The whiff of a strong, black coffee is as good a fixing as crack is to an addict. Combine that with the setting of a small, family-owned cafe that offers free refills on a chilly day, you could sit and sip coffee from sunrise to sunset. I would take this over a franchise coffee shop any day.
Violet and I both take our sip of coffee. "Mmmm," we hum loudly at the same time, giggling at the fact that we now had neighboring patrons turning to look at us.
"So how's work been going, Jas?" she asks, as she goes in for the next sip. "We live in the same house, but I don't think I've seen you for longer than five minutes at a time."
She's absolutely right. Her boss has been making her run more errands than usual, as Violet struggles to keep up with the demands.
"Work is good. I definitely had to do some extra studying and learning to keep up with the other nurses. But they've been very pleasant with me, surprisingly," I answer her.
"There is nothing surprising about it. Our life has been so crappy growing up that we've come to assume the worst in people. But people aren't usually that bad, Jas. Especially people like Taylor."
I roll my eyes at her, but feeling a quiver in my heart at the mention of his name.
When neither of us were working, Taylor and I spent every moment together searching for Daisy. I knew Tim couldn't fly anywhere, he would have to drive, but not in either of his vehicles, both impounded by authorities. There were no hits on rentals under his name, no credit card activities. His bank accounts were frozen. He was getting the cash from somewhere—someone—to survive.
Every once in a while, we would stalk out the Walkers, hoping he was stupid enough to come back to their house. Weeks came and went, as autumn was now here, still no closer to finding her.
"Taylor is a good person," I confirm, the image of his handsome face blurring my vision for a quick second.
"Duh, Jas. Your face lights up every time he enters the room. He waits on your hands and feet when he's around. Every time you guys look at each other, it's like you're speaking telepathically. You guys sometimes finish each other's sentences. I mean, come on. It doesn't get any more nauseating than that!" She sticks her tongue out to mimic a gag.
I laugh and toss a napkin at her. "It's not like that, Vi," I say defensively.
"But it is, Jasmine," she pushes on. "Why are you trying to run from it? You shouldn't let one bad relationship corrupt the potential of a better one," she pauses to take another sip of coffee, leaning back in the glossy wooden chair to cross her legs.
"We've never meddled in each other's relationships before, and I've come to regret that. Although Tim has always said the right words, there was something crooked about him, but I never wanted to tell you, afraid that I could be wrong and mess up something perfectly good in your life," she says, as we both avoid eye contact.
"I regret it now," she continues, her last statement hesitant, obvious at the way her hands are clutched around the ceramic cup.
I extend one hand across the table, waiting for her to meet it, as she does. Clasping her hand gently, I say, "You have nothing to regret, Violet. I've known it for quite some time and still stuck around. This is not on you."
"But there's something about Taylor, Jas, that he just seems to care so much about you. I just think you should give him a chance. That's all," she pleads.
Nodding slightly, I play with a strand of her hair. When we were younger, playing with each other's hair was the only entertainment neither of us had. Now, it serves as a therapeutic measure, affirming that the other sister was in close proximity—affirming that we were stronger together.
"Alright, enough with the gushy stuff. Where is Taylor taking you tonight?" Her question instantly makes me blush. "Really, Jas?"
I don't know why it's making me react this way. We've spent the last few months together, but this is the first time he has asked me out on an official date. Bewildered, I had told him I will think about it. After discussing it over with Violet, she had texted him from my phone to confirm, without my knowledge, mind you. Now, the day has come, and I am to meet him in a few hours.
"He wouldn't say. Just that I don't have to dress up in anything fancy, and to be warm and comfortable." I remember when he'd asked me if I would be disappointed that our date was not at some extravagant restaurant. I had reassured him that nothing would make me happier.
I've always felt so awkward when Tim would take me to those dinners that required the correct use of certain spoons and forks. He would buy me an obscenely tight and revealing dress, demanding that I wear it along with some ridiculous high heels. To make matters worse, the restaurant menu would consist mostly of items I've never heard of, grateful when the food came out in tiny portions so not much of it had to be eaten.
Our conversations were limited and empty, occasionally saved by someone who recognizes him and joining us at the table.
After all the atrocity, he would be aghast that I haven't appreciated the fact that he had taken me out on a date "a million girls dreamed of". Tim never saw me as an individual, only lumped together with many more girls who would happily take my place, that is, until they've tasted the treachery that awaits.
"Well, you're not gonna wear that, are you?" Violet's voice awakens me from the unpleasant memories. I look down at my gray hoodie and leggings, paired with running sneakers. Sure, this is my outfit for every occasion—short sleeves and flats for the summer—but it works.
"Yes," I reply unsurely, intimidated by the look she is giving me.
"Alright, we're gonna have to do some shopping then," she says, confirming my fear.
I shake my head opposingly, knowing it is of no use.
"Jas, I've seen your entire closet. If you love me, you would do this for me. Your younger sister works for a fashion magazine, and you are killing her with your taste in fashion."
"You are so dramatic, Violet."
"That's settled then. The clothes, the hair, the shoes, gone. Let's go," she commands, as she leaves money on the table, alway tipping generously for the amount of refills we acquire in the short amount of time at the table.
I grab my coat and follow her reluctantly, knowing that she is about to fulfill some weird fantasy of reenacting a makeover movie scene on me. "Uhh," I groan, "you're lucky I'm fond of you."
❖❖❖
Five hours, twenty shopping bags, a cut and blow-dry, two manicures and pedicures later, we finally arrived home. Plopping down on the couch, throwing off my shoes, I no longer have the energy to move my muscles.
"What do you think you're doing?" Violet asks me displeasingly.
"You think I can reschedule? I feel like you just made me run a marathon," I respond from the couch, not making any effort to move.
I'm suddenly yanked up and on my feet. "Oh my god, you're gonna mess up your hair lying like that!" she scowls at me as she manages to fix every frayed strand. "Come on, let's go pick out an outfit."
I'm being dragged as we carry all our bags to my bedroom. Again, I throw myself down, this time on the bed. It's not like Taylor hasn't seen me at my worst, so surely he wouldn't mind a sweaty outfit and tangled hair.
"Can I pick it out for you?" Violet's voice is causing me extreme irritation now.
"Can I say no?"
"You can, doesn't mean I'll comply."
"Then why bother asking?"
"To annoy you, of course."
"Of course." I roll my eyes so hard, only for the ceiling to witness it.
We may not have had a normal childhood, but Violet had played her role as the annoying younger sister quite well, and under all my aggravation, I was content that we had somehow maintained a traditional relationship of two sisters.
She quickly throws me my outfit, suggesting that it was most likely planned during the shopping trip.
A few minutes later, I examine myself in the mirror. My long hair in loose curls falls over a blush pink, drop shoulder wool sweater, the hem relaxed over khaki skinny jeans, with knee high black riding boots passing slightly above the knees.
"Violet, this isn't too much?" I ask, still dissecting the image in the reflection. The sweater is more fitted than I'm used to, and my bare shoulders offer more provocativeness than I'm comfortable with revealing. Nevertheless, there is no point in protesting now because the doorbell chimes, just as the clock hits four. Punctual, isn't he?
Leaving the room to answer the door, my heart is racing faster and faster. It's a strange feeling. This is not the first time he's come to pick me up, nor the first time we are meeting. Even in Mackinaw City, we had shared a very sensual night together. So why am I reacting this way? Oh no, my cheeks are burning again. Why did I have to remember that night? Right now?
I open the door, all my nervousness and uncertainty dissolving into the crisp air. What I wore or where we are going no longer matters, because it is him that makes everything perfect.