Eliza looked at the clock. It was seven thirty-five, five minutes after her shift ended. She punched out and grabbed her bag from the box stashed in the back office, waving to her coworkers as she pushed through the kitchen door to the dining area. She found an empty table and plopped down, looking closely at the people around her. A couple by the window was chatting away over steam coiling up from the lattes she had put in for them before clocking out. An old man with a silver, stubby beard sat opposite her, staring over his untouched drink; he seemed to be waiting for someone. She remembered the story her grandmother told her every year about how her grandfather bought coffee at a street cart every morning outside her office, hoping to see her on her way to work in the ’50s.
She opened her laptop and began searching for the files she uploaded the night before from her camera. A couple stared back at her from the screen, starry-eyed and smiling. They looked happy; she hoped they would stay that way. As she clicked through the photos, she prayed silently for them like she did every couple whose wedding she photographed. She asked God to knit them together in His will and His love. She knew statistics were against them, but she held onto hope. Her parents had found love, after all, and she’d witnessed what a rich, fulfilling marriage should look like. She would accept nothing less, even if it meant being single forever.
She got to work choosing and editing photos and didn’t look up until her eyes hurt an hour later. A paper cup sat in front of her, cool to the touch. She picked it up and sipped it, waving her thanks to Andi, her coworker, who was cleaning behind the counter. It’s going to be a long night. She took another sip. She’d spend another two hours editing there until the shop closed and another hour at home working over a cup of chamomile tea. Midnight would strike before her head hit the pillow, and she had an early shift in the morning.
Andi came over a while later and sat down. The shop was mostly cleared out, except for the old gentleman still brooding over his untouched drink. “Can I see?”
Eliza smiled and turned her computer around. Andi gasped at a photo of the married couple grinning widely as the groom tickled his bride from behind.
“That is so precious.” Andi leaned in. “It looks so real!”
“It was a candid photo. They were so happy and carefree; I would even say they were easy to work with.”
“Is it the super nice wedding you did? The doctor couple?”
“It’s her parents that are doctors, but yes.”
“I’d be carefree, too, if I had someone footing the bill for a wedding like that.” She pointed at a picture of the bride seated at a table against an elegant backdrop of satin and rose gold accents.
Eliza rolled her eyes. If only Andi knew how often she’d watched the most well-meaning, sweet-natured brides morph into uptight, demanding clients that were never satisfied until the wedding was over and nothing was left to fuss over. Then, somehow, the wedding became a blissful memory of dancing and cake cutting, first kisses, and bouquet tossing; her pictures were evidence.
“They’re a sweet couple, and I had fun. But I have to finish editing these photos.”
“Ok, fine. The line is picking up anyway.” Andi looked back at the counter where two new customers were waiting.
“Hey, thanks for the coffee.” Eliza held up her empty cup. Andi winked and walked back to the counter.
The shop closed, and Eliza continued her work at home, swapping coffee for tea and the wooden dining table for a laminate kitchen bar. She worked until the images became blurry, and her fingers refused to obey, fumbling and creating more work for her with their errors. She finally stood up, flipped the switch to the overhead light, and fell onto the plush comfort of her bed, where she would spend the next four and a half hours trying to sleep before being awakened by an unwelcome alarm.
Her head had barely touched the pillow when her phone vibrated from the nightstand, reverberating loudly into the stillness around her. She looked at the time –12:59 – and threw her head back onto the pillow. Don’t look, it’s almost one. She huffed and turned over. What if it’s Andi? She held it up to her face and noticed the number was unfamiliar.
Hey Matt, it’s Cooper. I know it’s been a while, but I could really use some of your wisdom right now.
She put the phone down and flopped back onto the bed. It wasn’t for her; she couldn’t think through the exhaustion anyway. I could really use some of your wisdom… She closed her eyes. Was this person in trouble? How badly did they need help? Not that it mattered – she wasn’t Matt.
She tossed restlessly for a few minutes, every sound amplified as she begged sleep to come. Finally, she sat back up. Whoever was trying to reach Matt should know they had the wrong number…just in case.
This isn’t Matt, you must have the wrong number. I’m sorry.
She put the phone down and turned over, pulling the comforter to her ears. Her phone buzzed, and the white screen lit up the ceiling above her.
Sorry to bother you. Thanks for letting me know.
She glanced at the clock, which mockingly read 1:15. She was less tired than she had been when she came home and wanted to throw the phone out the window when it buzzed in her hand again.
Are you any good at giving advice?
She doubted she was good enough at it to justify replying to them at such a late hour. However, they must be desperate if they sought her advice at one in the morning. How could she refuse to help? She typed a reply and looked around at the shadowy shapes of the furniture in her room, her thumb hovering over the send button. She had nothing but sleep to lose, and hopefully, the stranger on the other end had something to gain.
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