Page 6

RUMI

ONE YEAR LATER

“I have an iced vanilla oat milk latte and a black coffee for Mia.” I set the two cups down on the “Pick-Up” side of the counter, the last order of a very busy morning rush.

It has taken me the last six months working at Hey Honey’s to get through the hustle and bustle of the morning crowd without spilling at least one drink, and I’m proud to say I’ve made it through another without having to change my apron.

“Thanks, Rumi,” the blonde regular says from behind a double stroller, her twin girls in matching pink jumpers and mini black converse asleep in their seats. She reaches for her two coffees, setting them in the cupholders of the stroller.

“Anytime,” I answer, bending down to put away the carton of oat milk in the fridge underneath the counter. Mia is a friend of the owners here at Hey Honey’s, so her drinks are always “on the house”, but she slips a $20 bill in the tip jar when she thinks I’m not looking.

“Have you thought more about what I mentioned last week?” she asks, as I stand up, bringing her hand back to the stroller to push it back and forth to keep her twins asleep.

“A little,” I answer, a slight blush coming to my cheeks. I stick my hands into the pockets of my apron, one of my hands instantly finding the black Sharpie I keep in there. My thumb and index finger mindlessly begin playing with the cap.

“The offer still stands,” she says, taking a sip of the iced latte.

“Us moms have to stick together. Trust me.” Her glossy lips curve in a soft, reassuring smile, and there’s something about her aura that feels safe, like I can trust her.

“The list is vetted, and I’m happy to share it with you,” she adds, alluding to the master list of babysitters and nannies that her friends and her brother all share.

“I appreciate it,” I tell her, wishing I could better explain how it makes my heart double in size at the thought of not being so alone in all of this like I thought I would be after leaving Trevor.

I’m still not used to the kindness I’ve been receiving since moving to Milwaukee, and it’s a weird feeling—borderline uncomfortable and very strange.

Mia gives me a small nod, taking my noncommittal answer, before turning to head to the door. I don’t know if she senses my trepidation or unease with the attention or her effort to connect, but if she does, she doesn’t show it.

“Tell Annie I’ll be a little late to tonight’s meeting,” she says over her shoulder, her blonde waves bouncing behind her.

Annie, the co-owner of Hey Honey’s, is due to stop in tonight with her fiancé and co-owner, Luke, for our monthly meeting. Every month, they hold a meeting about the upcoming specials and events happening in the space the coffee shop shares with the neighboring businesses.

Mia always joins as the person who does the marketing and social posts for Honey’s. The owners of the bar and bookstore next door usually join too, along with the other baristas.

“Will do,” I answer as she steps outside the coffee shop.

The warm May air rushes in as the front door closes, and I take a moment to look around the shop. It’s pretty empty aside from a couple seated by the windows. The mid-morning sunlight warms the air within the space, the smell of coffee now a familiar, grounding scent to me.

I wipe down the espresso machine, taking advantage of the lull in orders at the moment, thinking about what Mia said about the babysitters—as if I have anywhere to go besides work.

They always say it takes a village to raise a baby, but I was fully prepared to do it on my own.

When I left Minneapolis, I was basically saying “fuck the village”, even more so when I felt those contractions on that dark road in Northern Wisconsin and kept driving further away from what I used to call home.

But with no parents or siblings, and not many people I could consider friends, I guess it really never was home to begin with.

This idea of not having to raise my daughter all on my own doesn’t seem real to me, like I can’t trust it. I’m also not used to taking what people say at face value. I’m used to finding hidden meanings and having to read between the lines, saying what someone wants to hear without them telling me.

It’s what I did with my father; it’s what I did with Trevor.

It’s what kept me safe.

I’m lost in my thoughts and barely hear the door to the back office swing open.

“Someone wants to say hi,” a voice from behind me calls out, and I turn to see the manager of Honey’s, Ava, with an almost one-year-old against her chest in the baby carrier I got as a present from Luke and Annie when they hired me here.

“There’s my girl,” I coo, an instant smile coming to my face when I see the head of dark hair and the soft, chubby thighs hanging from the carrier.

The thoughts of Trevor and childcare fleeing from my brain for the moment.

“How was she?” I ask Ava. My daughter’s little limbs wiggle from where they stick out of the carrier; small babbles and little baby noises fill the quiet cafe, mixing with the soft jazz playing over the speakers.

Ava gives me a little shake of her head, as if my question is silly. “You know, asking the same question and expecting a different answer means you’re insane,” she teases, a smile on her face as she tucks a piece of auburn hair behind her ears.

I close the space between us, giving my daughter a peck on the top of the head, that intoxicating baby smell warming me from the inside out, bringing me back to when she was born.

When I woke up in the hospital, almost a year ago to the day, having no memory of how I got there, I had no idea that it would lead me here. I can still recall the pain all throughout my body—my skin covered in fresh cuts and bruises forming over the ones Trevor left.

It wasn’t until a nurse explained to me that I was in a car accident, and the doctors performed an emergency C-section that everything came rushing back.

The dark road.

The impact against the tree.

Calling 911.

Passing out.

I was in labor before the crash.

I instantly forgot about the pain I was in and leaped from my hospital bed in pursuit to find my daughter, to see if she was okay—if she was alive .

The nurses had to hold me down, and I passed out from the increase in heart rate, the intensity and trauma of both my injuries from the crash and the C-section taking over.

It was when I came to for the second time that my nurse, Phoebe, brought my daughter to me.

There’s no proper way to explain what it feels like seeing your child for the first time.

A rush of warmth and pure love overwhelmed me, as if time stood still, and every part of me connected to her instantly.

Her tiny hands grasping mine felt like the beginning of a bond so deep, so unspoken, that it filled my heart with a joy I had never known before.

She made every iota of pain I ever felt completely and utterly worth it.

It also confirmed to me that I made the right decision leaving that night.

Trevor didn’t deserve something as pure and beautiful as her.

And getting her—us—away from him almost killed her.

I made a promise to the both of us that I would never let anything— anyone —hurt her.

Ever.

I haven’t heard from Trevor since I left, and it’s not like I had much of a support system in Minnesota. I doubt anyone has even noticed I’ve been gone.

Trevor was all I knew, the only family I had.

The hospital staff instantly knew the severity of my situation when all the dots started to connect.

A young, pregnant woman, fleeing in the middle of the night alone, bruises of all colors and stages of healing covering her body, fresh injuries that weren’t just from the crash—it didn’t take much time for my nurses, especially Phoebe, to put everything together.

My nurse introduced me to Ava—her older sister, the manager of a coffee shop in Milwaukee who was looking for a roommate in the duplex she rents in the neighborhood across the street.

Fast forward a year, I went from having absolutely nothing to my name, to a home, a job, a friend, and my daughter.

Evelyn Jade Matthews.

“But, to answer your question, she was perfect. Just like the perfect little angel baby she is. Isn’t that right, Evee?

” Ava’s voice transitions into the baby one she uses when she talks to my daughter.

“She is always great company when I do payroll,” she adds with another smile, her hazel eyes reflecting the genuine care she has for her.

I didn’t think people like Ava and her sister, or Annie and Luke, or Mia and the other people I’ve met in the last year existed.

People who understand how the universe can completely chew you up and spit you out.

People who do things out of the kindness of their hearts with no mal-intent or ulterior motive.

People who want to help or give you a hand, not because they have to but because they want to.

It’s a feeling I’ve never experienced before.

One I’m still getting used to.

As Ava and I transitioned from co-workers to roommates to friends, I learned more and more about her own history with a toxic relationship, her ex-boyfriend being emotionally abusive, and it made sense why she was so willing to help someone like me—a broke, single mom with nothing but a bloodstained nightgown and a newborn to her name.

She has become a full-on partner for me this last year, letting me bring Evee to work when we’re both on the schedule and watching her when I’m here on my own.

“How’s it going up here?” Ava asks, her eyes roaming the space behind the coffee bar, doing her usual mental checklist that everything is up to her standards.

I can practically see her checking that the drink station is clean and the bakery case is filled; looking at the high top tables and how the chairs aren’t pushed in; noticing how the hanging plants by the front door need watering.

“Good,” I answer, playing with the cap of the Sharpie in my apron pocket.