✔️Romance || WomanxWoman || short novelette was written together with bibi_the_nomad
Sarcastic, sharp-tongued Ava Allard didn't get to college. Almost ten years have passed since then, but the young woman is still working at her mom's misfortunate (...
Today was unusually crowded in our coffeeshop. Suspiciously crowded, almost clogged. We would have enough coffee for everyone, of course, but with such a crowd, there definitely would not be enough classic French pastries, sandwiches, yogurt with granola, and cheesecakes. Previously, my father used to take care of the baking, with my aunt's assistance, but presently they're busy with each other. My mother and I are not great cooks; we excel in plants, gardening, and design, not cooking. That's why we had always been on standby at the café. Now, we only excel in good coffee, barely staying afloat solely due to our decent coffee brewing skills, acting as baristas. We ordered food in small quantities from two trusted suppliers. Typically, the amount we purchased would last a couple of days, and if there were leftovers, we would usually enjoy them ourselves if the expiration date was reasonable.
"What's going on here?" I asked my mother quietly, leaning in.
"I have no idea," my mother whispered back just as quietly. "It feels like every eatery in this town went bankrupt and closed down, and ours is the only one left."
"Perhaps they caught the chefs at At Monica's red-handed, realizing that they were preparing all the food with a rat's help like in that cartoon," I speculated.
We both nervously chuckled, but immediately fell silent when another customer approached the counter. My mother took the order, while I prepared another flat white, cappuccino, or latte, and serve croissants, choux pastries, and scones, which were disappearing with a sad trend.
"Should I call Jessica and order more sandwiches?" I asked my mother when we managed to catch our breath for a moment.
"I already called this morning when I saw the line forming at the entrance, but she won't make it today; it'll only be ready for tomorrow. And Andre, I texted him too, but he's not working today, as if on spite, so no pastries for us either," my mother replied, wiping her lipstick in the corner of her mouth, admiring her reflection in the coffee machine. "It's not like picking up sugar from the nearest supermarket."
"What a nuisance!" I grumbled under my breath. "Listen, maybe it's because of Libbie. She was talking about all the reels and TikToks yesterday." I glanced at the group of unpleasant fifteen-to-seventeen-year-old girls settled by the window. They were clearly recording something on their phones, giggling disgustingly and glancing in my direction.
"Exactly! She was dreaming of making our coffeeshop great again. She said it with such conviction, as if she were about to run in an election campaign. Here's your coffee, please!"
My mother handed another coffee to a girl who looked no older than a high school senior. She wanted to order something else, but we were out of it. With an irritated expression, she stepped away from the counter. The unpleasant girls by the window watched us attentively and continued recording something on their smartphones. The one who seemed like the pack leader looked at us as if we were second-rate people.
If it weren't for my mother here, I would have dragged them out of the café by their nasty hair. But I didn't want to disappoint my mother again. I didn't want her to look at me the way she did yesterday when she went to get sugar, so I gritted my teeth and endured. Maybe they didn't mean anything bad, it just seemed that way to me.
"Do you even have any cheesecakes left?" asked the girl with round cheeks and a button nose. Her pants were too tight, making it look like she was just wearing tights and forgot to put on a skirt.
My mother and I exchanged glances; it seemed the moment has come. The food was running out.
"Sorry, we're running out of food. We can offer you different types of drinks: we have Kenyan, Colombian, Ethiopian, and Brazilian coffee of various roasts. I can suggest filter coffee (we have Chemex) or..."
"Forget it," grumbled the European girl standing next to her friend in a squeaky voice, clearly trying to pass for Korean judging by her look. "Why do we need all this junk? You can drink coffee for cheap just as well elsewhere! Here, you can't even eat anything decent, just cold sandwiches. And what did she find in this place!"
"Maybe your source is lying, and she's sitting at At Monica's around the corner or somewhere decent. I can't believe that a star like her decided to have lunch here."
The pseudo-Korean girl puffed out her cheeks. "Don Quixote is a reliable source; he often slipped up in his networks where they go hang out together. Macy quickly reacted to one of his posts and managed to get an autograph and even chat a bit with the whole company!"
"She's lying," argued the nineteen- maybe twenty-year-old guy with a big pimple on his chin, which he covered with a thick layer of concealer that didn't match his skin tone. He probably stole it from his mommy or sister. "Your friend wouldn't be allowed anywhere near their company."
"She's not lying! You weren't there. No one would let such an eyesore like you anywhere near them!"
I was quietly boiling inside. I always understood that our coffeeshop wasn't the most beautiful place in the world, but it was always cozy, clean, and our coffee was always excellent. My mother and I sacrificed a whole year of hard work to buy a professional coffee machine. As much as I wanted to blame their supposedly youthful age for their rotten behavior, I couldn't. You're either a dumbass or a good person no matter how old you are. That's the bleak conclusion I came to by twenty-seven.
"Are you going to order anything, or not?" I asked, dryly and boldly.
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