The Problem With Crazy (17 page)

“This order needs to be taken to the table by the window.” The boy shoved a tray with two cups on it toward me. “The one on the right is a latte, the other a skim flat white, and the patrons are seated accordingly.”

I slid the tray to my chest and held it from underneath. No way could I balance the thing with one hand as I’d seen the professional waitresses do, and after my recent scalding-hot-liquid experience-monitoring failure, my confidence was at an all-time low.

When I got to the table and it came time to place the orders, my arm started to shake. I could feel the eyes of the two brothers upon me.

Is this a symptom?

“Hi.” I smiled, in what I hoped was a convincing manner. Customer number one, a lady in a green floral print dress who looked sort of round at the edges, smiled back at me. Customer number two, a man whose face was all hard lines and abrupt posture, did not.

“So, as I was saying, if the market keeps falling like this, we’ll—what are you doing? Drop the coffee, and go.” The man shook his head at me, eyes agog. I hovered with one coffee held aloft, hoping that one of them would indicate it was theirs. Did the boy say his left and right, or my left and right?

“My apologies, sir.” I gave him what I thought was the full-cream drink. Granted his physique was thinner than the woman across from him, but I felt like he was the sort of guy who’d want indulgence, and skim milk was certainly not that. Then I lifted the second cup and saucer, my hand shaking as I placed the rattling drink in front of the lady.

“Thanks.” The man sniffed. He fiddled with a brown, leather wallet lying on the table then placed a ten-dollar note flat on my empty tray. I nodded in thanks and quickly scuttled back to the counter where I slid the tray across toward the boy and his brother.

“You got a tip?” The boy had a very cheeky grin creeping up one side of his face.

“You know he’s already paid, right? He must like you.” Johnny laughed and wiggled his eyebrows comically.

“Well it clearly wasn’t her service.” The boy chimed in. “She gave them the wrong drinks.” The boys guffawed, and Johnny slapped his brother’s back, like it was the funniest thing they’d ever heard. I shuffled my feet.

I was on trial for a job. My bosses knew I was seeing a counsellor. And one of my bosses wouldn’t tell me his name.

Like this wasn’t already embarrassing enough.

“Gu-uys,” I sighed, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

“Seriously? A tenner on top of the coffees is a huge tip.” Johnny gave a gentle smile. “It’s more than the price of the drinks themselves.”

“I think it was more about
this
.” The boy lifted the note and produced a business card from underneath, flipping it around in his fingers. “Looks like he was hoping the ten could influence you to provide a little extra service, if you know what I mean.”

“I think I quit,” I muttered, the heat burning in my cheeks.

“No! Kate, ignore him, he’s an ass.” Johnny jogged around the counter and threw a casual arm around my shoulders. “We were just teasing. I promise I’ll try be more professional.”

“We both will.” The boy placed a jug of water under the milk spout of the coffee machine, and it roared into life as he cleaned it. He gave me a quick wink when Johnny turned away, and I managed a smile back.

I didn’t really know what to make of the two brothers and how easily they’d decided I fit in to their routine. Johnny was such a large personality, and Mr “Try Everything Once” was certainly pleasant enough. I couldn’t help but fit in.

The shift was surprisingly easy. It was a simple job: take orders, serve orders, clear tables, wash, repeat. It wasn’t planning a tour or organising an event, but it killed the time well enough.

“You’re a fast learner,” the boy commented as he watched me press buttons for the correct items on the cash register with speed.

“I’m using a computer. It’s not exactly hard.” I rolled my eyes, but felt myself push up my chest a little. It was nice to know that something in my life was going right for a change.

“True, but sometimes it’s the little things in life, the ones you take for granted, that really are most important.”

I took the coffees he’d placed in front of me and walked to the table where they belonged. His words resonated in my head like they should have meant something, something more.

“What do you mean?” I asked, when back behind the counter.

“I mean that it’s the little things that make life great.”

“But that’s not true.” I crossed my arms against my stomach. He kept playing with the coffee machine, a mysterious little smile on his face as he cleaned the milk spout and dumped the old, used beans in the bin.

“What about college and having a career? Or having babies? Or … or love, and marriage, and all that?” I blurted out. “They’re all huge, massive things. And they’re great. The greatest.”

And they were. When I thought about life potentially with Huntington’s, and the big things being taken away from me, all those doors slamming in my face, there was nothing small to take solace in.

“They’re big things that are built on a series of tiny happily ever afters and tragedies.” He finally put the cleaning materials down, running his hand through his floppy brown hair so it stopped hanging over his eyes. “Say, you had a friend who went to college. Say she went there, and she found love. She got married and had a child.”

“Her life sounds great,” I said.

“Say you did none of those things. Then, say someone announced over a loud-speaker the world was ending tomorrow,” he continued, unperturbed. “Would you rush out, throw yourself into love, make a baby, and enrol in college?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because there’d be no point. I wouldn’t have time.”

“So what would you do?”

“Ummm …” I paused, searching the drawings on the wall. The one closest to me showed a wave, crashing and curling. It was beautiful. “I guess I’d do whatever made me happy.”

“And is what makes you happy the same as what makes your friend happy?”

“No.”

“Isn’t it? In the last twenty-four hours, it’s the little things. You can have all the possessions and love in the world, but on your last day on earth, you and your friend will be enjoying the little things. She’d be smiling like you would, holding hands with those she loves, eating delicious food and—”

“She’d probably be screwing her husband,” I muttered.

“Exactly! She’d have sex.” The boy raised his finger in a very “Elementary, my dear Watson” kind of way. “A symbol of love. A smaller version of the whole. A tiny great thing that can end in a marriage, a baby, a life together.”

“If it was sex with a random it wouldn’t be great.” I drew my brows.

“Everyone is random to someone.” He smiled. “Which brings me to my point; until you can appreciate the greatness of opportunity in the small things—and I’m not just talking about sex—you won’t be able to really appreciate the great bigger things that could be heading your way.”

“I don’t have great bigger things.” I turned, and started to tidy a pile of napkins. A light sweat broke out on the back of my neck. Something about this talk made me uneasy.

“You do.” The boy shrugged. “You just haven’t found them yet.”

“God, he’s not getting all Zen on your ass again, is he?” Johnny came swooping into the service area, and all the awkward feelings that were busy swirling and churning their way through my gut dissipated.

“Johnny is a prime example of someone who doesn’t know how to appreciate the little things.” The boy arched an eyebrow at me and swatted his brother’s thigh with a rolled up tea towel.

“That’s because me and the word
little
don’t tend to go hand in hand.” He laughed, and faux punched his brother in the stomach. “Don’t scare Kate off, bro. I really want her to be our new employee.” Johnny smiled, and I felt my body relax. Weird spiritual talks aside, I’d nailed it. I guess that meant I’d gotten the job.

“Yeah, yeah.” The boy nodded and shrugged the whole thing off. Something about their brotherly camaraderie made me comfortable. It wasn’t stiff and terse, as things were with my family at the moment. In fact, with their over-the-top joking, there was barely a formal moment. They’d been through the ultimate tragedy, but their family bond was strong.

Why couldn’t I be more like that?

The shift continued much in that fashion, the two boys laughing and teasing until Johnny excused himself when the last customer walked out, saying he had a counselling appointment to go to.

“So, what’s next?” I asked. The café was empty and the streetlights had started to flicker on. Dark shadows spread across the room.

“Well, usually I stack the chairs then wash the floors.” The boy lifted a chair up and stood it on the table, placing another upside down on its seat.

I watched him do one table, then start on a second. After a while he tilted his head at me, a puzzled look on his face.

“Is something wrong?”

“Nope.” I shook my head and leaned back against the counter.

“You just don’t feel like helping?”

“You didn’t say
we
do it. You said that’s what
you
do. So, I’m watching.” I folded my arms and flashed him a cheeky grin of my own. It felt good to get some back, after their teasing earlier in the day.

“You like to watch?” He walked over to the door and flicked the
Open
sign to
Closed
. He flashed a look back at me over his shoulder and I was glad for the counter’s support. Otherwise, I don’t know how well my knees would have handled the hot flush that momentarily weakened them.

The boy approached, taking long, deliberate steps toward me. He cleared the café in an agonising thirty seconds and I took in his tall, lean body, the olive toned skin, the glasses that screamed kind of nerdy but cute, and how they amplified the deep intent in his eyes.

“I’m glad you came in for the trial.” His face was inches from mine. My heart pounded against the walls of my chest, busting to get out of my ribcage.

Was he going to kiss me? Was this really happening?

I licked my lips, and felt the heat of his breath on my face. He smelt like coffee, and outdoors, and man.

I thought about how his lips would feel, how his body would feel, how I wanted it pressed up against me. I’d never felt this sort of attraction with Dave. Maybe that was because we were meant to be just friends.

Friends
. Because that’s what me and this boy were. And all because of who and what my life had become.

There was no point trying to pursue something with this guy when, once he knew the truth, it’d all be over. He seemed to be okay with Dad on a surface level, but when he found out about the hereditary nature of the disease and how much worse Dad was going to get, I doubted he’d stick around. For crying out loud; he wouldn’t even tell me his name. How likely was it he’d be accepting of Huntington’s?

“Yeah. It’s great Johnny likes me, and seems to want me back.” My voice was light and airy. I pushed off the counter and walked over to the nearest table, stacking the chairs in a mirror image of what I’d just seen him do.

“Yeah. I’d say he does for sure.” I couldn’t look at his face. I didn’t want to see if he was hurt or—worse—completely unaffected. I didn’t want to see him at all, not while I was so damn confused.

“You can take off now, Kate.” I turned to him, and he nodded to the door. “I’ve got the rest of this.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

I walked over to the door and paused there for a second, unsure if I was doing the right thing.

“Kate?”

“Yes?” I spun around at lightning speed.

He was there, right behind me, incredibly close. I had no idea how he’d moved so fast, but his broad shoulders were suddenly at my chin level, the muscled lines of his arms visible beneath his shirt.

I slowly let my eyes roam up his body, across his chest and over his rigid jawline, over the little freckle on his cheek and deep into his chocolate eyes that were staring into mine, staring through me, like he could see every little secret I’d ever kept.

Don’t look at his lips, Kate
.
Do not look at his lips.

I let my eyes flick down to his lips and saw they were slightly parted and wet. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and a shiver ran down my spine.

Maybe it would be worth it after all. Maybe he’d be different.

Maybe he wouldn’t call me or my family members crazy.

“Lachlan.” His lips formed the word.

“Pardon?” I was jerked out of the moment, my eyes snapping back to his. I’d been about to kiss him, even after I’d decided not to earlier. I was—what was
wrong
with me?

The heat of embarrassment warmed my cheeks again, and I wanted to melt in a puddle on the floor. Why would I have thought he liked me? Why would I look at his lips, for crying out loud?

He was telling me his name. Not trying to make out with me.