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I haven’t had breakfast and my stomach rolls at the words, basil, watermelon, mint, and even strawberry. I’m moving past hungry to the point where my maudlin mood will be apparent if I don’t start participating in the fun my girlfriends are having.
“What did you find?” I rise from the recliner and push my sunglasses above my brow, making them into a headband, but lean away from the icky perfumes. “Are we going to see Aidy?”
“Did your espresso kick in, dearest?” Holly counters the two swift questions with a pat on the arm.
“Yes, finally.” I lie.
“How long until your next dose?”
Eight to ten hours, but who’s counting? No one here. This hurts too much to share with my girlfriends.
“You’re awful.” I quip instead.
“Oh, I’m awful? Come here, let me hug you! Have you ever worked with you when you are caffeine-free? I’m terrorized by the idea of Owen becoming a big brother. Nine months of you drinking decaf at midnight and I’m jumping up and down when Jake drags his sorry ass into the club.”
Holly’s the first to pull out of the embrace, unaware my back has stiffened.
“Say what you mean, why don’t you?” I stroke my long red hair back behind my shoulders.
We both snicker. I’m secure in the rapport we keep. But if Holly only knew.
“You know I will. I love you so much, I’ll even buy your next grande.”
There’s only one thing I want more than a Baked Beans’ grande. Yet, I’m done holding onto hope that this month will end any differently than the others have since my son was born. I’m sick and tired of feeling sick and tired for no damned good reason.
Sloan calls to me and I slide the sunglasses over my eyes again so none of them bear witness to the tears pricking behind my eyes.
________________
Walking into Baked Beans, the smell of heaven assaults my senses. It’s too bad perfumers don’t make coffee scents like the candlemakers do. If the lotion we left Holly and Cece fawning over came in arabica or robusta I would have bought the lot.
Holly is right, this morning proves that un-caffeinated I’m not myself. However, I’ve been doing a fantastic job of pulling the wool over everyone’s eyes for the past three months. I went cold-turkey when I got pregnant with Owen. Irritability combined with morning sickness didn’t do me any favors, even though back then my day didn’t start until dinnertime.
Sloan and I wait our turn at the counter. The same slice of heaven I felt inhaling the warm aroma of the coffee shop settles into my heart when the barista’s face breaks into a wide grin. I can’t stifle the smile I return. Seeing Aidy is like looking into a mirror at a youthful, and much happier, version of me. The other difference? Those violet highlights in her long red hair.
I gave Aidy up for adoption twenty-one years ago. It was the most selfless choice I’ve ever made, and also the most painful up until now. She is perfection all grown up, leading the life I dreamt for her, and blessedly untouched by the ugliness the direction my own life had taken when she was a child.
The moment Aidy stood up for her boyfriend, Morgan, letting her adoptive parents know she was capable of seeing past a person’s flaws and accepting them for who they are, reinforced I’d made the best decision trusting the Fairley’s to raise my daughter. She wouldn’t have grown up with that level of confidence otherwise. I certainly didn’t have it when I was her age.
Aside from the fact that Don and Ghillie Fairley have stepped in to love my son, Owen, like he’s their grandchild, the best thing about my relationship with Aidy is how close we’ve become. She and Morgan live on the third floor of my home. And for as busy as Aidy is with college and this part-time job at Baked Beans, it’s rare—after close to nineteen years living without her—a day goes by that we’re not able to spend more than a few minutes together.
We’re like sisters and she’s one of my best friends. Not many can say that about a child they’ve given birth to. When I think upon the reasons I decided to get clean and sober, this was an unimaginable reward. I’m grateful for the chance to witness the person she’s becoming. Yet, that doesn’t mean we share every secret, nor does it take away from the fact that Ghillie has been Aidy’s mom since the day she was born.
“What’ll it be, Sloan?” Aidy’s already got her hand on the cup and cardboard sleeve, ready to lift the frothing pitcher to steam milk for my latte. “I already know Kimber’s order.”
“Actually, Dumplin’, can I get one of those boba teas?”
“Chai? That’s the one I brought home last week.”
“Yes, please. And easy on the sugar.”
“Coming up! Sloan?” Aidy puts away the shiny tools she was about to use.
“I’ll stick with an Americano with soy milk, thanks.”
My elbow pokes Sloan’s rib. “You should have said ‘weak bean water’.”
It’s what I’ve been choking down all morning.
