Through Her Eyes (Camren)

Chapter 2: A Promise

Lauren hated Mondays. She hated the sun shining and the birds chirping and the alarm clock ringing. She hated waking up and having breakfast and she even sort of hated coffee.

Actually, Lauren really hated coffee. Lauren hated making coffee and she hated serving coffee. Lauren hated her job. She was meant to be a musician, a rock star, not a fucking barista in some broken down cafe a block from a Starbucks.

Her boss made her wear an apron over her clothes and the customers always made faces at her variety of beanies. It was a crap

job. Lauren was only working there until the rock star thing came through.

“I’d like an Ethiopia Sidamo,” said the woman in front of the counter, her mouth pinched at the corners with displeasure. Problem was, Lauren always got her customers before their first cup of coffee of the day.

“…We sell coffee here.”

“An Ethiopia Sidamo,” she repeated.

“Coffee, not third world countries. They’re different, you see?”

“They have it at Starbucks!”

Sometimes customers got lost. Lauren was happy to redirect them if it meant she could sit around listening to her iPod all day and getting paid for it. “Yeah, Starbucks is down the street on the left, can’t miss it.”

“They have a line!” the woman complained, as if the line at Starbucks was a personal affront to her. “I have to be at work. Why don’t they have more people working there? There’s always a line!”

“It’s not really my problem,” Lauren pointed out, tapping her fingers against the counter to the beat of some unknown song.

“Fine! I want the Gazebo Blend.”

“…Sure.” Lauren rolled her eyes, moving to make her an Espresso.

She wouldn’t be able to tell the difference, they never could.

The coffee was hot against her fingers through the Styrofoam cup, soothing in the strangely crisp air. It was cold for Los Angeles, the wind blowing hard enough that Lauren had almost lost the jacket over her arm twice on the short walk from her car to Cocoa’s Cafe. Lauren very specifically did not wonder if the girl who had been going through her trash last night had a jacket to wear or a place to stay. She didn’t care.

It wasn’t that cold, anyway.

When the woman huffed off with her Gazelle Blend, or whatever, a man stepped up to the counter. Two people was pretty much the morning rush at Cocoa’s. “Yeah, a French Roast Grande.”

“Large?”

“Grande.”

“I’m going to get you a large,” Lauren informed him, “because I assume this is what you are trying to order.”

The man frowned. Then he wrinkled his nose at Lauren’s oversized gray beanie.

——-

Lauren had never been the type to dwell on things. She wasn’t the type to worry when there was no reason to, when there was nothing she could do. It was useless and Lauren didn’t waste her time on useless stuff like that.

So Lauren didn’t think about Camila after she left. She didn’t have trouble falling asleep Sunday night, didn’t lay awake wondering if the girl had a place to stay or food to eat. Lauren didn’t wonder why she was going through trashcans, what she was looking for or if she’d found it. She didn’t stare at Cocoa’s dishwater gray walls all day and worry about the cold or possible rain. It was none of her business.