"How are you today, sir? What will you be having today?" I said with a polite smile, clutching my notepad.
The man glanced up from his menu, muttering something about wanting "the usual," and I had to bite back a laugh. I'd been working here less than a week—how was I supposed to know what "the usual" was?
"Of course! One moment, sir." I plastered on my brightest customer-service smile, turned, and made a beeline for the kitchen.
"Hey, Jen," I whispered to the girl by the coffee station. "What's Mr. Usual's usual?"
Jen smirked. "Mr. Grumpy Pants over there? Black coffee and a BLT. No mayo."
"Got it. Thanks!" I scribbled the order down, exhaling in relief.
---
I didn't know how I ended up here, working at this cozy little café with its mismatched chairs and slightly peeling wallpaper, but somehow, it felt... right.
After two weeks of staying in bed, ignoring calls from my old job, and basically wallowing in my own misery, I finally got the email I had been dreading: Your employment has been terminated due to prolonged unapproved leave. Translation: We're done waiting for you to get your act together.
At first, it felt like another kick while I was already down, but now? Now, it feels like a blessing in disguise. That job had sucked the life out of me. The endless deadlines, the micromanaging boss, the sterile cubicles—it was all wrong for me.
My mom was the one who convinced me to get up. Well, convinced is generous. It was more like relentless pestering.
"You can't just lie there forever, Aris," she said one morning, standing over me with her arms crossed.
"Watch me," I'd mumbled, burying my face in the pillow.
She'd sighed, and for a moment, I thought she'd let it go. But of course, my mom wasn't one to back down easily. "If you're staying in my house, you're going to do something with yourself. No daughter of mine is going to waste her life over some boy who doesn't even deserve her."
---
Moving back in with my mom had been my safety net. She didn't approve of Daren, never had. She used to call him my "bad decision phase." When things were good between us, her disapproval didn't bother me. I'd brush it off, convinced she didn't understand.
But now? Her words stung in a way they hadn't before.
"You're better than this, Aris," she'd said. "I know you don't see it now, but you'll thank me later."
It was easier to move back home, easier to lean into her strength when mine felt nonexistent. But it wasn't without its challenges.
---
The café job had been her idea too. She'd shoved the newspaper under my nose, circling the ad in bright red pen.
"Seriously, who even reads newspapers these days?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Excuse me, I do!" she said, clutching it like it was her prized possession.
"Wow, living in 2022 but stuck in 1984," I teased.
"Keep talking, and I'll use this 'ancient' newspaper to find you a therapist," she shot back, deadpan.
"Small restaurant seeks part-time help," I read aloud. "This is what you're signing me up for?"
"It's something to get you out of the house," she said, shrugging. "You can't wallow forever."
And, as much as I hated to admit it, she was right.
---
By the end of my shift, my feet were screaming, but my heart felt lighter than it had in months.
"You're getting the hang of it," Jen said as we wiped down the tables. "Even Mr. Grumpy Pants left you a tip. That's progress."
"Fifty cents," I said, holding up the coin. "Big spender. Maybe I'll invest in a yacht."
Jen laughed, and for the first time in a long time, I laughed too.
---
When I walked through my mom's front door that evening, the smell of her cooking hit me first—something warm and comforting. Probably her famous stew.
"You're late," she called from the kitchen.
"Blame Grumpy Pants," I said, kicking off my shoes.
She poked her head out, raising an eyebrow. "Grumpy who?"
"Never mind," I said, waving her off.
---
My mom's house was familiar, but being here again was a strange adjustment. I was nineteen, not a child anymore, and yet sometimes, it felt like I hadn't grown up at all.
As I sat at the kitchen table, spooning stew into my mouth, my mom's watchful eyes bore into me.
"You seem lighter," she said eventually.
"I guess," I replied, shrugging. "It's... nice to have something to do."
Her lips twitched into a faint smile. "I told you this would be good for you."
"Don't get cocky, Mom."
She laughed, and for a moment, it was like the weight of the past few months hadn't existed.
---
Later that night, as I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, the memories of Daren still lingered, flitting in and out of my mind like shadows.
But they weren't as heavy as they used to be.
Maybe it's because I'm moving forward, even if it's just a little.
Maybe this is what I needed all along.
And for the first time in a long time, I felt like I might be okay.