Coffee and Cream

Life Is A

                                                                                        DARCELLE

Mal came over to sit with Nathan and me at lunch, plopping his tray down across from us with the kind of confidence that made me wonder if he had any self-awareness. Nathan and I were deep into one of our usual conversations, this time about The Denial of Death. I was gesturing animatedly, too excited about the book to even touch the food on my tray.

Nathan was listening to me, nodding thoughtfully while shoveling mashed potatoes into his mouth. He always listened, which was one of the things I liked most about him. I could go on and on about existentialism, human mortality, and the absurdities of life, and Nathan would be right there, engaged, even if he didn't always agree. Mal, on the other hand, just didn't get it.

"Why are you talking about death while eating?" Mal said, giving me this look like I'd just ruined his appetite. I rolled my eyes, leaning back in my seat.

"That's how Nathan and I roll," I replied with a smirk, picking up my fork but still too caught up in the conversation to actually eat. "If you can't handle that, you can always find somewhere else to sit."

Mal frowned but stayed put, shoving fries into his mouth like he was determined to prove a point by staying. Nathan shot me a quick glance, trying to hide the grin playing at the corners of his lips. He wanted so badly to make a joke at Mal's expense, I could feel it. But he stayed quiet for now. It was a shame, really. In some alternate universe where things were less... complicated, Emrys and Nathan would've been the best of friends. The three of us even. But I couldn't think like that—what Emrys and I had wasn't conventional and never would be.

Mal tried to shift the conversation, like he couldn't stand being left out of the intellectual banter. "Hey, there's a party at one of the frat houses tonight," he said, his tone a little too eager. "You should come with me."

I didn't even hesitate. "Can't. I've got work," I said, keeping my voice casual but firm, like I wasn't going to entertain any arguments. Mal looked disappointed but didn't push it, probably sensing that if he did, I'd snap. Eventually, he got the hint and left to go sit with his usual crowd.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Nathan shook his head, laughing under his breath. "That guy really doesn't know how to take a hint, does he?"

I sighed, shaking my head in agreement. "Nope. I don't think he ever will."

Nathan chuckled again, finally making that joke he'd been holding back all lunch. "Maybe we should start talking about more cheerful stuff—like taxes or global warming. That'll definitely send him running."

I laughed, but my mind wandered for a moment. Mal's persistence was annoying, sure, but it was nothing compared to the complexity of my relationship with Emrys. Mal wanted me in this simple, straightforward way. Emrys... he was different. He was the storm and the calm that came after. We had a connection no one else could touch.

I pushed my thoughts away and refocused on Nathan, who was now launching into a story about his latest art project. Lunch was always better with him—easy, no expectations, just the two of us discussing everything from death to abstract art.

Still, in the back of my mind, I couldn't help but think about Emrys, about how different things would be if we could be as open as this. But that wasn't us, and it probably never would be.

*******

I was minding my business, packing up items for a customer when some guy strolled up to my counter holding a carton of milk like it was evidence in a murder trial. He looked at me, all indignant, and said, "Why is this spoiled milk still on the shelf?"

Without even looking up from scanning the next customer's items, I shot back, "Well, if it's spoiled, maybe just pick another one? You can leave that here, or put it on the table or something." I forced a polite smile as I finished the transaction with the sweet older woman in front of me, thanking her for shopping and telling her to have a nice day.

But, of course, the milk guy wasn't done. He just had to ask, "But why is it on the shelf in the first place?"

I could feel the irritation creeping in. With the fakest smile I could muster, I turned to him and said, "Sir, if you don't like that milk, feel free to pick a good one. This whole back-and-forth is really unnecessary, and I'm in no mood for it." My tone was drenched in sarcasm, but he clearly didn't get it.

"Do your job," he snapped, slamming the carton onto the counter like that was going to scare me into compliance.

I raised an eyebrow. "My job?" I asked, voice dripping with disdain. "Sir, my job is to take money and bag groceries, not babysit spoiled milk. Maybe if you took off your shades, you'd see the actual employees you're supposed to complain to." I gestured vaguely toward the manager's office, not that I cared if he actually went there or not.

He didn't like that. Of course he didn't. He slammed the milk down harder this time, making a show of it. "I'm going to report this. You can't have spoiled products on the shelves!"

I laughed—like, an actual laugh—and said, "Yeah, you know what? You're right. Let's shut down every grocery store while we're at it. One expired carton of milk, end of the world. Apocalypse incoming." I sighed dramatically. "Besides, we check the shelves for expired stuff tonight, so you're a little early with the outrage."

That wasn't good enough for him. He slammed his palm on the desk this time, making such a scene that people around started muttering, telling him to calm down. I could practically smell the booze on his breath, and I realized this wasn't about milk at all.

"Alright," I said, rolling my eyes as I reached for the phone, "time to call security."

I could hear people behind me whispering, some in shock, others just fed up with the dude's tantrum. Before long, the store's security guards were walking up, ready to escort him out.

I leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, watching with a grin as they led him away, still mumbling threats about getting the place shut down.

"Thanks for shopping," I called out mockingly after him, unable to resist a final jab.