The Espressologist (8 page)

Thanksgiving Day starts out just as I expected. Dad, Uncle Ed, Grandpa Turner, and my cousins Nathan (whom I still haven't forgiven for the whole homecoming debacle last year) and Kevin are all parked on the couch in front of the TV watching football. Mom, Grandma Torreni, Aunt Sally, and my super people-pleasing cousin Susie are all cooking a ton of food in the kitchen. I don't know where to go. I don't want to cook and I hate football. I consider sneaking back into my room to read the new book I bought last week when I hear my name.

“Jaaaaaaaane,” my mom calls.

Oh crap. I head toward the kitchen. The silver fixtures and appliances gleam and the pumpkin-colored walls give the room a warm feeling. I stand outside the door, hoping that is as close as I will have to get.

“There you are,” Mom says. “Come here and hold the turkey's legs apart so I can pull out the guts.” Mom is standing next to the sink holding on to the pimply-skinned legs of a gigantic turkey.

“What?” I twist my face in disgust. “No way, that is so gross.”

“Jane, I need you,” Mom says in a stern voice now.

“Um, I'd really rather not.”

“I can help you, Auntie Cheryl,” Susie says, and I roll my eyes.

“No, Susie, you are elbow-deep in stuffing. Jane, NOW,” Mom orders.

I'm not going to get out of this.

“Oh, for god's sake,” I mutter under my breath as I join my mom at the sink. “Fine, I'm here. What do I have to do?”

“Grab each leg with one of your hands and spread.”

“You are going to at least give me gloves to wear, right?” I ask.

“It's just a turkey, Jane. Now grab.”

I tentatively grab each of the turkey's legs in my hands and I swear I'm about to retch. The turkey totally looks like a big fat baby with its peachy wet skin. Its wings are both folded in close to its chest and I really think I am going to lose it right here on the spot. I turn my head and close my eyes.

“Okay, now spread,” Mom says. I yank the turkey's legs apart and I feel a little dizzy. I don't know why, but I turn back to the sink and open one eye to see what Mom is doing. Just then I see her whole forearm disappear into the turkey and then reappear with a mound of gushy red turkey innards.

“Oh, my god!” I yell. I let go of the turkey legs, cover my mouth, and run out of the kitchen to the bathroom.

I hear my mom sigh and Susie say, “Don't worry, Auntie Cheryl, I've got it.”

But I don't even care. Let Susie hold the turkey's legs. I'm so not going back in there.

After a moment of dry heaving over the toilet, I step to the sink and squirt three large globs of antibacterial soap onto my hands. I scrub for a few moments, trying to erase any evidence of the last few minutes.

I head to my room to think about what to do next. Well, I'm certainly not about to eat turkey after what I've just seen. A smile spreads over my face as I remember Will's invitation yesterday and I decide to attempt slipping out and hitting his Thanksgiving celebration. I pick up yesterday's pants off the top of my laundry pile and search for Will's phone number. I find the piece of paper, grab my cell phone off my desk, and climb up on my bed to make the call. I dial his number, mentally preparing what I'm going to say as I hear someone pick up.

“I'm sorry, the wireless number you are trying to reach is not in service,” a mechanical woman's voice says to me.

“What?” I say. I take the phone away from my ear and look at it. “That can't be right.” I hit
END
on my cell phone and then dial the number again. The same robot chick answers.

“I'm sorry, the wireless number you are trying to reach is not in service.”

I snap my phone shut and lean back on my pillows. I wonder what happened. Did his parents find out he failed his quiz
and turn off his cell phone service? No, that would be overly dramatic, wouldn't it?

I hope he is okay. What if he got in a terrible accident? He could have been standing too close to the train tracks on his way home last night when he heard someone yell his name. Only it wasn't him they were calling: it was a girl named Jill. But it was too late; he turned too fast, lost his footing, and fell right onto the tracks. Before he could scramble off, WHOOSH! He was run over by the orange line! Oh, no. Poor Will. He's probably lying in a hospital bed somewhere calling out my name.

“Jane . . . Jane . . . Jane . . .”

But no. That doesn't make sense either. His phone would have just forwarded to voice mail if it had been squashed by a train. That, and I'm sure there probably would have been something on the news.

I lie on my bed for a few more minutes and then I sit bolt upright, suddenly feeling a little nauseated again. Did he give me a fake phone number? No. I mean, he wouldn't do that, right?

I try to read my book, which is really pretty good, but it doesn't take my mind off the whole Will phone number thing. I decide to go on instant messenger and see if there is anyone else online to talk to. I log on and a moment later see my buddy list window appear. I scan the list—Megan87, Beerfreak111, HotButterKisses, and EM2009. Yes! Em is online. I quickly send her a message.

baristachick09: EM!! OMG, I'm so glad u r online!!!

EM2009: Hey, Happy Turkey Day!

baristachick09: Seriously, no turkey talk. : (

EM2009: Y? What's wrong?

baristachick09: Em, am I totally lame? Do u think Will likes me?

EM2009: Will, who gave you his #, Will? Totally.

baristachick09: That's just it.

EM2009: ???

baristachick09: I called the #. Not in service.

baristachick09: r u still there?

EM2009: Yeah. Just thinking.

baristachick09: It's bad, right?

EM2009: I dunno. Maybe, maybe not. Maybe something happened?

baristachick09: Like what?

EM2009: I don't know, ask him when u c him.

baristachick09: Maybe. : (

EM2009: Cheer up. It's a holiday! : )

baristachick09: Y r u in such a good mood?

EM2009: : ) : ) : )

baristachick09: What? Tell me.

EM2009: Cam=AWESOME.

baristachick09: u talked to him?

EM2009: Yeah. A few times. We were just IMing but he had to go help cook. OMG, what a sweetie.

baristachick09: He is.

EM2009: We r going out tomorrow night.

baristachick09: u r? Cool.

EM2009: u r ok with that, right? r u mad?

baristachick09: No.

EM2009: r u sure?

baristachick09: Yeah.

EM2009: Remember—u set us up . . .

baristachick09: I know, I know. Not mad, promise. Just thinking about the Will thing.

EM2009: Don't let it ruin your day. 4real.

baristachick09: Ok.

EM2009: My mom is calling. Got2go. c u tomorrow, k?

baristachick09: c u.

I log off and sit back in my desk chair. I know I set Cam and Em up and I am happy that Em is happy but . . . I don't know. I guess I'm a little surprised that they've hit it off so quickly. They're both awesome, so I guess I shouldn't be too surprised. Ugh. It's probably this whole Will thing making me feel weird. I push away from my computer, climb back into bed, and throw my fuzzy pink covers over my head. Maybe a nap will help.

It's still dark out after I've slowly trudged into the store. I can't believe I have to work this early, but it's Black Friday, our busiest day of the year. Everyone comes in for coffee to keep
warm and awake while they wait in line at electronics or toy stores or wherever else all the big sales are. I'm trying to mentally prepare for the day of craziness when I see a sleepy-eyed Em come in.

“Hey, Jane,” she says. She yawns and walks to the break room to put her stuff away. She comes back up front and helps me arrange the chairs.

“Tired?”

She yawns. “Uh-huh.”

“I'll go make some drinks to wake us up.”

“Good idea.”

“Have you tried the maple macchiato yet?” I ask.

“No, but I'll drink anything this morning. I need something to kick me into gear.”

I step behind the counter and turn on the espresso machine. Derek comes out from his office and gives me a look.

“Jane, I need to see you,” he says.

Shoot. He looks pissed. What could I have done now? I follow him back to his office and take a seat.

“What's up?” I ask.

“Well,” he starts, “I don't want to take the word of one employee over another, but if there is something going on I need to stop it right now.” I stare at him blankly.

“What are you talking about?”

“You've been doing well lately, Jane. Really.”

“Okay . . .”

He sighs heavily. “Are you giving out free drinks to your friends?” he asks.

“What?” I hope I sound shocked. “No, of course not! Who would say that about me?”

“I really shouldn't say,” he answers slowly, but instantly I know. It's that stupid middle-aged Botox-faced Daisy.

“Daisy told you that, didn't she?” I ask. Derek holds up both hands in protest.

“I really shouldn't say,” he repeats, shaking his head from side to side.

“You don't have to,” I say. “I know it is her—she is totally jealous of me. And how can you trust someone whose face doesn't move when she talks? You wouldn't even know if she's lying.”

Derek smirks at this, but then quickly goes back to stone-faced.

“Okay, like I said, I don't want to take one employee's word over another's. But if you are giving away free drinks, you need to stop immediately. It is grounds for dismissal.”

“I'm totally not, Derek,” I lie, but mentally promise myself to never do it again.

“All right,” he says. “Go on back up front and finish setting up.”

I nod and rejoin Em.

“Unbelievable,” I say in a low voice when I'm within earshot of her.

“What?” she asks.

“I'm going to totally kill Daisy when I see her. She told Derek that I'm giving away free drinks to my friends.”

“Omigod, what a witch!” Em says. She stops refilling the cookie tray to look at me.

“Yeah, I can't believe she'd do that to me,” I say. I twist my hair with my fingers.

“Especially when I've seen her giving away low-fat muffins to her Jazzercise friends!” Em says.

“Jazzercise?” I giggle at the thought of Daisy dancing around a room with a bunch of women. “Yeah, I guess I can see that.”

“Well, I know why she did it,” Em says.

“Why?”

“She wants your job.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh. Daisy thought she should have been promoted to assistant manager.”

“Why? I'm totally better than her and I've been here longer,” I say.

Em shrugs.

“What a brat.”

“You definitely have to put her in her place,” Em says.

“I will,” I agree. “For starters, I think someone should be on bathroom cleaning duty for at least the next month.”

Em nods and gives me a thumbs-up.

By five-twenty a.m., we're ready to open up the store.

“You still haven't asked me about Cam,” Em says.

“I'm sorry, I meant to. What's going on?”

“Well,” she tells me, her eyes lighting up, “he's taking me roller skating tonight! Can you imagine? I haven't been roller skating since I was like ten.”

I smile. “That is so cute.”

“Then he wants to go to a fifties restaurant for cheeseburgers and milkshakes.”

“It sounds like you guys will totally have fun.”

“Seriously, Jane,” Em says, refilling the stack of cups by the register, “I didn't think this was a good idea at all, what with the whole Jason thing, but it has really made me feel better! And Cam is awesome. You are such a great Espressologist!”

“A what?” Derek appears behind us, fastening an apron around his back, preparing to help us with the expected crowd.

“Oh, um . . .” Em stammers, looking back and forth between Derek and me.