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1
ALINA
I’ve always been an introvert. It doesn’t bother me to be alone; it’s just part of who I am. Sure, I enjoy having friends and spending time with them in low-key situations, but I’ve never wanted or needed to be any sort of social butterfly.
When my mom passed away earlier this year, it tore me into pieces, but it wasn’t really unexpected. She had dealt with several addictions for so long that I had seen the writing on the walls for years. What I didn’t expect, though, was that the house we were living in would be taken away from me in a flash. Without her disability checks, and me barely scraping by as a freelance digital artist, there was no way for me to pay the rent.
Which of course, left me with one option—my dad.
Dad lived with Mom and me for the first five years of my life in Indiana, but his mid-life crisis hit him like a Mac truck, and he left us to live in New Jersey as a newly single man. He sent birthday cards and visited every few Christmases to see me, but Dad was always more of an idea than some tangible member of my family. I never expected to be twenty and on the brink of homelessness, though, and I swiftly only had Dad to fall back on.
Luckily, Dad had bought an enormous historical home in Cape May and made himself quite a bit of money as a real estate mogul. On the drive over from Indiana, I counted at least ten billboards with his face on them.
Ugh. It makes me embarrassed to even think about it. Maybe it’s a good thing my social circle is so small—less of a chance that someone will see one of those billboards and make fun of me for it for the rest of my life.
Now, I find myself standing at the end of his long gravel driveway, staring up at the huge blue Victorian house with white shutters. My old red Honda Civic is next to me, hot from the long drive even in late September.
And there is my Dad, standing in the doorway, waiting for me, looking as awkward as I feel. He’s obviously got plenty of room for me, but that doesn’t mean this is an easy experience for either of us.
But finally, the dam breaks, and he opens his arms for a hug. “Come here, kid.”
So I do.
Dad had a suitcase packed by the door, but he stayed long enough to get me settled in my own room and show me around. There was the strained conversation about Mom, where I admitted we barely spoke for the last two years anyway. I cried, and he hugged me once more, stiff as a board and supremely uncomfortable. At least we got that out of the way early.
He isn’t leaving me for good—again. Instead, his tiny speck of fame from his real estate business has won him the affection of a much younger fitness influencer from California. He’s flying out to stay with her for two weeks, and his trip just so happened to coincide with my hastily planned arrival. I don’t mind … much. While I hope to have some time to bond with the father I barely know, I also understand that it will be nice to have some time alone to adjust to my new life.
It definitely puts a damper on the secret goal I’ve been holding close to my heart, something I have a hard time admitting to myself. Deep down, I want to build a relationship with my father. I’m just so lonely. I think I said goodbye to my mother a long time ago when I knew she wasn’t going to get any better or stop using. I left my few friends back in Indiana, and with all of my work contacts being online, I sometimes can go a week without talking to anyone face to face.
There’s this part of me that thought Dad and I would form this instant bond, and that loneliness I’ve held for so long would be healed. But of course, he has plans. A life. He has to leave, and I’ve already forced myself to get over it.
Really, I shouldn’t complain. I have a place to stay rent-free and a chance to jumpstart my life. Still, that hole inside of me remains.
Blinking back an unexpected fresh bout of tears, I focus instead on my new living space. The decor is what I expected—minimalist stylings that tell me Dad hired an interior designer mixed in with the more classic lines and pieces that must have come with the old house. The fixtures are all new, and everything in the kitchen is shining chrome. My room is done in creams and pale blues and has clearly never been used before. It’s plenty big, and there’s a bathroom right down the hall. It’s all I need—simple and functional.
“So, uh, anything else I can get for you, Ali?”
“Alina,” I correct him, cringing at the nickname he had used so much when I was younger. He left, therefore forfeiting any chance to call me anything but my full name. “And no. I’m good, Dad.”
He rubs his hands together, looking around. “Okay, well, the fridge and pantry are stocked. I’ve got a landscaper coming by to do the lawn. The Wi-Fi password is on a Post-it on the cabinet. You sure you’re going to be okay here by yourself?”
I nod. “I joined an online meetup group for local artists, and I plan to check that out. Then I have that big job fair next week so I can hopefully land a more long-term gig. I’m totally fine.”
Dad raises his eyebrows. “Online meetup group? That doesn’t seem like you.”
He’s not wrong, but in a fit of inspiration and determination to start a new life out here in New Jersey, I catapulted myself out of my comfort zone. In order to meet other people my age with similar careers and interests, I joined multiple social media groups in the area and have been chatting casually with a few people regularly. Through them, I learned there was a job fair coming up where I might be able to score a real, long-term job. Not just the gig work I’ve been subsisting on for months. The idea of seeing these people in person might make me feel cold and sweaty all at the same time, but I’m proud of myself.
“Yeah, well, I don’t want to be in complete social isolation out here. So I’m trying something new.” I shoo him towards the door. “Like you have room to talk, anyway, with your online girlfriend! Get out of here before you miss your flight.”
Laughing, he grabs his suitcase and heads for the door. “Alright, alright. I’m leaving.”
Left alone in the enormous house, I’m suddenly exhausted. It’s just past 10 AM, but my sleep schedule has been such a mess that it hardly makes any difference to me. But now that I’m in Cape May, I want to get my life back on track. So as lovely as a nap sounds, I need to find another way to stay awake.
A little internet sleuthing and a short drive later, I’m parking behind a cafe called Sage and Salt. I need a coffee badly, and I can catch up on a little bit of work while I’m here. Best of all, there is no bed singing a siren song upstairs for me to avoid.
It’s a charming little place, painted sage green to go along with the name. The cafe is more like a cottage than a house and is situated right across the street from the beach—close enough that sand is mixed in with the soil of the slightly overgrown garden.
Inside, the place is warm and inviting, with soft yellow lighting, indie music playing through the speakers, and the scent of freshly roasted coffee beans filling the air. It’s been decorated by someone who loves the place and the coffee business with their whole heart, with pictures of artfully crafted drinks and framed recipes lining the walls.
