But college was harder than I expected. Not the classes themselves, but everything else in my life, like how my dad was starting to need my help more and more often. With Milo and me out of the house, I chalked up his frequent confused calls as the activity of a man who suddenly had way too much free time on his hands, but eventually I had to admit that something was wrong. Add that to the fact that I had no real career direction and very little money and, well, dropping out wasn’t such a hard decision.

Over the next several years, as Annie graduated and pursued her writing dreams, I took a slew of jobs to support myself. None of them were glamorous and most of them were awful. Right around the time I realized I had to find an assisted living facility for my dad, I was fired from my crappy call center job (it turns out most employers do not like it when you routinely bail on your shift because you’re having a family crisis).

In my state of financial despair and panic, I saw a sign. I mean, a literal sign, in the window of Nick’s cozy, brick-walled coffee shop: Now Hiring. So I walked in, applied, and told him up front that I had to leave anytime my dad needed me. And whether it was desperation or something else that made him hire me, he said okay.

That was years ago and I’ve been here ever since, turning Nick’s into not only my place of employment but also my home away from home. Eventually I started taking online classes to finally finish my degree. The only difference is that now I have enough direction to know what I really want to do—I want to own my own business, a place like Nick’s but really mine. One where I can decide the menu, spruce up the boring walls, and create a homey café that makes everyone comfortable. A place where I can take care of people but, you know, get paid for it.

Until then, Nick’s is where I shine. And now, as I’m sitting here with Annie at her usual table, I’m focusing on another venue where I can showcase my strengths: her wedding.

“I’m envisioning a pom wall,” I say, spreading my hands in front of me.

Annie stares blankly from her seat across the table.

I sigh. “Have you never been on Pinterest, Annie?”

She shakes her head. “Only for writing mood boards.”

“Wasn’t your break over . . . oh, about ten minutes ago?” Nick asks from behind the counter.

“We’re in a lull, Nick,” I shout, not looking at him because I do not have time for the awkward jitters I get whenever his eyes are on me (Reason #3: When you google the phrase bedroom eyes, his picture comes up).

I pull up a picture on my phone. “As I was saying. Pom wall. See, like this.”

Annie and her fiancé, Drew, are getting married here in Columbus—down the street from Nick’s, actually. It turns out Nick knows the guy who owns the building, and he has this loft space no one ever uses that will be perfect for a small wedding. It’s big and open and the paint is peeling in that artfully decrepit way that makes for great Instagram photos. I’m thankful they’re not getting married in some faraway city, like New York or LA or Shreveport, where Drew’s from. I didn’t even want to leave my dad for the premiere of Annie’s movie (thankfully, she pulled some strings and worked out a Columbus premiere, which everyone is super excited about), so there’s no way I’d feel comfortable jetting across the country for a celebration while God knows what happened in my absence.