Chapter 7 — Carrying Without Choosing

Molly started to notice that most people weren’t doing it on purpose. She had thought at first that some people were just more difficult than others or more controlling or more obsessed with outcomes. That idea didn’t last very long once she started paying closer attention and her brain started developing more. The same people could be relaxed one moment and rigid the next depending on what the conversation went toward.

Molly stopped at the coffee place near the station because she always did and because mornings went better when she didn’t start making choices too early. She stood in the queue with her bag on one shoulder while people shuffled forward in small and irritated steps that weren’t aimed at anyone in particular. The place was already busy and when it was her turn, the attendant looked at her with a pinched sort of focus that Molly had started noticing more often.

“Hi,” Molly said.

“What can I get you?” the attendant said while reaching for a cup and glancing at the screen.

“Flat white, please.”

“Large or regular.”

“Regular.”

The attendant nodded and moved faster than the moment really needed, and when she said the price, it came out flatter than the white and like something she’d learned to say as fast as humanly possible. Molly tapped her card and waited while the machine paused just long enough for the attendant to sigh and say, “Sorry for the rush. We’re a bit understaffed.”

“It’s fine,” Molly said, because it was and because she could tell the apology hadn’t actually been meant for her.

The attendant smiled quickly and handed over the cup with a “have a good one” before she looked at the person behind Molly and waved them forward. Molly had heard that kind of false friendly sentiment in the same tone all week long from people who didn’t expect a response. It irritated her about as much as people who brush past and say, “Long time. How are you?” without waiting for the actual reply. Do you even care?

Molly walked back outside and adjusted the lid as she started walking toward the station. Slowly as she went, the heat seeping into the palm of her hand made her feel warm.

She walked and thought of the hurry and defensiveness in that barista’s eyes. There was this sense that the whole exchange needed to be finished quickly even though nothing was actually at risk. It hadn’t come from the attendant and it hadn’t been aimed at Molly. Maybe it had come from the corporate culture. That was a new buzz term she’d learned at work that week. Maybe it came from something the barista was going through at home. Maybe it was the feng shui of the building. Maybe it was her horoscope. Maybe it was all the millions of things we give meaning to outside of ourselves. Molly couldn’t tell, but as she stood there and waited, the coffee that the barista was so in a hurry to get out had already started to cool and soon it would be a half-drunk shell of the memory of that interaction, sitting down in a bin somewhere.

“All that fuss over a cup,” Molly said.

Molly took a sip as it got colder in the open air and found that it tasted fine. She noticed that she didn’t mind it the way she normally would. She got on the train and took a seat by the window while the city slid past and people around her stared at their phones or out into nothing much.

“All of us carry all of this for a cup.”