Her Youth

(4) Mark

It was a normal Thursday at the café. A couple of our regulars came in, there were a couple of small rushes in the morning, and Yazmin wore her signature hijab style. It was as typical as a day gets. But one thing was a little less than typical... 

Him. 

His name is Mark. He had messy, faded blond hair, a crooked nose, and pointy ears. He looked just like any other customer...but the way he spoke? That is what captivated me. 

He stood off to the side to let someone else order before him. "It's my first time here," he explained. So he spent a minute carefully observing the menu, squinting at it like he couldn't see, sucking on his teeth. I would later learn that this was his concentration face. It caught my attention. I could have been captivated by it the entire time, if it weren't for a car pulling up to the drive thru. 

When he finally stepped up to the counter to order, Yazmin stepped up to get it. I not-so-subtly squeezed her arm, urging her that I could get it if she wanted to make the drink I just put the order in for. She gave me a funny look. 

"I just don't do the drizzle as well as you do," I lied. Well, it was a white lie. Yazmin was, actually, the queen of chocolate drizzle and whipped cream. Detail was her forte, and speed was mine. 

A look of oh washed over her face, and she hurried off to start on the coffee.

With a light, shaky feeling in my chest, I stepped up to the register. I didn't need to make a customer service smile. Every smile, nod, and laugh at his joke was all genuine. 

I still remember the order: medium frappe with Irish cream, for Mark. It was supposed to be a small, but he changed it halfway through his order because "It's been a long week. I need a medium." Until that point, I'd never laughed so hard at such a mundane joke. If I had eyes on the back of my head, I'm sure I would've caught Yazmin giving me her classic raised-brow side-eye combo. Alas, I'd have to settle on just hearing her tease me later on. 

"We all have those weeks," I told him, putting the cream into his cup. "I wouldn't judge you even if you got a large." I placed the lid on his cup, savoring the moment as I handed him his straw. 

"Well," he smiled, looking me right in the eye, "I guess I know where to go if I ever need a large coffee, huh?" 

I couldn't keep my gaze directly on his. It was like putting your hand to a fire: warm, comforting, but it becomes almost painful the longer you keep it there. So I laughed a little, turned my head down, and nodded. 

He raised his cup like a toast. "Well, maybe I'll get one next week..." he peeked to my name tag, "Evelyn." 

I tried so hard not the blush. I really did, I swear! 

Even after he walked out the door, my chest was still somewhere up in the air. You know that lightness you feel when you get a little buzzed on alcohol? Yeah, that's kind of what that felt like.

Needless to say, Yazmin had a mischievous smile plastered on her face when I turned around. Her jaw slowly dropped down to release what could only be described as such a high-pitched squeal you could hardly hear it. "You like him!" 

"I just met him," I pointed out. She wasn't buying it. 

"Yeah? Then what was all that I'm no good at the drizzle thing about?" 

"Hey!" I put a hand over my heart, feigning offense. "I never said I wasn't good at it! Just that you do it better than I do. And it's true." 

"You were all giddy, it almost made me sick," she laughed. A couple customers walked in to the lobby, another pulling up to the driveway shortly after. We both quickly composed ourselves. That's a sort of skill you gain from working with the public; you learn to turn off your laughter, your tears, whatever, like a light switch. 

The moment they all left, though? 

"Okay, but he was low-key flirting with you," Yazmin continued.

I hid my face in my palms. "You're still going on about this?" 

"Was he not, though?" 

"No!" 

She squinted at me, shooting daggers through a good, hard stare. "And you wonder why you're still single." 

I opened up my mouth to smack-talk her back, only to be interrupted by the ding of a door, followed by Yazmin's greeting. 

Part of me was mad that she got the last word that shift, but the other part was more than happy to finally drop the subject. As much as I love her, my love life will always be a topic of conversation that leaves me flustered. 

The dating scene wasn't something all that foreign to me. I had a schoolyard boyfriend in elementary school; just a little childhood crush, of course. I dated someone in sixth grade, then again in eighth. But after Jude was born, and mom's addictions got worse, it was all pushed to the backburner around that time. I was thirteen, and I'd already decided to take a break from dating to focus on kids and mental health. When was the last time you heard a teenager say something like that? 

I think that was around the same time I started losing friends, drifting away from activities and clubs. I didn't need to "find myself" with cliques and groups and boyfriends. I didn't try to conform to any of the given stereotypes. I already had my identity. It wasn't something I "found," per se. More like I was "given" this identity. But I already had it pressed onto my entire identity, my entire existence: care giver. I took care of people, I gave too many cares, it was all about caring for others. 

There's no time to care about who you are as a person when you've got your whole world to care for. 

No time to look for a boyfriend when you've got other people to worry about. Besides, they wouldn't understand everything going on with mom. No one ever really gets it. That's why it's such a hush-hush subject. 

But Mark...little did I know he would be the exception. He would be different.

~

Consistent updates? Let's see how long we can keep this going.