Beneath The Surface

Epilogue - Beneath the surface

Normal text
Thinking
Onomatopoeia

Asta's POV
One year later.

"Asta, swap with me for a bit?" the girl at the till whined with a sour face.

"Sure," I chuckled, doing the finishing touches by drowning a cup of frappé in whipped cream, "grande caramel frappé with whipped cream for Kess."

A woman walked up with a receipt in hand, "That's me."

While packing her drink in a plastic bag, she suddenly struck up a conversation, "I don't remember seeing your pretty face. New here?"

*Ah, shit. Here we go again.*

"Yeah. Just started out a few weeks ago," I replied offhandedly, sticking a straw in the bag and handing it to her.

She didn't seem discouraged by my flippant response and continued prodding, "Single?"

Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I gave a perfunctory smile to deflect any further advances, "Nope. Have a great day."

With that, I hurriedly booked it from the cold bar and hustled to Aster who's busy holding in the giggles.

I rolled my eyes, regretting my offer to cover for her. Maybe I should have let the girl rot behind the cash register. Aster was my first friend when I started out here. Well, the first person to talk to me anyway. This human was really talkative, and became even chattier when she realised our names were really similar. Initially, I did find her a little annoying but after a while, I kind of got used to her droning voice. I mean, business here was slow. Most of the time, there's so few customers that we're just left talking to our own sanity. And going nuts while working as a barista was NOT very high up on my to-do list.

"How many times was it this week?"

I ignored her teasing and straightened my collar, "You're not being very professional here, Aster. Besides, I didn't ask to be hit up."

The girl burst out laughing, "It's your fault for being a hot barista. With that face of yours, you're more suited being a model or something. Why choose to rot here?"

Hmmm, good question. I was used to ordering people around and being at the head. But now, I've been reduced to a poor salaried employee instead. My perfectionist parents would definitely not be thrilled. (And yes, the rest had retold some of my past to me, though vaguely. I only knew the gist-they're deranged psychos who treated me like crap. Majority of the details were brushed over. As if they're afraid I'd be hurt from a past that had nothing to do with me. It's just a solemn and sad bedtime story. Nothing more. Nothing less.)

If my bitchy parents were to catch wind that I'm working as a lowly barista, they'd surely jump out of their graves to rave about how I'm flopping in life and sullying their name. And to be honest, I used to think such unpromising jobs weren't for me either. After all, I was used to chasing big dreams. Working towards grandiose ideals. Asking me to just flounder away without a specific goal would have melted my mind. While I was resistant to working here, Evelynn insisted that I at least try out for a few weeks. Who knows, maybe you will like it, she says.

And you know what? The mother hen's deadly accurate intuition has never gone wrong even till today. After a few weeks, I've indeed grown fond of this relaxing lifestyle. I mean, sure, it was boring with nothing to do. But life here is slow. Not too complicated nor hectic. My responsibilities were simple-just don't be shitty to customers, then no troublesome managers would be summoned. I don't have to rack my brains to drive up profit margins and rake in cash. I could just take it easy. Appreciate being alive again. Only someone who had a close brush with death would learn to cherish time. It's the one precious currency I can't buy with money. And since I was painstakingly revived from the dead, you bet your ass I'd be doing things differently. This time, I will do what I want. And this was the life I adored-enjoying the ambience of soft keyboard clacks, the low hum of the latte machine whirring in the background, the aroma of toasted cinnamon swirls and roasted coffee beans wafting in the air. It's too good to pass up. I'd rather float along at a leisure pace than crack my skull navigating through the sea of shrewd businessmen who were also seasoned liars. Besides, I had amassed more than enough wealth during my heyday to afford lazing around like this.