Chapter Text
“Y/N. I know this comes as a bit of a surprise, an unpleasant one at that. We will provide you with the strongest of recommendation letters and…”
You stare out the window at nothing in particular, past your idiot boss and the woman beside him, a woman who has no particular position within this company except for making others feel uncomfortable with her condescending, backhanded compliments. You wanted to slap that phony, sympathetic smile off her fucking face.
“Down-sizing has been a…difficult decision. We appreciate the work you have done with us. You have great talent, but lately, we have noticed you have seemed a bit…”
Unhappy? Yes.
Irritable? Most of the time.
Undermined? Always.
Overworked? No doubt.
The list could go on and on. You had even been on the lookout for another job, wanting so badly to give your notice, hoping to see them squirm as they realized they were losing their senior designer. Ugh, but of course the bastard beat you to it. This place wasn’t beneath you, but you were not being challenged. You were surrounded by younger staff, all fresh out of college, hell, some even still IN college putting in some hours for internships and college credits. Most of the older staff had moved on, some said ‘fuck it’, and quit a while back, and you didn’t quite understand the hostility until now. And the clients. Oh, the clients! Have them sign contracts, teach them our ‘strategy’ only to let them throw temper tantrums and break down the rules and requirements of forming a successful marketing campaign so they can have a cheap-looking ‘farmhouse’ typeface that does nothing for their brand – but that’s ok. They signed a contract; their money was spent and they were locked in. Keep going. Keep working. Keep creating for the inevitable rejection. You hated it. Even though the clients could be frustrating as hell, it felt like you were cheating them sometimes. That wasn’t a good feeling. But you were making a decent paycheck, plus, with all the freelance work you did, you were quite comfortable. Even though you had leaned into a client the other day under the stress and the fact that your insides were killing you, you also knew the other reason they were “letting you go.” You cost too much. As the oldest and most experienced designer on board, you had maxed out on what they wanted to give. Why pay you what you deserved when they could pay a kid who just walked off a college campus for less?
“Y/N?”
“Hmm...yes. I see. So, which is it? Downsizing, or because I don’t fit into the mold?”
He looks down and scoffs with a smile, his eye coming back up to meet yours.
“We think you will be happier elsewhere.” The woman retorts, still smiling and nodding her head.
“And of course, there will be two weeks’ severance.” Your boss adds.
“How generous,” your response is void of emotion.
The last few minutes of the conversation were a blur. Your insides were rattling and you just wanted to get the hell out of that room and be finished. Eventually, you found yourself walking back to your desk, throwing what mattered into a box. It felt like you had held your breath all the way from the boardroom to your desk. Your chest burned. You’d sell your soul for a cigarette right now, but you had quit seven years ago. Damn it.
“Y/N? What happened in there are you alright? Oh my god, why do you have a box with your- “
Thankfully the elevator door closed and you didn’t have to answer the annoying questions from the new designer. Yes. New. Downsizing my ass. Once you hit the first floor, you marched out into the lobby, not even saying goodbye to the sassy security guard you had worked so hard to befriend over the years.
The parking lot was hot. The smell of fresh asphalt assaulted your nose as you made your way to the car. You throw the box full of crap into the trunk, climb into the driver’s seat and lose it.
“Fuck!” you growled as you hit the steering wheel. Tears spilled down your face.
You didn’t want to go home. You didn’t want to face your younger cousin and tell him “Hey! So umm…you’re the only one making a living at the moment…good talk!”
Drive around. Stall. Good idea.
Driving down Main Street you saw an open parking meter and decided to pull over. A café. Perfect. Outdoor seating is available. Wonderful. You just needed some caffeinated, empty calorie, liquid courage before going home. You throw a couple of quarters in the meter and enter the cafe. The smell that hits you is like a drug; coffee, pastries, and paper? You turn around to see that you are in a café that is part of a bookstore. A pleasant surprise, you thought.
“Hey there. What can I make for ya?” You heard a voice call out from behind the counter.
The brunette wore a black apron and was dumping coffee grounds into a bag. “Do any gardening? Free grounds if you want them!” She nodded at the bag.
“Oh, uh, no thanks. I like plants, but they don’t like me.” You chuckled.
“Say what? What’s not like? You give them a little dirt, and little fertilized, a little water, and a smile. BOOM! Happy plants.”
“Tell that to the cactus I killed.” You squinted.
“Tell that that to the fake tree I killed.” She cackled eyeing an empty planter in the corner of the room. “I get it. My mother doesn’t allow me around the living plants.” She said as she gestured to the other end of the store that held the books. You could see a few potted plants as you glanced in that direction.
She was a funny kid. Early twenties maybe. Dark espresso-brown hair was starting to fall out of the braid that fell down her back. She pointed at a sign on the counter.
“Here are some shop specials. Seasonal drinks, if you need some ideas.”
“Something iced. Something strong.” You said glancing at the list, and back up to the chalkboard menu on the wall.
The brunette narrowed her eyes at you with a slight hint of, what was that… curiosity? Worry? Perhaps she heard the defeat in your voice. Shit. You hoped you didn’t have mascara running down your face. A few tears escaped during your drive and you had neglected to look in a mirror before going out into public.
“Not that I like turning customers away, but The Factory next door has the strong stuff,” she pointed with her thumb to the wall behind her.
“The Factory?” You asked shaking your head.
“It’s a bar. But hey you can drown your sorrows in coffee, too. I got you…” She turned to the espresso machine, index finger in the air.
You tried clearing the worry from your voice. “Do you have a restroom I could use?”
“Sure. Just through the bookstore, back hallway. First door on the right.”
You turned around to go through the bookstore. A blonde girl smiled at you from the top of a ladder as she placed books on a high shelf behind the counter. She pointed to the back hallway. She must have heard the barista speaking. As you made your way to the back hall, a door slammed. The sound of heels echoed on the polished cement floors. A figure moved through the aisle next to you, keys jingling, and a breeze of perfume left in its wake. You continued to the bathroom as you heard a commanding voice in the front of the store.
“Bela, late dinner tonight. After closing. Donna’s?”
“I…I can’t, Mother. I-”
Immediately noises started in the café.
“Cassandra?” The voice boomed over the grinding of the espresso beans.
“Sorry, Mother. Plans.” The girl called out.
A loud sigh, the ringing of the bell, and the slam of a door.
In the restroom you observe the state of your face in the mirror. Thankfully no mascara tracks, but there were definite telltale signs of crying; red puffy eyes, and blotchy cheeks. You took a moment to collect yourself before heading back into the café.
“Oh my!” you say eyeing the concoction the brunette places on the counter near the register. “Umm...what do I owe you for that monster? Twenty bucks?”
“Ehhhh…” she punches a few keys on the register, “Today, I’ll be nice. I’ll charge you for a medium latte. $5.80.”
“Doable. So, what is this?” You ask picking up the cup.
“One of my favorites right now – actually it's nothing we usually make here, just something I concocted for myself. You’re lucky you ordered when you did. This one wanted to give you whipped cream and sprinkles.” The brunette grimaced and rolled her eyes.
Your expression was one of utter confusion. There was no one else there. The blonde was still behind the bookstore counter. The brunette, standing in front of you.
“Boo!” A redheaded girl said, as she popped up from under the pastry case.
It was just the jolt you needed to knock you out of your confusion. You put your hand to your chest and chuckled a bit. You side-eyed the redhead. “Sprinkles and whipped cream? Why?”
“Cass said you looked a bit down. Sprinkles and whipped cream make everything better!” She said as a matter of fact.
“Buuuuuut, I didn’t listen to her. So hopefully you don’t subscribe to that sprinkle nonsense, and you like a quad-shot vanilla latte with cinnamon-espresso ice cubes.” She then leaned forward, with a slightly menacing expression. “But if you tell anyone I made this for you, I’ll have to hurt you.”
“Jesus, Cassandra. Don’t threaten the customers!” You hear the blonde hiss from the other room.
“I kid!” The brunette threw her hands in the air. “Ugh, no sense of humor.” The brunette sighed.
You laughed as you took your debit card out of the card reader. Bringing the cup up to your lips you prepared yourself for the shocking jolt of caffeine that was sure to wreck your stomach later. But to your surprise, it was smooth and comforting.
“Well, shit,” you choked trying to stifle your tears and whispering, “That’s pretty good!”
“Aww,” said the redhead as she handed you a napkin to dry your eyes. “I told you we should have done sprinkles and whipped cream!”
Cassandra put her entire hand in the redhead’s face, and pushed her away gently, causing the redhead to laugh. “I’m here all week, girl. I live to serve.” Cassandra winked as she gave a slight bow.