Begin Again | ongoing - Chapter 17: Chapter 17

After the initial shock, being back at work is a relief. Back to normality. The mundanity of making drinks and heating sandwiches and serving pastries. This is what Sunny knows how to do. This is where she excels. She can serve a customer with a smile no matter how grumpy they are, even if she's having a terrible time, and she can make them think it was a genuine pleasure to deal with them. For the first three hours, the place is busy and it's nice not to have time to think between brewing coffee and refilling beans and grabbing cakes.
By eight, the rush has become a trickle. By half past, only a couple of customers remain and not many come through the doors. In the half hour that follows, Sunny serves three people, all of whom take their drinks and leave and when nine o'clock swings around, she's forgotten about the deal she made until Viv walks through the door with a tote bag clutched in one hand, curls lazily pulled off her face with a scrunchie. And she's wearing glasses. Big ones with chunky frames that make her look so fucking hot and smart that Sunny feels all rationality leave her body.
"Hey, Michelle," she says to the woman she shares the shift with, "I'm gonna take my break now, okay?"
Michelle waves her approval and continues sweeping the back, occasionally busting out a rag to wipe down a table. There's not much going on at the moment. By nine o'clock, most people tend to be where they want to be and that's not in a coffee shop. Sunny's not sure how financially viable this place is but she knows Mack has generational wealth and a passion for providing a safe place at all hours of the day, so maybe the money doesn't matter to him.
Viv has picked a spot in the window with a couple of deep sofas, Sunny's favourite spot for pausing with a bite to eat on her half hour break. When it's early enough and still light outside, it's great for people watching – even better when it's a club night and she can watch the dolled-up girls totter across the cobbles in their heels or, when the pubs shut at midnight, she watches drunk groups spilling all over the place.
"Hey." She sheds her apron and sits next to Viv on the sofa, one foot under her knee so they're angled towards each other. "I've not seen you with glasses yet. They suit you."
"Cheers!" Viv tips them at her like a hat. "My eyes are so tired by the end of the day, I need them." At the mention of tiredness, she tries to stifle an enormous yawn and Sunny doesn't look away in time to not catch it.
"How was work?" she asks to snap her out of her stupor.
Getting to know Viv will be a lot easier if she treats her like a regular customer, she reckons, someone she slowly grows to know after a long period of small talk, and if there's one thing Sunny is weirdly good at, it's making polite small talk with virtual strangers.
"Fine, yeah. Nothing to report really." Viv empties her tote bag onto the table, a veritable picnic. She's got tubs of tuna pasta bake and salad – extra red peppers, no cucumber – and a couple of bowls, as well as two books and her own Walkman. At least, Sunny hopes it's her own because she can't imagine she'd share that.
Looking around to check that Michelle is busy and no-one is earwigging, Sunny leans close to Viv and says, "So, um, apparently I got promoted to assistant manager? That was a shock. Is there anything else I should know?"
"I'm sorry, I totally forgot." Viv rubs her head. "Yeah, that was a few months ago. Don't worry, it was mostly Mack being generous and noticing your loyalty and hard work. You said once that it's a lot more money for the same old job, and your hours are the same, so."
"Okay, good, 'cause I was kind of freaking out that there's a whole bunch of shit I need to catch up on and I don't think I could take that on top of everything else."
"God, no, don't worry." Viv peels off the plastic lids of the tubs and unrolls cutlery from a napkin, doling out post and salad into the two dishes. Sunny realises all she's eaten today is the croissant at Delilah's house and all of today's adrenaline wears off in that moment. Her stomach lets out an obscenely loud rumble, the kind of noise from a horror film. Viv eyes her. "Hungry, huh?"
"Apparently." She laughs at herself.
"Did you eat breakfast?"
"Yeah. Coffee and croissants with Delilah." She grabs a fork and digs into the pasta because she can't wait anymore and it looks so damn good, rich and creamy with a crunchy cheese crust that makes her moan.
"What about lunch?"
"Well, breakfast was at one so it was the same meal."
"Sunny."
Sunny holds up a hand. "Please don't be annoyed at me for things I don't know are an issue."
That shuts Viv up. She closes her mouth and looks down. "Right. Sorry. It's just that you have a habit of forgetting to eat because other things come up and then you're starving when someone offers food because you don't even realise it's been eight hours since you last ate."
"Yeah, that ... sounds like me. That's, like, always been a thing, though. It's not a big deal. I just forget until my tummy's eating itself."
"I know. I worry about you, working long shifts on your feet on an empty stomach."
"I usually find a cereal bar in my pocket at some point." She chows down on the pasta, trying to hold back her almost erotic moans. "This is fucking amazing, by the way. Do you cook a lot?"
"If I didn't, we'd both starve," Viv says with a teasing glint in her eye. It's no secret that Sunny can't cook. To put her in the kitchen and expect her to make an edible meal is to put a dolphin on land and expect it to win a marathon. It simply isn't going to happen.
As they eat, Sunny finds her eyes wandering to Viv. She wants to soak up every inch of her and commit it to memory, study the lines of her like she's rehearsing for a play that she's forgotten every word of despite having performed it all year. She takes in every thick curl in a hundred shades of pink from magenta and Mexican to Persian and peony, with the occasional lick of candyfloss and rose. Her hair is a work of art, the deep rosewood pink of her roots disguising a fortnight's growth of her natural colour. Sunny wants to reach out and wind a curl around her finger, wants to bury her nose in it to figure out what shampoo her girlfriend uses. She wants to trace every freckle that makes up the constellation that illuminates Viv's cheeks and trails down her neck, across her chest. How far do those freckles go?
Viv wears no make-up. Her eyelashes are long and dark, her eyebrows too full to need filling in, too perfect to need plucking. Her lips are a natural pinkish brown, her skin almost blemish free save for the hint of darkness beneath her eyes and the thin scar below her hairline, a slightly lighter shade of olive tan. Despite her height she doesn't slouch, doesn't pull in her broad shoulders or tuck her legs under herself. Her knees are crossed, her right foot resting against her left calf, elegantly pointed in a ballet flat. Sunny's eyes follow the curve of the arch of Viv's foot up to her smooth ankle, to the rolled-up hem of her jeans, to the oversized white shirt that drapes from her shoulders, the neck open in a wide V that almost reaches her chest. When she leans forward to pluck a tomato off the vine, the billowy fabric exposes her bra, deep green lace caressing her breasts.
Sunny is not fussed about sex. She isn't that into masturbation, except as the necessary release of a build-up or as a means of getting to sleep. She's not sure how she feels about kissing yet. But breasts? She loves breasts. Wants to cup one of Viv's in her palm to see how it fits. Wants to know the feel of a firm nipple against her palm, wants to—
"You okay there?" Viv asks. "What're you doing?" Her head is tilted, those luscious curls falling out of the velvet scrunchie that can't contain them. She tucks a curl behind her ear but it doesn't stay. Her hair has far too much volume to be contained by her ears, which, Sunny notices, are freckled too. And pierced, several times over. A litany of studs that climb from lobe to helix.
"Studying you," she says. "You're stunning."
A rose flush creeps into Viv's cheeks until they match her hair. That intoxicating dimple appears when she smiles. "Thank you."
"How the hell did we end up together?" The words tumble out of their own volition and there's no stuffing them back so Sunny figures she might as well double down. "I mean, you're this calm, collected goddess with the most objectively beautiful face I've ever seen, and from all accounts it sounds like I was a bumbling twat for at least our first two interactions."
"You intrigued me," Viv says. She puts her bowl down and leans back against the sofa. "You have this energy about you, Sunny. It's ... exhilarating. You came into the shop like a breath of fresh air and I couldn't stop thinking about you and those damn jelly shoes."
Sunny grins. She makes a mental note to wear the jelly shoes more often. "Who asked who out first?" she asks. She can't imagine it would've been her when she spends half her life worrying that every girl she's remotely into is straight, but it also sounds like she was absolutely besotted from the first time they met.
"I did. My father taught me to never let an opportunity slip by if you know you'll regret it when it's gone. I figured, worst case scenario, you were inexplicably straight and I got rejected." She raises her hands as if in worship and says, "Thank the gay gods for making you such a hopeless lesbian."
"That's at the top of my CV," she jokes. "Tennyson Shelley, hopeless lesbian." She polishes off her tuna pasta bake and every last leaf of salad, drizzled in the most delicious honey mustard dressing, and leans back with her hands crossed over her satisfied stomach. "That was incredible. I could eat that all over again."
"Because you've barely eaten all day." Viv taps her wrist in admonishment. "Bad Sunny."
"In my defence, I went out with my friends last night and got absolutely shitfaced, so food wasn't the top of my list of priorities when I spent all morning throwing up."
"You went out?" Viv tilts her head. Her smile drifts away until only its shadow remains. "Where?"
"Lickety Split. Fen told me about it 'cause she thought it had big lesbian vibes. She was right – it's very gay. Though she managed to find the one straight guy." Sunny laughs, not yet clocking the change in Viv's expression. "It was nice. I never do stuff like that and I never drink, so that was kind of strange, but it was nice to be out with my friends and I liked the bar. It felt very ... safe. Have you heard of it?"
"Yeah." Viv's looking at her hands, running her thumb over the perfect arches of her nails. "I asked you if you wanted to go when it opened but you said it wasn't really your thing."
"Oh." Now Sunny sees it, where she has tripped up. She sees the evening crumbling before her because she has fucked up, again.
"I would've come, if I'd known you were going to be there."
"Viv, I—"
"No, it's fine, really." A quiet laugh escapes her, carried on a sharp breath. "I keep forgetting that you forgot about me."
As true as those words are, the way she says them cuts deep. Sunny feels it like a papercut: a slice so clean that she doesn't notice it until salt gets in the wound and it screams its presence. I am here, it cries, you cannot ignore me.
When Sunny doesn't want to think too hard about what has happened, it's easy to forget about Viv. It's easy to push her to the back of her mind because she still doesn't feel real. Sunny has no emotional connection to her yet; their relationship has no grounding in reality; she knows that if she never saw Viv again, it would not hurt for long because she hasn't sunk her claws in yet. But the same is not true for Viv. She's part of this life lived. Her pain is the direct consequence of every time Sunny forgets her, ignores her, tries not to think about her.
It's too easy. And it's selfish, Sunny realises. So deeply, achingly selfish. Because all week she has thought of herself. She has thought only of how the black hole has wrenched her from her life and thrown her into a new one; she doesn't think of how it has wrenched her out of Viv's life only to replace her with an identical Sunny, one with no attachment, no sentiment, no fucking memory.
"I'm so sorry, Viv," Sunny chokes out, her throat suddenly thick. "I ... shit, I fucking hate this situation so much. I'm so sorry."
"Just tell me one thing." Viv uncrosses her legs and plants her feet on the floor. Sunny's break is running out, probably running over, but Michelle doesn't care and Sunny's not about to abandon this conversation like her mind keeps abandoning Viv.
"Of course."
"Did you think about me and decide not to ask me, because you wanted space or you wanted to be with your friends or whatever reason? Or did you not think about me at all?"
Sunny's mouth moves like a goldfish as she tries to figure out which is the lesser of two evils but it doesn't matter, because one is the truth and that is what Viv deserves. That is what they have promised each other. "I didn't think about you at all," she says, and with every word she feels like she is pushing a pin into a doll of Viv, each pin correlating one of the creases in her forehead that deepens as she takes in a breath.
"I'm sorry," Sunny says meekly.
"It's okay. Well. No. It's..." She trails off. Heaves another sigh. "It's a lot to get used to."
"I want to do better." But that's easier said than done. It's easy to want to be a better girlfriend, to want to factor Viv into every facet of her life. But to actually do it? That takes work.
"I know you do." Viv picks at what's left of her salad. She pushes half of a tomato around her bowl to collect the last of the dressing. Sunny glances at the clock. It's nine forty. Her break has already run ten minutes over and there's a group approaching, and she wills them to go away so she can fix this but they come in, and Michelle's in the middle of cleaning, and she needs to serve them.
"I'll be right back," she says, fixing her apron. Her heart rate is up, pumping abnormally hard as it pushes guilt and sorrow and irritation around her body.
"No, don't worry about it." Viv packs everything back into her tote bag, including the books and her CD player. "I think I'm gonna head home, actually. I'm pretty tired, I don't think I can stay up until one."
"Viv..."
"It's okay, Sunny. I'm not mad at you. That would be unfair. But I am upset, so I think it's best I go," she says, and as much as Sunny appreciates the level-headed communication, it guts her to see the glisten in Viv's eyes and know that she's the reason.
"Do you want to do something tomorrow?" She has no idea what they could do, no idea what they've already done, but she wants to do something, even if it's only a temporary balm on a blistering boil of a set of circumstances.
"I don't know. I'll call you." Shouldering her tote bag, Viv pulls her hair out from under the straps and reties it at the nape of her neck, giving herself a halo of pink curls.
And then, with a tight smile and wet eyes that she's trying to blink away, she leaves, and Sunny, numb, serves the three people who have walked in wanting blended lattes and complicated coffees with extra syrups and shots. She makes the drinks on autopilot, measuring out caramel and hazelnut and vanilla, preparing shots and blending ice and mixing milk into powder for a chai latte, and she sags with relief when the group takes their drinks to go.
Ten minutes later, all is quiet again and Sunny has a moment to flop onto an armchair and drop her head in her hands. Michelle's opposite her when she looks up, a look of genuine concern between the lines of her motherly face.
"That didn't seem good," she says. Her voice is softer than usual. Michelle can come off as brash and hard because she has three grown kids and she doesn't put up with any bullshit, but she can be sensitive and comforting because she has three kids and she's raised them right. "Are you okay, sweetie?"
"I'm not sure. I keep fucking things up with her," Sunny says, not bothering to brush Michelle off or tell her everything's fine.
"You're young, kid. It's easy to fuck things up."
"I don't want to fuck it up, though. I want to be happy. I want her to be happy."
"Then you've gotta put in the effort. And I know you can, because I've seen you put in the effort with her for a whole year now, my love." Michelle rests a hand on Sunny's elbow. "If something's changed, then tell her. Communication, Sunny, that's what it's all about. If you want it to work then you have to choose her. Every. Single. Day."
Sunny looks up at her colleague, this fount of wisdom with her copper-dyed hair and her weathered skin, the coral pink of the lipstick bleeding into the soft lines around her mouth. She has always liked Michelle, her work mother.
"You think I like my husband every day?" Michelle laughs, her pale grey eyes shining. "No! He pisses me off. He makes me mad. Sometimes I just want to shake some damn sense into him." She mimes shaking an invisible husband, her teeth bared and her eyebrows scrunched together. "But I still love him. I still choose him. I choose to be with him every day. Being in a relationship is all about choices, compromises, deciding how far you wanna go for the person next to you."
"Shit, Michelle." A weak laugh trickles from Sunny's throat. "That's deep."
Michelle shrugs. "That's life, sugar. It's not meant to be easy. You can't go about your life as normal and expect your partner to fall into step like some background actor. They're your equal. There's gotta be some give and take."
The door dings with a new customer and Michelle stands, patting Sunny's shoulder. "I've got this. You sit there and stew some more."
Sunny does exactly that. She stews over everything Michelle's said. Everything Viv said. Everything anyone has said to her in the last week. She stews as she cleans and brews and serves; she stews as she walks to the bus alone and rides ten stops alone, as she walks up the stairs to her flat and crashes into her bed and presses her face into her pillow to block out everything but her thoughts.
Her thoughts are a broken record. They skip and scratch over Viv's face and they tell her she has fallen into a life with a beautiful woman with a smile so bright it rivals the sun, so why is she not spending every moment getting to know her?
shoutout to michelle, good ol' voice of reason from someone with experience!