The Porn Identity

Chapter 20

       The next day was...trying. I woke up with a heavy weight dangling over me like the readying blade of a guillotine. I'm not sure why my mood was so sour. Nothing happened. Nothing awful anyway.

       Nothing was wrong with me.

       Manny finally got back to me. It was a simple I'm sorry/talk later text. I ignored it. I wasn't mad or anything, I just didn't feel like responding. At least he wasn't blowing my phone up. That was a relief.

       It took me twenty minutes extra to get out of bed too. But I wasn't sleeping. I just lay there staring through the dark as heavy as a brick thinking about nothing and everything all at once. The only reason I got up at all was because my alarm started yelling at me. I obliged because there was nothing wrong with me. Nothing at all.

       Once I'd made it to work my spirits hadn't lifted. I went through the motions—I roast the coffee, I bagged the pastries, I smiled for tips, I reprimanded Jackson for cursing, I changed filters, I foamed milk, I greeted everyone who came my way politely, I engaged in mind-numbing small talk...

       I did everything right. I don't understand, there's nothing wrong with me.

       Johnny showed up to finish up his painting. We made eye contact at some point but neither of us spoke to the other. That was just fine by me. I was in the right this time and besides that I didn't feel like talking anyway.

       Around noon I took my lunch in my office. I sat behind my desk eating my sandwich and watching Netflix on the monitor but barely saw what was happening in one of my most favorite shows. The actors played their parts—they read their lines, hit their marks, told their jokes. It was funny. I didn't laugh.

       Nothing's wrong with me.

       When that was done, I walked back to the frontlines and into a landmine. A wave of unexpected traffic had built in my absence. A line had formed that stretched from Pasha at the lone open register to the door. About half the tables were full as well. Somebody's kid was running around the tables like he was raised in a barn. Somebody's service dog was sitting in the walkway. Even the dishes in the dish bin were overflowing. As Pasha rang up orders, Lana poured the coffee and plated or bagged sandwiches and pastries with a speed I never knew she possessed. Jackson, however, was AWOL.

       I turned and stepped into the kitchen. Jackson was in there, but he wasn't baking or assembling sandwiches or cleaning. He was standing near the island with his back to the door leaning down and whispering sweet nothings into Donna's ear. She giggled when he kissed her on the cheek and for a moment the flame of rage flickered in my chest.

       "Jackson, we need you on the floor. I need tables bussed and dishes washed. I don't pay you to stand in here ki-ki-ing about whatever. Let's go."

       Jackson nodded and started for the door. Donna grimaced slightly but who cares.

        Back in the front I got on a coffee machine and started filling the back orders. I was highly practiced at this so even without my zombie state I would have been able to fill these orders without much thought. I did it so efficiently the orders started to blend.

       Americano, cappuccino, frappe. Small, medium, large. Milk, sugar, cream.

       The words spun in my brain, but I didn't falter. Not even once. Because nothing was wrong with me.

       Somewhere between filling orders and walking them to customers waiting at tables I realized with disappointment that Donna had never left. Jackson had emptied the dish bin, bussed the empty tables, and opened register two but Donna was still holding some meaningless conversation off to the side while he rang up orders and laughed at her bad jokes. At least she had the basic respect to not come behind the counter but honestly that wasn't saying much.