The mornign started before I was ready for it.
It wasn't unusual anymore. Sleep had become something uncertain, something that came in fragments rather than rest, and when my alarm went off, I was already awake, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts moving faster than I could keep up with.
For a while, I stayed still, listening to the quiet of the apartment. It didn't feel as empty as it had in the first few days, but it didn't feel like mine either. Just a place I existed in between shifts, between thoughts I didn't know what to do with.
Eventually, I forced myself up.
The routine was simple. Shower. Clothes. Hair pulled back without much care. I moved through it automatically, the same way I had learned to move through most things—efficient, quiet, without giving myself too much time to think. Thinking had become the problem.
By the time I stepped outside, the city was already awake.
Chicago moved with purpose, even this early. People walked past me with intent, conversations already started, coffee cups in hand, phones pressed to their ears. It felt like stepping into something already in motion, something that didn't pause to acknowledge whether you were ready to join it or not.
I pulled my jacket a little tighter around myself and kept walking.
Sullivan's came into view the same way it always did, warm light spilling through the windows, a contrast to everything outside. For a moment, I hesitated before pushing the door open, my hand resting against the handle just long enough to notice it.
Then I stepped inside.
"Morning, Katherine!"
Zariah's voice cut through the space almost immediately, bright and effortless as always. She was already behind the counter, moving quickly between tasks, her energy filling the room in a way I still didn't fully understand.
"Morning," I replied, my voice quieter, but steady enough.
Elliott didn't work on Tueaday so today it was me, Janie and Zariah.
Everything was as it should have been.
And yet, something felt… off.
I slipped behind the counter, tying the apron around my waist, grounding myself in the familiar motion. For the first few minutes, it worked. I focused on the small things, setting up cups, checking stock, making sure everything was where it needed to be before the rush began.
But the quiet didn't last.
It never did.
The moment the doors opened, the café filled quickly, the shift from stillness to movement almost immediate. Orders started coming in one after another, voices layering over each other, the sound of the espresso machine rising to meet it.
Normally, by now, I would have found my rhythm.
Today, I didn't.
"Good morning, what can I get you?" I asked, forcing my attention onto the customer in front of me.
The words came easily enough, but something behind them lagged, like my mind was half a step behind everything I was doing. The order was simple, latte, oat milk, extra hot, but by the time I turned to input it, I hesitated for a second too long, my fingers hovering over the screen as I searched for something I knew I should already recognize.
It passed quickly. I found it, completed the transaction, moved on.
But it didn't feel right.
The next order blurred slightly with the one after it, details slipping just enough that I had to double-check myself, correcting small mistakes before they became noticeable. A wrong size selected, a button pressed twice, a pause that lingered longer than it should have.
My mind wasn't here today, it was everywhere but. Thoughts jumbling together, interrupted by "latte", "cappucio - wet". I couldn't focus, couldn't switch off. I was here, but I wasn't. Usually I could distance my thoughts during the shift, but today they were drowing me.
I could notice the annoyed customers, muttering under their breath, making my hands shake more than they should. My fathers words echoing in my head together with Christians.
If something begins to feel off… you leave.
There are things I kept from you on purpose.
Somewhere between clicking the wrong button and forgetting to charge for a drink, the words "analysis, audits" popped in my brain.
"Kathretine, you okay?" Zariah's voice comes from beside me, low enough for nobody else to notice, but enough to pull me out of my thoughts momenteraly.
"I'm fine." I throw back at her, trying to focus on the register.
"Mhm," she humms, handing off a drink before leaning slightly closer. "Because right now, you're giving me 'I'm about to accidentally give someone decaf and ruin their entire morning' energy."
A small breath leaves my lips, almost resembling a laugh. That would not be a great morning.
I focus right back on the register, still hesitating before clicking buttons, still making mistakes I shouldn't. The rush continued, steady and unrelenting, but I never quite found my footing. Every movement felt just slightly out of sync, every interaction requiring more effort than it should have. I corrected myself constantly, overcompensating in small ways that made me more aware of every mistake.
At some point, Janie appeared beside me.
She didn't say anything at first, just stepped in smoothly when I hesitated over an order, her hands moving with practiced ease as she guided the interaction back on track.
"Take a breath," she said quietly, not unkindly. She had one of those voices that made everything better without her trying. A maternal voice, some would say.
I nodded, feeling my vision blur a bit. I couldn't cry, not right now, not in the middle of the morning rush.
"Slow down, you don't have tu rush." Janie muttered and I gave her a quick look. "Take five, sweetheart." she pushed my body out of the way.
Immediately I walked to the back and took a deep breath. I had to get back in the room, I couldn't spiral like this, not in front of these people. I couldn't show them I was a girl with a sad history, I never again wanted to be my story.
I pulled myself together and returned to the front, Janie gave me a small smile and pointed to the espresso machine, asking me to take over while she manned the register. By this point the morning rush had started to slow down.
"Okay, that was a lot!" Zariah let out a breath after handing out the last drink in the queue.
I nodded, not thinking much of it. I knew I didn't pull my weight today and it didn't sit well with me.
Zariah's gaze flicked back to me. "Yeah, no. You're not going home like this today."
"I'm okay." I managed to give her a small smile, it was more forced than I expected it to be.
"Sure, and I'm Beyonce." Janie laughed at the expression, before giving me another soft smile. "We're going for a drink after work. Just one, that's all I'm asking."
I had the immediate urge to say no. How could I sit across from her and keep my thoughts uncovered? I had never been an open book, but I also had never gone through anything like this before, my mind woulnd't stop wandering, questioning, looking for answers that I might not like.
"Go on, love," Janie joined the conversation, "It might do you some good."
I took a deep breath looking at both women, they were definitely the type of people who wanted to connect, that wanted to know and help. But maye it would help me? It would give me a bit of distraction from my laptop, from staring at the box of notes on my coffee table, maybe it would give me some time to breathe.
"Okay. One drink."
"You got it, babe." Zariah's smile immediately reached hes eyes, then she continued the same working rythm as before.
***
The bar wasn't far from the café, tucked between two buildings that looked almost identical from the outside, the kind of place you wouldn't notice unless you already knew it was there. If I had passed it alone, I probably wouldn't have given it a second glance. But following Zariah inside felt easier than turning back toward my apartment, easier than sitting alone with thoughts that had been circling me all day without ever settling.
Inside, the lighting was low but warm, casting everything in softer edges. It wasn't dark in a way that made you feel hidden, but in a way that made things quieter, as if whatever you carried in with you might feel less sharp once you stepped through the door. The air smelled faintly of citrus and something deeper, aged wood, maybe, and the low hum of conversation blended into the background like a steady rhythm.
Zariah slid into a booth near the back like she had done it a hundred times before, her movements easy and familiar, as though this place belonged to her in a way the café did during the day. She dropped her bag beside her and shrugged off her jacket in one fluid motion before looking up at me.
"Okay," she said, leaning back slightly, her eyes scanning my face in a way that felt more observant than casual. "First of all - proud of you for not ghosting me the second the shift ended."
A small breath escaped me before I could stop it, something that hovered somewhere between a laugh and a confession. "I considered it."
"I know you did," she replied immediately, her lips curving into a knowing grin. "I saw it in your eyes."
There was no judgment in it, just a kind of certainty that made it hard to deny.
A server approached before I could respond, and Zariah ordered without hesitation, as if she had already decided what both of us needed.
"Two drinks," she said, glancing at me briefly. "Something easy. Nothing too strong, we're not trying to make life decisions tonight."
"Speak for yourself," I murmured, though the words carried no real weight, more reflex than intent, my mind quickly carrying be back to the metal box.
She smiled at that, softer this time, as though she had noticed something shifting beneath the surface, even if I hadn't fully acknowledged it myself.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The noise of the bar filled the space between us instead, low music threading through the air, quiet conversations rising and falling at nearby tables, the occasional clink of glass against wood. It was different from the café in a way that was difficult to explain. There, everything demanded something from me, attention, speed, interaction. Here, nothing did. I could sit still without feeling like I was falling behind.
Zariah leaned forward slightly, resting her arms on the table, her posture relaxed but her gaze steady.
"So," she said, her voice gentler now, stripped of its usual brightness in a way that felt intentional, "you gonna tell me what's going on in that head of yours, or do I have to guess?"
I looked down at my hands, tracing the edge of the glass that had just been placed in front of me. The condensation gathered beneath my fingertips, cool and grounding, something tangible to focus on when everything else felt harder to hold onto.
"It's nothing," I said automatically, the words coming out before I had time to consider them.
"Mhm," she nodded, like she had expected exactly that.
The corner of my mouth lifted slightly despite myself, a quiet breath leaving me as I shook my head.
"I just… didn't sleep well."
"Okay," she said easily, accepting it without pushing back right away. "That's step one. What else?"
I hesitated.
The instinct to deflect was still there, familiar and well-practiced, something I had relied on for years without ever having to think about it. It had always been easier to keep things contained, to offer just enough to move a conversation along without letting anything real slip through. But sitting across from her now, in a place that felt removed from the structure of my routine, it didn't come as naturally as it usually did.
"I've just been… thinking," I admitted finally, my voice quieter than I intended, the words feeling heavier once they were spoken aloud.
Zariah didn't interrupt. She didn't rush to fill the silence either. She simply waited, her expression open in a way that made it easier to keep going, even if I wasn't entirely sure where I was going.
"About what?" she asked after a moment.
I let out a slow breath, my gaze drifting somewhere past her shoulder before I forced it back again.
"My family," I said.
The words felt different out loud. More real. Less contained.
She nodded once, her expression softening immediately, but she didn't reach for sympathy or press for details. She just stayed with it, giving the words space instead of trying to shape them.
"I moved here after…" I paused, the sentence catching slightly before I could finish it. "After my brother died."
Zariah's expression didn't shift dramatically, but something in her posture grounded itself, like she had anchored more firmly in the moment.
"I'm sorry," she said gently.
I nodded, though I wasn't entirely sure what I was agreeing to, her words, the situation, the weight of it all.
"It's just…" I searched for the right way to explain it, though the thoughts in my head still felt scattered, not fully formed into anything I could hold onto. "I thought coming here would make it easier. Like… if I was somewhere new, where no one knew me, it would just.." I gestured vaguely, the motion incomplete. "Be quieter.2
"Is it?" she asked, her voice careful, not pushing, just asking.
I shook my head slowly, the movement small, almost tired.
"No," I admitted. "It's just… different."
Different didn't mean better. It didn't mean easier. It just meant the same things felt unfamiliar in a new place, like grief had changed shape but not weight.
The drink sat untouched in front of me, the glass cool against my fingers as I wrapped my hand around it, grounding myself in the sensation.
"I keep thinking about things I never really thought about before," I continued, the words coming more slowly now, like I was choosing each one carefully. "About what they did. What my brother did. I don't actually know. Not really."
Zariah tilted her head slightly, her brows drawing together just enough to show she was trying to understand.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean…" I exhaled, my gaze dropping to the table for a moment. "I always thought I knew them. Like, everything important, at least. But now it feels like there were parts of their lives I was never part of. Things they didn't tell me."
Saying it out loud made it feel more real than it had before, less like a passing thought and more like something I couldn't ignore.
She was quiet for a moment, considering it.
"Is that a bad thing?" she asked carefully.
"I don't know," I said honestly. "I don't know if they were protecting me, or just… keeping things from me."
The distinction mattered, even if I couldn't explain why.
Zariah leaned back slightly, her fingers tapping lightly against her glass as her gaze drifted for a moment, like she was sorting through something of her own before speaking again.
"I think…" she started, then paused, adjusting her words as she looked back at me. "I think people don't always tell you everything because they don't want you to carry it. Not because they don't trust you."
I swallowed, my gaze dropping again as her words settled somewhere deeper than I expected.
"Yeah," I said quietly. "Maybe."
"But," she added, leaning forward again, her voice a little firmer now, grounded in a way that felt steady rather than forceful, "that doesn't mean you're not allowed to ask questions now."
The words lingered in my chest, not heavy enough to weigh me down, but not light enough to ignore.
"I don't even know where to start," I admitted, the truth of it sitting somewhere between frustration and uncertainty.
"Then don't," she shrugged lightly. "Not all at once, anyway."
I looked up at her, a faint crease forming between my brows.
"You don't have to figure everything out in one go," she continued, her tone easing slightly. "That's how you overwhelm yourself and spiral, and then I have to drag you out again, and honestly, I'm busy."
A small, unexpected smile pulled at my lips, the tension in my chest easing just enough for me to notice it.
"Good to know," I said.
"Very," she nodded. "I have a life. A very important, chaotic, slightly questionable life."
She picked up her drink, taking a small sip before setting it back down, her expression shifting again, less focused on me now, more open, like she was letting me see something beyond the surface.
"I'm studying performing arts at Roosevelt," she said, almost casually, though there was something more intentional beneath it. "Which sounds a lot cooler than it actually is."
I glanced up at her. "How so?"
She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head slightly. "Because everyone hears that and thinks Broadway, spotlight, standing ovations… but most of the time it's just me in a practice room at night, going over the same scene ten times and wondering if I'm even good enough to be there."
There was no bitterness in her voice, just honesty.
"But I still want it," she added, her expression shifting again, something steadier settling in. "Like, really want it. Broadway, theatre, anything. I just… I want to be on stage. I want it to mean something."
I watched her for a moment, noticing the way her entire demeanor changed when she spoke about it, like it grounded her in a way nothing else did.
"That's… big," I said quietly, I could never imagine myself wanting other people to know me.
"Terrifying," she corrected gently, though there was a small smile on her lips. "But I think I'd regret not trying more than failing."
I nodded, though I wasn't sure I would have known what to do with that kind of certainty if I had it.
"And," she added, her tone shifting lighter again, "I'm currently dating someone who thinks I'm already destined for greatness, so that helps."
I raised a brow slightly. "Oh?"
"Mm," she nodded, her smile turning more playful. "Very new. Like, dangerously new. The kind where everything still feels easy, and I'm just waiting for the moment it doesn't."
"Is that a good thing?"
"I think so," she said after a moment. "He listens. Like, actually listens. Which, apparently, is rare."
"That does sound rare."
"The bar is low," she laughed softly. "Like, on the floor."
A quiet laugh left me, more natural this time.
"But yeah," she continued, her tone softening again, "I'm trying not to overthink it. Just letting something be good while it is."
Letting something be good.
The idea lingered.
I wasn't sure I remembered how to do that.
She nudged her glass lightly toward mine.
"You don't have to tell me everything," she said, her voice gentler now, grounded in a way that didn't feel overwhelming. "But you don't have to carry it all on your own either."
Something shifted in my chest at that, small but noticeable, like something loosening just enough to let me breathe a little easier.
"I'm not very good at that," I admitted.
"Yeah," she smiled gently. "I figured."
I let out a quiet breath, finally lifting my glass and taking a sip. The drink was lighter than I expected, something easy, just like she had said it would be.
For the first time all day, the noise in my head softened.
Not gone.
Just quieter.
And for now, that felt like enough.