I really don't want to look for a replacement, but if you take too long sorting whatever-this-is out, I'll be forced to hire someone else. If you could let me know in the next couple of days, I would appreciate it."

Anne's fist tightened around the device. As expected, Darrel only cared about what was in his best interest. He hadn't even bothered to ask why she so abruptly needed the time off. And now, all he wanted was for her to come back and continue working at her best. Well, that was something Anne was no longer psychically or emotionally capable of. She had been pushed beyond her limits in both capacities and was thoroughly spent.

"I can't go back there," Anne mumbled to herself.

"Can't go back where?"

Anne started at the sudden audience of her rumination. "Grandma?"

"You know, you've been here for almost a month now, and you still haven't told me why. I know it's not my place to butt into your affairs, but I do worry, you know?" Rosemary placed a hand on her granddaughter's shoulder. "So, are you ready to talk about it?"

Anne's eyes welled with tears as she collapsed into her grandmother's waiting arms. "My heart's broken. It doesn't work right anymore. I started having chest pains a couple of months ago. I didn't want to believe it at first but, it's gotten so bad I'll need surgery." Her hands grasped at Rose's apron. "I'm scared. I'm so scared, and I didn't know where else to go."

Rose struggled to keep her own tears from flowing as she stroked her granddaughter's back. "I'm so sorry, dear. I wish I knew what to say. Your mother would have had just the right words; she was always good at that."

"I miss her."

"Me too, child, me too," the older woman said. "But don't you worry, I'll be right here with you no matter what happens. You're not alone."

"The hospital is waiting for me to schedule the operation, but I'm not sure I can go through with it. It's open-heart surgery, you know? Pretty high risk."

"Is the risk higher than if you do nothing?"

Anne shook her head.

"Then you know what's best to do, don't you?"

"Yes, but‒"

Rosemary lifted the girl's head to better see her face. "Remember what I told you; you are not alone."

After a moment, Anne nodded once. "Okay."

Her grandmother stroked the side of her face, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "You can call them tomorrow, Annie. I'll hold your hand while you do, if that'll help. But today, we have a piece of pie and a cup of coffee."

"I can't have coffee," Anne said. "Stimulants are bad for my heart."

"Well then, I think it's high time you learned the beauty of decaf. Between you and me, it does have a bit of caffeine, but it shouldn't get your heart racing. Just don't tell the customers." Rosemary winked.

"Coffee and pie sound wonderful." Anne smiled, interlacing her fingers with her grandmother's. "Thank you."