“If you ever want to know if someone is flirting with you,” Lane advises, under her breath, my sister says you should always remember TABTA.”

“Tabitha?” I repeat, grabbing some gluten-free muffins and putting them in a biodegradable paper bag.

“T-A-B-T-A.” she stresses. At a normal volume she repeats a customer’s order as I hand her the muffins.

“What’s TABTA?”

“TABTA. They Are But They Aren’t.”

I laugh. “You’re an idiot!” as I look up, I catch Baz’s eye through the lightly tinted window that looks into his office. The laugh dies in my throat. Baz caught me having a good day once and when I smiled at him he gave such a tired look I felt silly for it. I realized later on the only time I was supposed to smile at work was when I was interacting with a customer.

Lane hasn’t noticed; she’s still laughing. I remind myself to ask her again sometime why her boyfriend hates me.

“-Oh shit there he is!” she hisses, cutting her laugh short. “You have to take over!”

I look up. There he is indeed. My crush. He’s just walked in. my stomach butterflies.

“I can’t Lane!”

“You have to take over now or it’s going to look like you switched so you could serve him.”

“I’ll die!” I groan. There’s nothing to check my reflection in except the milk-foamer. “Shit shit shit…” I touch my braids self-consciously, and try to make sure my lipstick didn’t somehow become smeared all over the distorted face looking back at me.

“You look fine.” Lane says, without turning around. I smooth down my apron; and look down at myself to make sure Nyla didn’t spit-up on my black shirt this morning without me noticing. It’s all I can do not to check for spinach on my teeth even though I had pancakes. Lane side-steps and I take the register.

There he is, I think.

His name is Rhys. He’s got skin the color of smooth milk-chocolate and he goes to Green-Apples’ University, George Appleton - or so I guessed since he’s the right age and is usually wearing a GAU sweatshirt. His coarse hair is cut in a neat fade; which gives him an extra inch and a half of height - not that he needs it since he’s so tall. He’s here every morning after his run and he always gets Americanos. That’s everything I know about him.

He’s listening to some music through back wireless headphones, the fingers on his free hand twitching along as if he’s working out the guitar riff in his mind. His lips silently form words.

A musician? I wonder.

He can probably feel he’s being watched because he looks up and half-smiles at me.

I half smile back.

Stop staring. I chastise myself. I focus on the customer at the beginning of the line, who is mulling over the cupcakes. Finally, they make up their mind and I relate the coffee order to Lane and take their money. I can feel my hands shaking a little as I put it in the cash register.

Lane hands me the previous customer’s orders and I pass the tray of iced coffees along with two whole-wheat muffins and a large chocolate croissant.

I steal a glance back at Rhys. There are still three people I have to attend to first. My eyes linger on his lips. They are short and not too full, and when he smiles, his two front teeth are just slightly longer than normal… I think about them biting my lip as we kiss.

It’s only a fantasy. I doubt the guy even knows my name. And it’s not like having a kid makes you high profile real-estate in the dating game at this age.

Still… a girl can dream…

He’s almost at the front of the line. I wonder if I should play it casual or flirty.

“Unbutton your shirt a little.” Lane hisses.

“I’m wearing an apron.” I remind her.

“Still!”

I discreetly unbutton my shirt, and the PA I’m attending to raises her eyebrows, glances around then spots Rhys. She turns back to me with an impressed nod. I wonder what got her – the mischievous look his face naturally falls in?

“Okay girl.” She comments, walking away. I feel my cheeks warm and she smiles. “Get it.”

Rhys smiles properly this time. I was going to play it super casual but I feel a shy smile spread on my face instead. It feels liable to collapse into a grimace at any moment. No wonder they call it a “crush”.

“Hi.” Rhys says, lowering his phone.

“Hi…” I try and think of something clever to say. Something interesting and witty and -

“One large Americano please.”

“One large Americano!” I repeat. He’s holding out the money so I take it and suddenly become aware of how chipped my nail polish is. I meant to do it yesterday!

Is there a way to use a cash register without using your fingers?

“-For Rhys,” he supplies.

“I know.” I say, throwing what I hope to be a heated look in his direction. An eyebrow shoots up interestedly, and I busy myself with handing the PA her order.

I feel like there’s more, but he gets his order and leaves, throwing a quick thanks over his shoulder.

I could kick myself! I should have let my fingers linger over his or written my name and number on his coffee cup or something.

Oh well. I never expected it to actually happen, he’d probably flip out if he knew I had a kid.

I can keep living my fantasy tomorrow, I guess.

*

Aside from Nyla bursting into tears when Turtle’s sneeze startles her as she’s playing in her walker, nothing else really interesting happens to me that Friday. Anya gets home and we have pizza and I realize as I’m putting Nyla to bed that I need to go out and get more diapers.

Late the following morning, I put Nyla in a pair of burgundy overalls and matching striped long-sleeved shirt and hair band and strap her into her car-seat.

“Are you ready to go on an adventure Nyla-bear?”

“Ada!” she gurgles, grabbing one of her feet in her hands.

“Me too!” I make sure her straps are secure with a final tug on them. “Okay, here’s your lovey!” I place her little purple and grey elephant lovey in the seat next to her to try and dissuade her from crying.

She starts whining when I pull away.

I sprint around the car and hop in the driver’s seat, buckle my seatbelt and start the car before Nyla’s whining descends into full-blown tears. Once we get going, being on the road seems to soothe Nyla. I tell her when we’re taking left or right turns, and point out all the dogs riding in cars I can see, as though she can see them too.

I glance at her in the rearview mirror a couple of times to make sure she’s okay. She’s still sucking on her pacifier and is looking around her with a scowl; an expression that always makes me laugh because it looks kind of like Neil when he’s trying to concentrate.

It’s a fifteen-minute drive to Cloud Nine, and then I’m parking the car and pulling a pacified Nyla into my arms.

“We’ll be really quick.” I promise. “Then maybe we can go to the park and watch the ducks or something later.”

I make sure I have my purse and a small receiver blanket and that I’ve locked the car, and then we’re heading into the store.

I find a shopping cart and drape the receiver blanket in there before I place Nyla down. We get everything on the list, except for diapers. The ones I usually get are on top of a high shelf; I look around for one of the employees before I spot a slim, sandy-haired sleepy looking guy in a Cloud-Nine vest at the upper end of the aisle, re-stocking baby-wipes.

“Hi,” I say, “Sorry to bother you but could you help me get a couple of those diapers down?”

“Sure,” he responds, smiling. “Cute kid.”

“Thanks!”

“Look, Nyla, the nice man is getting some diapers for you!” I point out the employee as he gets on a step-ladder and brings them down.

“Ben,” He supplies, as I place the box in the cart.

“Thank you, Ben,”

“No problem.”

Someone taps me on the shoulder then. I turn around. It’s another store employee, with copper hair and a smattering of freckles over a too-large nose that is not unattractive. He smiles a friendly smile that borders on flirtatious, but you get the sense that’s just his regular smile.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi.”

“Do you by any chance work at The Brew?” he asks.

“Um, yeah…” I raise a curious eyebrow.

“I thought so,” He says, with a smug nod. His smile goes from friendly to flirtatious. “You’re The Brew girl.”

“Um okay?” I laugh, “Do I know you?”

“No.” he responds. “But my friend over there does.” He nods over his shoulder. I peer around him and my stomach summersaults. It’s him. - It’s Rhys.

He’s standing there trying and failing not to look embarrassed.

“You’re The Brew girl.”

“You said that.” I acknowledge.

“He’s always talking about you.” he, alluding to Rhys.

“Oh…” I feel my cheeks warm considerably.

“He was wondering if when you were done babysitting, you would want to grab a drink or something.”

I stiffen. “Um,” I say awkwardly, unsure of whether he’s joking or not. I glance at Rhys, and then back at his friend. “Actually,” I start, feeling offended. “You can tell Rhys that I won’t be done for another eighteen years, because this is my daughter.”

Without stopping to catch his reaction, I steer my shopping cart away, giving Rhys a wide berth.

So much for that crush, I think. I’ll have to tell Lane what happened on Monday.

Rhys finds me as I’m paying for my things.

“Hi,” he says, nervously.

“Hi.” I keep my eyes on the teller, and she hands me back my change. “Excuse me,” I mumble, steering the cart towards the exit.

“Wait, Alyssa,” he follows, falling into step with me. “I’m sorry about Chase. He’s kind of an idiot.”

“Yeah.”

“Look, um… he was just trying to help. I was too nervous to come up to you myself.”

I glance at Rhys.

“He’s actually a good guy,” he admits, catching my eye. He holds my gaze until blushing, I smile.

“Okay. It’s okay.” I say.

“Good. Um,” he looks at Nyla. “Hi!” he says brightly. She stares at him for a moment, then reaches for my hands.

“Her name is Nyla.”

“Hi Nyla,” Rhys coos. He’s probably just being nice, but it’s kinda sexy. He turns to me. “How old is she?”

“Almost seven months old.”

“She looks just like you.” he says.

“Thanks.”

We get to the car and Rhys helps me load the bags into the trunk. When we’re done, I pull Nyla out of the cart along with her blanket, settling her on my hip.

“You’re not expecting a tip, are you?” I jest. He smiles. “Uh, no. I just… wanted to know if you’d give me your number. Maybe I could take you on a date sometime?”

“Oh.” My stomach butterflies again. “You don’t mind that I have a kid?”

“A friend of mine has a kid too. She’s always saying how hard it is to find a date and I kind of feel bad for her-” he breaks off suddenly, and we both laugh. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean I feel sorry for you-”

“It’s okay, I think I know what you were trying to say.”

“If you say yes you can watch me put my other foot in my mouth on our first date. Maybe I’ll invite Chase along so he can too.”

I laugh. “No, no don’t bring Chase.”

“Is that a ‘yes’?”

“Well, since it is a pity date…” I pretend to think about it, and he smiles, pulling out his phone. I cite my number for him, and he gives me a missed-call.

“Can I call you tonight?”

“I’d love that.” I say.

My phone buzzes with an incoming text as I’m getting ready to turn the car away from the parking spot I’ve just reversed out of. When I look out the driver’s side window, Rhys is holding his phone up in a silly wave to show it’s him texting. I laugh, and it’s shy and light and I haven’t heard myself laugh like that in a long time; like I’m nervous and excited and everything I’m supposed to be. I feel almost as though I’m playing a role and this is the laugh I am supposed to laugh now; the everyday girl meeting an everyday boy she will fall in love with.

I shrug the feeling off.

This is real.

*

I try not to spend the whole weekend texting him. Around looking after Nyla, I don’t do too well at it. Multiple times, my sister asks me why I’m smiling at my phone and I say I’m just reading a particularly funny book. She raises her eyebrow in a way that says she clearly doesn’t believe me but all she says is, “Some book.”

Sunday night, after church and a big lunch, I put Nyla down for a nap and throw myself onto the couch next to my sister. We are currently re-watching Girlfriends on Netflix; every time we switch on the TV, there it is, back to back episodes.

I press play on the remote. After a few minutes I notice Anya isn’t even watching, she’s frowning at her laptop screen. I scoot closer and peer at the screen.

“Facebook?” I smirk, “Do people still do that? I don’t even think I remember my password!”

“Um,” Anya makes a funny sound and I look properly at the image on the screen. The smile slowly falls off my face. I wish I hadn’t eaten so much; now my stomach is turning uncomfortably.

“You’re looking for mom?”

Anya has a funny look on her face; one to match the sound she just made. It’s the shame of a child caught with her hands in the cookie jar crossed with something akin to hopefulness. Whether that hope is that I would join the search or that she will find mom, I don’t know.

“I just thought maybe I’d look her up on Facebook to see if I could find anything, Lyss. Maybe talk to her…”

The words fade in her throat.

“Well, don’t let me stop you.” I say. I mean to sound nonchalant, slightly optimistic and jokey, but it falls icily between us.

After a moment Anya says, “She probably wonders where you are too.”

I look at my sister for a few seconds. She is the only person that has ever come close to being what I regard a mother should be. I don’t want to know about our real mom; not where she was or what she was doing, because that was the life that she had chosen over us.

I hadn’t asked to be born. But she had me and then decided she had better things to do. Even Anya, who had been raised by both of our parents, hasn’t heard from mom since she left. To me it is a sign, loud and clear. She has her life and we aren’t part of it. I don’t know why Anya cares to know about this life that she isn’t a part of. As much as I feel anger and resentment and envy that this new life had been chosen over me, looking at Anya now, I just feel truly sad. It’s like as much as she is the older sister, some part of Anya believes that if we find mom, we could all be a happy family again. That, to me, is a fairytale.

“Anya.” I say gently, “She doesn’t want us.”

My sister looks down at her laptop. Her face flickers for a moment, and it’s devastating.

“We don’t know that.” she says. It is so quiet it’s almost a whisper. I wonder if she said it herself more than to me.

My phone buzzes, and I lift it slowly.

“I’m going to go Facetime with a friend.” I say.

She nods and I switch off the TV.