Opening the door to the store, I stepped inside, then sighed heavily at the sight of my mother frowning at me from behind the register. There were no customers in the store, but from her disapproving scowl, one would think there was a line waiting on me.
“He was having difficulties with the pump, Momma,” I said before she could unleash her string of verbal scolding.
“¡Sabes mejor que dejar la caja registradora desatendida!” she replied angrily, not believing my excuse. Her only concern was that I had left the cash register unattended. Although it had less than one hundred dollars in it at any given time. That didn’t matter to Momma. Doing my job and not paying attention to boys was what she cared about.
“There was no one in here, Momma,” I said, pointing out the obvious.
She opened her mouth, still scowling at me, when I was blessedly saved from her impending temper. The jingle of the bell on the front door played its familiar sound as someone entered the store. Her scowl immediately became a friendly smile as she flashed it at the customer. She’d finish this scolding later. My mother missed nothing. She would have seen Asa outside and she would know. She always did. Because of my mother’s overbearing ways, I’d never been on a date. It was just sad that I was seventeen years old and still hadn’t been kissed. The joys of working, taking care of my younger siblings, and being homeschooled. I had no social life.
“Hello, Mr. Lee,” my mother greeted the customer. “How can we help you today?”
I went to take my place behind the counter before glancing over to see Ryker Lee’s father with his friendly expression as he replied to my mother. “Just filling up the truck and in need of some coffee and one of your cinnamon rolls. Hope I’m not too late this morning and you have one left.”
My mother’s cinnamon rolls were famous in this town. She woke up at four every morning and made five dozen from scratch. Rarely was there one left after nine a.m. She was proud of that fact. Her churros were equally as popular after three in the afternoon. She made exactly six dozen of those, and they were always sold out while they were still warm.
“You’re lucky. I have three left. Let me go wrap one up for you. Ezmita, you get Mr. Lee a fresh cup of coffee,” she said in the nicest commanding tone she could muster. I nodded quickly and went to check on the pot of coffee I had started before Asa had driven up outside.
“Go ahead and get me all three. I’ll take the others home to the family,” he called out to her. I checked the clock out of habit. It was 8:17. She’d sold out earlier than yesterday. Not her record-breaking time of 7:49, but still impressive for a Saturday, when people got out a little later in the morning.
Momma knew when she told him only three were left he’d take them all. People were creatures of habit. Just like my parents, I too knew of everyone in this small town. I knew their regular orders. I remembered the way they liked their coffee and what their favorite snacks were. If they were going to ask for a cinnamon roll with their morning coffee or not. That knowledge was where it ended. Mr. Lee’s son, Ryker, was my age, and just like Asa, he didn’t know my name. I was an outsider in the town I had grown up in. That wasn’t their fault and I didn’t blame them.
I blamed my parents. They never allowed me to live a life outside this family. I had no friends. I had siblings and cousins. I had no experience in the world. I had experience running a store. While other girls flirted with the boys and went on dates, I took their money and gave them cinnamon rolls. My older sister’s death had made them even more overprotective than they had been before. I wanted a life, but I knew as long as I lived under their roof, I’d have to fight to get one—and even then I didn’t foresee them giving in to my request.
With a sigh, I finished pouring Mr. Lee’s coffee and securely fastened the plastic top on it before walking back to the counter and placing it there for him to take. The same routine, day in and day out. My life shouldn’t be this boring at seventeen, yet my parents had made sure it was as mundane as possible.
“How old are you now, Ezmita?” Mr. Lee asked me with his sincere, friendly smile.
“Seventeen,” I replied.
He gave a nod. “I guessed as much. I thought you were around Ryker’s age. Have any plan for college?” he asked then, seeming genuinely interested in the answer. It was rare anyone asked me more than if the coffee was fresh or requested a food item from the back. Something that had to do with me and me alone was nice.