“I still can’t believe you forgave me so soon.” I said, my mouth too full of a breakfast sandwich for any normal human being to understand me. I never said though, that Avery was normal.

            “I can. I mean, I was mad. Really mad. But there was fault on both sides.” She said this very confidently. Too confidently, I thought, but I knew that I must be reading too far into it.

            “Well, I’m glad we were able to solve it.” I said finally. I couldn’t explain it, but I felt more and more like it wasn’t completely past us. It was way too easy.

            “Me too.” She smiled. “So what are we doing tonight?”

            “Well, I’m working for your sister.” She rolled her eyes in response.

            “Ugh, damn it. Well then I’m booking you for tomorrow.”

            “I don’t know… my schedules looking pretty busy – I might already be taken.” I meant it as a joke, but evidently didn’t execute it properly, because she was leering at me. “It’s a joke, Avery. You’re my girlfriend, of course I’ll be with you tomorrow.” She sighed and rolled her eyes subtly.

            The rest of our morning was spent walking around some local shops as the sun filled the streets with a nearly blinding light. We enjoyed light conversation, and every time I had almost forgotten the incident, her sore cheek reappeared to keep my mood from elevating to new heights. When she would see my face fall, though, she’d just lace her fingers into mine, not breaking her stride. Eventually she walked me home, and it was then that we parted. The next few hours were spent catching up on restful sleep that I’d somehow missed the night before. In my last moments of consciousness, though, I couldn’t help but think that something wasn’t right. Something was off about her. I wasn’t sure that I should complain, but the voice in my head wasn’t going to die out anytime soon. I decided that until I knew what it was that was different, I shouldn’t approach her about it. With this thought, I drifted.

            “White Mocha” “Grande” “Java Chip Frappuccino” “Venti” “Caramel Macchiato” “Spice Latte” “Half-caf.”

            These words became the soundtrack of my life starting at 6. My hands worked tirelessly to prepare each drink while Sydney took the orders. Thank, God – Sydney was much better with the customers than I was. Tonight, though, even Sydney struggled. It was as if every other coffee shop in LA had closed down. Before the counter was an interminable sea of heads. A sea of thirsty heads.