This is my Atlas Beach mug that I made to commemorate the Games We Play series. They are available for sale, if you want one. It's been so much fun returning to my New Jersey roots for this series. The newest story drops in September as part of the Love and Espresso anthology--although, eventually I'll be releasing it on its own, and then as part of the Whole Latte Love omnibus.
“What are you doing in here?” my cousin Rocky demands Friday morning after nearly plowing into me with a tray of cannoli. The space between the bakery showcase and the back counter had not been designed to comfortably accommodate multiple people, especially when one of them is wielding a heavy tray of pastries and the other is holding a pot of scalding coffee.
“You’re welcome,” I say, as I slide open the doors to the case for him.
“Yeah, yeah. Thanks,” he mutters, slipping the tray inside, but when he turns back to face me he’s still scowling. “Seriously, though. Why?”
“Why am I here?” With a carafe in one hand and a half-filled cup in the other, I’m not sure why he’s asking. “What’s it look like, dude? I’m getting a cup of coffee.”
Also, why does he care? DiLuca’s Italian Bakery is a family-run business. And I’m family. So, why the hell shouldn’t I be here? And yes, technically, my last name’s not DiLuca, but my mom’s was (before she married) and my dad used to work here. Which, for the record, is how they met.
Rocky has always been the big brother I never had and really hadn’t wanted. Mostly because of the bond he had with my father. When I was a kid, I used to think that he was closer to my old man than I would ever be. Now I’m an adult and…yeah. Turns out I was right. But that’s beside the point. The thing is, I’ve been getting my coffee here for months, ever since Joe’s shut down. So you’d think he’d be used to it by now.
“You know we don’t actually sell coffee here,” Rocky tells me now. “Right?”
“Good thing, too. Because I’m not paying for this crap. What’s your point?”
“Oh, I dunno. Maybe…it would be nice if I could make myself a pot of coffee in the morning—strong, the way I like it, with maybe a little bit of cinnamon. Not the weak-as-piss bath water I always have to make for you. Not to mention that there’s usually nothing left in the pot by the time I get to it. Which also sucks.”
I roll my eyes. Lucky for him, I can take a hint as well as anyone. “Oh, stop whining. There’s plenty left,” I tell him as I fill a second cup and hand it over. “Here. All you had to do was ask.”
“Salud,” he says, as we toast each other. Then he twists his long torso around, grabs a couple of biscotti from the jar on top of the case, and hands one to me.
I nod my thanks. He grunts in response. Then we both lean our backs against the counter and spend a nice couple of minutes crunching and sipping in companionable silence.
But, of course, that doesn’t last long.
“So, what’s goin’ on?” he asks, looking puzzled. “I thought the coffee shop was finally open? I figured you’d be there now, drinking one of those fancy drinks with the mile long names.”
Which I guess explains this mud I’m currently drinking. I shake my head. “Nope. Not open yet.”
“Are you sure? Because when I drove by the other day, I noticed the paper had come off the window.”
“Yes, I’m sure. Not that it matters. Because I won’t be going in there ever again.”
“Oh?” Rocky’s expression immediately hardens into the classic DiLuca scowl. “And why’s that?”
My first impulse is to lie. But it’s a small town. He’s gonna find out, eventually. The least I can do is control the narrative.
“Because I just found out that my ex-boyfriend is going to be working there and…it’s awkward, okay? I don’t really want to see him.”
“Boyfriend?” Rocky repeats in surprise. “Since when you got one of those?”
“Ex,” I correct him. “And what do you mean, since when? You think I don’t date?” Although, to be fair, it is a lot less often than I’d like.
Rocky brushes my annoyance aside. “I don’t care about dates. I don’t want to know about your sex life any more’n I want to know about my sister’s sex life. Boyfriend though, that’s a different story. How come you never brought him around to meet the family?”
“Ooh, great idea,” I tell him. “Next time I want to scare someone away, I’ll do that.”
"life is more than just the lies we try and tell ourselves about what we’ve done and who we are.
I guess the truth is that I never stopped loving Ben. And I never stopped imagining how different my life might have been if he were only the person I needed him to be, instead of the person that he is. Which is silly, right? I mean, truly; it’s laughable. Because if he were someone else, he wouldn’t be him. And the world is already full of people like that. What good is one more gonna do me?
Besides, if I’m honest, Ben wasn’t ever the problem. That was me. I was never the person he believed me to be. Oh, I thought I was, in the beginning. I tried hard to be, and that worked for a while. Sort of. But eventually I reached the point where I had to make a choice between living life for myself, or for everyone else.
And when it came right down to that…how could I not choose me?"
