"Marry me, Esmera."
"Dude, all I ask for in return for making your coffee is three dollars." Esmera giggled as she placed the plastic lid over Julian's steaming cup. "A diamond ring and a legal commitment would totally ruin what we got going."
That was something Esmera knew too well. Marriage had been the one thing she thought would give her the stability and love she had always yearned for, but like everything else in her life, it had distorted into some warped version of itself.
It had nearly trapped her in its ruins when it collapsed. It had grown so rotten with hate that it had infected Esmera with hate for herself.
She was weak. She had been so desperate to be loved that she had sped past all the red flags. She had let Stephan get away with everything he did to her because she was afraid of speaking up. She had let it go on for too long in the mistaken belief that it would stop of its own accord.
Everything that had happened to Esmera was her fault.
So, she wouldn't let it happen again.
Esmera wasn't ready to remarry. She'd have explained all her reasons to Julian if he didn't have a pattern of proposing to her in jest.
She was free from the shackles of a violent marriage, yet every joke she heard and told still came with an edge sharp enough to cut.
Julian tilted his head as he regarded Esmera. An unmistakable playfulness lingered in the quirk of his mouth. "I think I might like to keep you in my kitchen so I can have good coffee at any hour without making a detour that I might regret." He looked down at his watch, frowning as he registered the time.
"Late class?" Esmera plucked a napkin from the folded pile behind the counter.
"Late exam. Serves me right for choosing to study things better seen in the night sky."
"Hey, don't pretend you don't love astronomy."
Esmera saw it in the way Julian's voice brightened when he had a fascinating fact to share with her. She saw it in the faraway look in his eyes after he had a thought-provoking class.
She never understood much of what he said, but she loved basking in the passion radiating from him. She hadn't met many men who had such enthusiasm for a topic of education.
"I do love it." Julian looked up with a hurried smile. "I really need to run, but if I survive this paper"—he pointed at himself, then Esmera— "you and me, ring shopping, tomorrow."
"Whatever you say." She rolled her eyes, holding out his coffee with the gold and black logo of The Buttery Croissant Coffeehouse pressed against her palm. "But I must warn you, I have expensive taste."
Julian's hands were warm against Esmera's as he took the cup. "My student budget is not happy to hear that, but I'm sure I'll come up with something." Julian laughed. "See ya!"
"Good luck with your exam!" Esmera called out as Julian sped towards the door.
He gave her a last grin as he slipped out into the afternoon.
Esmera smiled after him. He was her favourite regular because he inspired her. He made her believe that the stars were within reach, that she might be able to follow her passion too. That was why she worked as a barista and saved all her spare cash even though she couldn't get out of bed to face the job most days.
Music school was expensive, but Esmera would find her way there someday. If Julian could stay up late studying towards his dream, she could work however many hours were needed to save up for hers.
Esmera had always loved making music. It had been the one activity that made the scattered pieces of her fit together ever since that day she sat down at the orphanage's piano and first played.
After a few lessons from the music teacher, Esmera could read sheet music. Not too long afterwards, she could play her favourite pieces from memory. She hadn't played them in years, but she knew her fingers would rediscover their rhythm if she sat down at a piano now.
Esmera would always remember those pieces, how they made her soul soar, how they dissolved her worries and fears. They were a part of her now, and they made her dare to believe.
In the two months since Esmera had left Stephan, Julian was the only person who reminded her what it was like to dream. She smiled to think of it.
That smile vanished when the next customer strode up to the counter.
There was trouble in every click-clack of the woman's heels on the tiles. Her red crocodile skin bag and perfect French tips confirmed Esmera's suspicions.
Esmera knew the type. They came with fangs concealed behind their glossy lips. She called them viper ladies.
Esmera's stomach shrunk in fear. She took a deep breath and tried for a polite smile, but all she could muster was a flicker of her lips.
"One frappe," the woman demanded in a nasal voice. No hello, no please.
Esmera sighed. She glanced at the big clock hanging above the coffeehouse's entrance. It was seven minutes before four.
Dammit. It was too early for Esmera to pass the order onto someone else and end her shift. She hated making frappes, and she doubted this woman would be impressed with her attempt.
The viper lady watched Esmera as if daring her to refuse her order, her small eyes hard and her painted red lips pressed into a line.
"Coming right up!" Esmera plastered a smile across her face. She turned away from the customer as her body went into autopilot.
Frappes had seemed impossible to get right at first. Just a squirt too much of sugar syrup could ruin the whole drink.
Now, Esmera knew the recipe like it was her name, and her hands shared that familiarity.
She poured coffee into the blender with milk and two scoops of ice. She added sugar syrup. The blender's blades sliced through the concoction, turning it foamy. Esmera poured the drink into a transparent plastic cup and held it under the whipped cream dispenser.
Now, this was the part that required the most concentration. Esmera turned the cup, collecting the cream in a swirl as it emerged from the dispenser. It reminded her of snow capping a mountain.
Within five minutes, Esmera had a good looking frappe to offer the customer.
"Here you go." Esmera grabbed a napkin and offered the cup to the woman over the counter.
The viper lady's powdered nose wrinkled in distaste as she looked at the frappe. "There's too much cream."
Esmera ignored the anxious twinge in her stomach, keeping her smile fixed on her face. "That's the prescribed amount of cream for the recipe, ma'am—"
"Don't care." The woman sniffed. "It looks disgusting. Are you trying to clog up my throat?"
Esmera raised an eyebrow. In all her time working here—which was, admittedly, only two months—she had never heard of someone choking on whipped cream. It was a ridiculous complaint, but company policy was clear on how disputes with customers were to be handled.
The customer was always right.
Esmera's smile went taut, but it didn't leave her face. "I can remove some of the cream if you'd like."
Sure, she would ruin the perfect swirl if she scooped away half of it, but that seemed a better option than being part of the scene this woman would make if she didn't.
Esmera's suggestion somehow managed to incense the viper lady even more.
Her face contorted with fury, monstrous even with makeup. Esmera's instincts screamed at her to run, jump, dodge, do something, but she couldn't move faster than a striking snake. The woman snatched the cup and flung the contents over Esmera.
Too late, Esmera recoiled with a gasp that drew every eye in the shop to her. Some customers were shocked into silence, their mouths agape and their phones forgotten in their hands. Some whispered to their friends as they stared at the mess that was Esmera.
The coffee was cold and sticky as it plastered Esmera's t-shirt to her skin. She shivered as she peeled it away, raising her eyes to the viper lady's.
The woman's mouth twisted in disgust. "Unlike you, I have a proper job to do. I don't have time to argue with dimwits. Keep your revolting frappe, and I'll keep my money."
With that, the viper lady swept out of the shop, stares and whispers following in her wake.
Hot, unwelcome tears formed in Esmera's eyes.
That was five minutes of her time gone, and she hadn't earned anything for it but a scolding.
Encounters like these reminded her too much of the life she'd left behind. None of the people she served was Stephan, but like him, they yelled at her for being useless and stupid.
How was it she could never escape this? Maybe Stephan was right. Maybe the customers were too.
Maybe Esmera was useless and stupid and she deserved everything that had ever gone wrong in her life.
A comforting hand came to rest on Esmera's shoulder. "You get some asshole customers every day." Hayley smiled down at Esmera.
With her towering height and wide frame, nobody dared mess with her, which was one of the reasons she was such a good manager. It was fortunate that she extended her protection to everyone who worked beneath her or the customers would get away with worse things than yelling.
"Your frappe was an 11 out of 10. That lady has a problem, not you."
It didn't feel that way when Esmera looked back on the rest of her life, but she tried for a smile. Like the rest of her, it was shaky. "Thanks."
"Of course. Don't let a cranky bitch ruin your afternoon. Go enjoy your birthday." Hayley's eyes crinkled with a smile. It lasted only a moment before another barista called for her attention.
Esmera looked at the clock. It was two minutes past four. The viper lady fiasco had taken nearly ten minutes of her time, but that didn't matter, because her shift was over, and she was free until the next day.
Not that she had anywhere to go but her crummy little apartment, but anywhere was better than here.
Esmera slipped into the back of the coffeehouse. The customers had moved onto new topics of conversation, and The Buttery Croissant was awash with its characteristic warmth and serenity once again.
Esmera pulled her apron off and hung it on the hook beneath her name.
Everyone else's spots were marked with two words, a first name and a last one. Esmera's was the only one labelled with a single name.
She couldn't use Stephan's last name if she didn't want him to find her. She didn't have any right to any of her foster families' names. She had no idea what her birth family's surname was.
It was only because of the note that had been left with her on that doorstep all those years ago that Esmera wasn't nameless.
Still, she was a ship with no knowledge of its nationality, adrift on a restless sea with no family name to anchor her.
Esmera brushed her finger over the sticker her name had been scribbled on with black marker. Within her touch was her fragile hope that the truth would one day find her because she didn't know where to look for it, just like she didn't know where to find the lark who visited her every morning.
Did all these loose threads in her life tie up? They had to, right?
Esmera dismissed the possibility as soon as it arose. She had met many orphans who had endured even worse things than she had, many who never found out who they were or the truth of their abandonment. Why should things be any different for her?
The cold stain on her t-shirt burned into her skin. She held the fabric away from her as she studied it.
The apron had failed Esmera when she needed it most. It was no match for the viper lady's frappe. The bulk of the icy drink had soaked through the apron and into Esmera's t-shirt. It was so transparent that she could see her bra outlined starkly against the fabric.
Esmera felt exposed at the mere thought of walking through the city like this, but what choice did she have? She had forgotten her jacket at her apartment, and she hadn't thought to carry a spare t-shirt.
Esmera sighed. She hadn't planned on spending her birthday evening doing laundry, but she would have to. She only owned two work t-shirts. If she let this one stain, then she'd only have one.
She passed out the back door and into the alleyway behind the coffeehouse. It was scattered with beer cans and cigarette butts.
It didn't matter that it was an eyesore or that it stank of garbage. The customers never saw this side of The Buttery Croissant, only the airy seating area that looked out over a lush park dotted with bright wildflowers and quaint wooden benches.
Nobody noticed Esmera when she rounded to the street at the front of the coffeehouse. They were too busy texting the important people in their lives, chatting to their companions or walking their dogs.
These people weren't invisible the way Esmera was.
Esmera folded her arms over the coffee stain on her chest and shrunk into herself.
Today, she actually wanted to vanish. It seemed like the only way she could enjoy her birthday instead of worrying about the stares and leers that would be directed at her transparent t-shirt. Was that too much to ask for?