Lattes & Liquor

Chapter 1

It was the shittiest place Andy had ever lived in—crashed in. 

She was broke as fuck, despite the desk job she'd held for the past few months, and she was utterly exhausted. Living with her sister, her sister's baby daddy, and two kids running up and down the little shanty apartment didn't suit her, but where else could she go?

Her grandma had died months before—and her place to stay had died with Ma'Dear. Uncle Charles had thrown her out the minute he realized Andy couldn't cover 75% of the utilities and taxes like his mama did. So, she was out and couldn't come back unless she paid solid rent. At that point—she didn't want to be back. She'd bounced from house to house and manipulated her way into her ex-bf's house (prior to the 'ex').

She'd been through a lot of shit.

She didn't look like it, but Andy was thirty years old and had lived the life of a senior citizen—except she didn't have the pension or savings to show for any of it. Her B.A. in English and M.A. in English hadn't amassed much beyond a life-long bill—courtesy of Sallie Mae. She was friend-less—complements of her abandonment issues. 

So, there she was: miserable and hoping for relief on a Friday night.

Her sister, Cassandra, and her sister's bf, DaMonte, were great people—they treated her better than her uncle (and occasionally her grandma) did, but there was something incredibly infantilizing about being there in their already cramped two-bedroom apartment. 

Andy was a burden.

She didn't have to pay much. Her sister had assured her that $200 a month would be enough to kick it there until her luck changed. And her sister, sweet human that she was, really didn't want to take that from her. 

Cassandra hated that she didn't have more room for her and felt a twinge in her heart whenever she saw her older sister sleeping on the couch after a long day's work, but it couldn't be helped. She wasn't working due to a complicated third pregnancy, and DaMonte was the one handling the bills. 

He wasn't too keen about Andy staying there, and in the darkest part of the night, he'd slide the question in as sweetly as he could "Babe, have you talked to Andy yet?"

Cassandra couldn't do that to her sister. Rent was high, and Andy's job was shitty. Her usual response to DaMonte was a quick pat on his hand, "Baby, give it some time. I know it's uncomfortable for you, but Andy really needs a break. Give her some time, please."

She was in the crossfires, and she knew that Andy could feel the mounting tension from DaMonte. She saw it in her sister's face when she declined to eat with them. She felt a pang in her heart watching her sister quickly disappear from the living room every time DaMonte sat on the couch and made it very obvious that he wasn't going anywhere. The message he gave Andy was so loud it screamed: she'd have to hold off on sleep for a little while longer.

It hurt her, but what could she do except continue to look for remote work? Maybe if she could pull her weight, they could get a bigger place, and Andy could get her own room and not worry about it.

DaMonte was a good man, but he didn't understand Andy like Cassandra did. He'd never understand how her sister had given to them when she'd had nothing. If all she could give her sister back was a place to stay, she'd do just that!

Still, it was exhausting. She didn't want this for Andy, and Andy certainly didn't want it for herself.

Cassandra walked past the couch as Andy lounged about, and she rubbed her stomach. Her eyes were focused on nothing in particular, but her hand movements were frantic. 

Andy watched her sister with worried eyes. She was worried because Cassandra was pregnant--again, and DaMonte hadn't said anything about marriage. 

He was good to her sister, but her sister needed more than decent good-ness. She needed honor. She was a great mother—she'd also be a great wife. She needed the glittering ring on her finger and the title. She deserved that. It seemed like the entire apartment groaned under the weight of DaMonte's indecision. Andy being there was one thing, but him wavering around life-long committal was an entirely different matter.

The knowing-ness of these unspoken things filled both Cassandra and Andy with a restlessness that insisted on staying. It had moved into the apartment, rent-free and long before Andy, but it had decided—upon Andy's arrival--that it would stay much longer.

Andy hastily rose from her spot on the couch—a spot which would later become her bed—as it had been for the past 6 months. The restlessness had seeped into her skin and then her bones, and it had set off a domino effect of depression. This night, she needed it out of her and off of her.

"Leaving?" sweet Cassandra sadly rubbed her belly and sank into the spot Andy had just left. Her eyes told a story that Andy didn't want to read that night—or listen to. She had to figure out how to give more to Cassandra or leave permanently.

"Yeah," Andy forced a fake note of cheerfulness and slung her satchel bag across her shoulder. She'd showered immediately after getting home from work and had thrown on a fitted black t-shirt—perfect against her dark sepia skin, thick black tights, and black boots. Her plump lips were painted in dark plum, her fresh nose ring (a cute little silver metal ball nestled into her right nostril) paired nicely with her black wide rimmed frames and a delicate black plastic choker. Her hair, she'd flat-twisted to her scalp and tucked under a black beanie. Thirty looked more like twenty-five on her. She was thankful for that. "I'm thinking of heading to a bar or something?" The last part was a question, because she hadn't been to a bar in ages and didn't know how to operate without someone else there with her.

Cassandra seemed to cheer up at the image of her sister being surrounded by others. She smiled brightly and rubbed her belly again, "Well, have a drink for me!"

Andy returned the energy and perked up, "I'll take an extra shot for you."