Latte Lies

Chapter 1

I roll my eyes as I walk in the cafe doors. The glorious smell of coffee filling my nostrils, my lungs and into my head. I go to smile but remember I'm supposed to be mad. I go to walk behind the counter to start my shift, and look over to Sam, with her dyed dark-red hair, with grey roots coming through. She has a humorous grin across her face, sipping on her coffee.

"Don't even start", I say

"Yes, boss" she giggles. She says "Boss" as I've been basically running this place for almost 6 years, since I was 11. Yet, Sam is in her late 30's, making her at least 15 years older than me.

"I said I'll give him until the 9th. It's bad enough he sent me the roster on Christmas day, as if I hadn't told him that I'm not coming back"

"So why'd you come back and not just say no?"

"Because I've been here too long and know if I leave, with the number of staff we have, this place would be run into the ground in just a few days."

"Talk yourself up much"

"We both know you're the only other one here who does their job properly" we both look around the cafe at the other two staff, Elina and Anabeth, who've come from Germany to work for us for the holidays.  

"Besides, I'm still here because I don't have a backup job, and I need money. it's okay, I threatened John for a raise." It's true. i told him it wasn't fair that I've been here longer than even he has and do the same amount of work a manger does (illegally) and get paid less than anyone else. So, he raised my pay from $22.80, minimum wage, to $24 an hour.

"Huh. Well, that's good. But next time you go to quit, at least tell me first."

"There won't be a next time. January 9th is my last day. That's final."

"Whatever you say, Mattie"

People start clambering through the door. we separate to our sections. Sam on till, and me on the coffee machine. Barista. It's time for a rush. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"How was work?" I dump my bag down in the doorway and walk into the kitchen to look at my mother's face. My mother and I look almost nothing alike. She has dark blackish-brown hair, and hazel-green eyes, dependent on the lighting. She's about 3 feet shorter than me. My sister Cathy looks a lot more like her, with even the same facial features, like her cheek bones. except that Cathy is 2 feet taller than her.

"Shit. As usual" I mumble, breathing in the aroma of something that makes my mouth water. My mother is quite a good cook, but she likes to experiment a little too much, in which ends with the occasional emergency fish and chips for dinner, because it didn't go as planned. One time, mum was making chips out of the potatoes she grew, and used dishwash instead of oil, as they were in similar bottles.

"What's for dinner, mum?" I say as I kiss her cheek.

"Devilled sausages, George's favourite"

"Close. My favourite mum. No onions though, right?"

"Tilly," My family are the only ones who call me that. I'm known as Mattie anywhere else. "Onions add flavour."

No. They don't. I'm really sensitive to spice, and things like onions are just not good. I leave and head to my bedroom. My energy leaves my body as I look at the mess, I live in. books on all my tabletops, clothes across the floor and all my art supplies and craft projects everywhere. I decide to ignore it for now, as I'm too tired from work. I curl up in my bed for a quick sleep while I wait for dinner.