Immigrant girl

Chapter 21. Anya.

Inside, it felt like a layer of ice had covered everything. I felt as though I were made of glass, and if I moved, I would shatter into pieces. The taxi was driving slowly, winding its way up the serpentine road. I imagined that I was descending back to the world of mortals after being banished from Olympus.

Now, it's interesting to think which Greek god Alex might be. Zeus, Ares, or Apollo? I chuckled at my own silly thoughts. Alex Dovlatov had just denied you entry to his home, and you're pondering which Greek god he might resemble. How foolish is that?

The city lights below were twinkling. Millions of people lived in this vast city, yet I felt more alone than ever. The taxi pulled up to my house, and I have to give credit to the driver; for the entire 40 minutes of our journey, he hadn't uttered a word. Silent cab drivers option. That was one thing to appreciate about the USA. I thanked the driver and got out of the car into the cool night air. I had no desire to go home, sit inside, and wallow in self-pity or endlessly ponder the rightness of my actions and words.

I decided to walk to the nearby coffee shop since it was open until midnight. As I strolled, I contemplated calling Lily to share what had happened to me. However, I quickly realized that Lily would likely scold me for rejecting such a handsome guy. I didn't want to hear that. Maybe I should call Caleb? Would that be strange? He was Alex's right-hand man and a good friend. Engaging in an internal debate, I instinctively pulled out my phone and began searching for Caleb's number in my contacts. Finding the right contact, my fingers hovered over the call button. Oh, Anya, think it through one hundred more times before you do anything. What's the worst that could happen? He's my friend too! I pressed the call button and listened to the phone ring.

He didn't answer. The rings abruptly stopped, and I received a message from Caleb:

"I'm with Alex. Cleaning up the mess you left behind."

Damn it. Of course, he called his best friend to comfort him and tend to his wounded pride. I quickly typed a response:

"I didn't leave a mess. At least I was honest with him and with myself."

I angrily stuffed the phone into my pants pocket and quickened my pace. They were probably sitting there, discussing what a wretch I was. Or perhaps Alex was lamenting that he hadn't succeeded in his little game. In the distance, the lights of the coffee shop came into view. I interrupted the flow of my frustrated thoughts and focused on the fact that I was about to enjoy a hot, delicious chocolate and some fresh pastries. My phone vibrated again:

"As Captain Jack Sparrow said: 'Beware of honest men; you can never predict when they will do something stupid.'"

What was he hinting at? Was he suggesting that by rejecting his boss's advances, I had done something stupid? I sent a short text in response:

"Your hints are tactless."

By the time I reached the coffee shop, I grabbed the door handle and pulled it open. Stepping inside, I took a look around. In the empty room, there was only me and the barista. I had the impression that he was somewhat disappointed that another customer had walked in at this late hour, and I noticed he had already begun preparing the café for closing. For a brief moment, I felt a twinge of shame, but I quickly dismissed such emotions. After all, it was his job. Approaching the counter, I spoke up:

"Sorry for coming so late. Could I have a hot chocolate with milk and a croissant with vanilla cream, please?" I took out my card from its sleeve, ready to pay when he told me the cost.

"No need for apologies, I'm just glad it's you who wandered in at this hour, not some biker with a beard," the young barista said with a genuine smile. It seemed I had been wrong about him being disappointed. His badge displayed the name "Brian." "Would you like your croissant warmed up?"