I grabbed an apron from under the register and tied it around my waist, positioning myself in front of the coffee machine and wrenching a filter handle free. Nobody had put the music on yet so I could hear Nic explaining subs to the newb in his thick Kiwi accent, her low ‘uh-huh’s doing nothing to convince either of us that she was listening. I gave her three shifts tops, and clicked a perfect mountain of coffee into the basket.

Sometimes in group, when we ran out of horrific stories we’d seen on the news and near misses that weren’t really near at all, we’d talk about coping strategies. Theories and tricks and ways to keep ourselves sane. Sometimes Carlos went on and on about ‘mindfulness’, which was the technical term for ‘distraction’. His psych encouraged him to practise mindfulness, gave him piles of readings on how to do it, which he shared with us, and some of us nodded and went off and tried it—and sometimes it almost worked. None of it ever made much sense to me, but sometimes when I was at Sawyer’s I felt like I got close. On a busy night I could go hours without a single Thought, without a single terrible scenario playing out behind my eyes. I was right there, in the present, twisting and timing and steaming and mixing and shaking, and my mind was actually, properly still.

After the accident, Sawyer’s was the first place I could breathe.

I’d just finished pouring two perfect macchiatos when Nic said my name. He was standing in front of me with the new girl, her face a picture of confusion and disinterest, eyes glazed like doughnuts, and I slid one of the coffees over to him as I necked the other one.

‘This is Emma,’ he said. ‘Emma, Caitlin. If you have any questions, ask her.’

I made a face. ‘I’m here to help.’ My voice was slick with sarcasm.

‘Aren’t you just?’ He sipped his coffee, then looked back at the new girl, who was studying us both with the same confused expression.

‘Ignore her,’ he said. ‘I’d say she’s having a bad day but she’s always like this.’

I arched an eyebrow, and he laughed.

‘Seriously, though, Caitlin knows everything there is to know about everything to do with the floor. And she’s super-anal about everything being done right. Listen to her, and you’ll be right.’

The new girl nodded, and I frowned. She was too quiet. You had to watch the quiet ones—they were either taking everything in and would end up running the place in three months or they were completely and utterly lost and would be fucking up your entire night. I put this one in column B.

I’d already forgotten her name. Tara? She looked like a Tara.