Kristina Springer: The Espressologist

"Honey." Mom interrupts my thoughts and pushes my legs over so she can sit down on the couch. "You can't live on the couch watching silly talk shows the rest of your life."

"It's not silly, it's educational, and yes I can," I say without taking my eyes off the television screen.

"Em still won't talk to you?" Mom asks gently.

"No."

"Don't worry, sweetie," she says, patting my leg. "She can't stay mad at you forever. You've been best friends for too long."

"Mmm-hmm," I mumble. I hope Mom is right. What would I do without Em? We sit there silently for a few minutes watching Dr. Phil rip into some other chick. Seems this one only likes to date married men. Like that is just some kind of coincidence. Get off my back, Phil!

"Your segment on The Gabby Girlz airs tomorrow morning at nine, you know. Are you going to watch it?"

Mom asks.

"I don't know," I say, sitting up. And I really don't. On the one hand I want to see how I look on TV and how the interview came off, but on the other hand it'll be like death watching Will and Melissa on their date. "I don't know if I can."

"How about I record it and then you can decide if you want to watch it later?" Mom stands, and I nod my head in agreement and sink back into the couch.

I already know that Will and Melissa really hit it off on their date. Daisy was only too eager to tell me everything she knew when I called in sick on Sunday. She said that the assistant producer of The Gabby Girlz had called Derek and told him that the segment was perfect.

They were impressed with my matchmaking ability and how it actually worked. They said Will and Melissa were holding hands, kissing, and exchanging phone numbers before the end of the date. Real nice. I've been working on landing him for months and in just a few hours he's kissing her and giving her his phone number (and probably the real one at that). Fat chance he'll ever get free drinks from me again. I'm so done with guys. Maybe I'll get a goldfish.

The phone rings.

"Honey," Mom calls, "can you get it?"

"Can you?" I ask, not wanting to move any more than I have to.

"No, just pick it up, Jane. Maybe it's Em?"

"Fine!" I'm mad that I have to get up and walk all the way across the room to where the phone is parked upright in its charger base. I press TALK and put the phone up to my ear. "Hello?"

"Jane?" a male asks.

"Yeah, this is," I say with a sigh.

"It's Derek. How are you feeling?"

"Oh, you know. So-so."

"I've been worried about you. Think you'll be in tomorrow?"

"Probably not. I still have a bit of a fever."

"Well, Friday is our last Espressology night. You have to make it in for that at least," he tells me.

"Oh, yeah," I reply. "I almost forgot about it."

"It's just one more week. You can do it, Jane," he says encouragingly. "You've done a fantastic job. I'm sure you'll get something out of all this–that big bonus or something."

I guess if I can't have a boyfriend, a bonus isn't so bad.

I sigh again. "I'll be there."

I glance over at the calendar on the wall. I can't believe how fast the month has gone by. It's almost Christmas. All these people I've matched will have boyfriends and girlfriends to cuddle with in front of fireplaces with cups of cocoa for the holidays. Even that nasty stupid Melissa. And what do I have to cuddle? A possible bonus. Yay.

I get to work an hour before Espressology night starts on Friday, ready to put on my happy face, make some love connections, and wrap up my Espressology career.

The glitz and glam from the television taping is gone now, and its back to my same old Wired Joe's. Em's working behind the counter and I totally want to run over and give her a big hug, but she won't even look at me. How am I going to get through this?

I slink past Em to put away my purse and coat. I take a sideways glance in the mirror at tonight's outfit and am pleased that I still look good despite my incredibly icky mood. I picked a pair of black leggings, ballet slippers, and a really cute long black off-the-shoulder sweater tonight, envisioning how good the red straps of my Espressologist apron would look on my bare shoulders. I'm really going to miss being able to wear the variety of cute clothes on

Friday nights once I have to go back to my Wired Joe's uniform.

I should go help at the register for a few minutes, but I have to figure out what I'm going to say to Em. She can't really ignore me the entire night, can she? I sit down at one of the metal chairs in the break room, fold my arms on the table, and rest my forehead on my forearms. A moment later I see a pair of black Converse appear under the table.

Em's shoes! I jolt up.

"Em!" Em is standing next to me, staring at me expressionlessly, her arms crossed. "Em, please don't be mad at me. Please–I would never do anything to hurt you, I swear!" She says nothing but continues to look at me. "I'm really, really sorry," I say in a much smaller voice, tears forming in the corner of my eyes. The room is eerily quiet and we stare at each other for what seems like forever.

"I know." She plops into the metal chair next to me.

She sighs heavily and puts her legs up on a chair to her left.

"Are you still mad at me?"

She looks thoughtful, like she is really considering it.

Finally she says, "No. I can't stay mad at you. You're my best friend. And it wasn't really your fault anyway."

"It wasn't?" I ask, totally shocked. "I mean, it wasn't, I don't think."

"I talked to Cam yesterday." Em turns to look me in the eye now.

"You did? What did he say?"

"I was pretty pissed at him, too. I wouldn't talk to him all week. But then yesterday I picked up the phone when he called and asked if we could get coffee and talk.

And I said fine. We met at Capulet Coffee."

"Oh, Em, you really must have been upset. Capulet tastes like a mixture of raspberries and cat pee."

She smirks. "Coffee snob," she says.

"So what happened?"

"Well, apparently we were on two different pages with this relationship. I thought we were together–like boyfriend and girlfriend. He thought we were just friends hanging out."

"Huh? How did that happen?" I ask, thinking back to the various times she told me they were "in love."

"He maintains that he has always told me we were just friends. And I have to admit, he did say things like that.

Like, when he'd introduce me to someone he'd say, 'This is my friend Em' or whatever."

"No way!"

"I thought he was trying to keep things interesting.

You know–keep me on my toes or something," she adds.

"Wow."

"Yeah, wow," Em says. "And I thought about it a lot last night and today. I think maybe I was wanting to be in a relationship so I kind of put myself into one. Real or not.

I was with Jason for so long that I didn't know how to do the Em-on-her-own thing."

"Oh, Em, I'm sorry it didn't work out."

"It's all right. I mean, I'll be all right. I had a really long time to think about it this past week. And Cam is cool and a lot of fun. Don't get me wrong–I think he's a great guy. But I don't think I actually was in love with him or anything."

"So why didn't you take any of my calls? Why did you ignore me? I've been miserable," I whine.

"Hey, I was pretty bloody pissed at you most of the week. I only came to this revelation yesterday after talking to Cam," she tells me.

"I had my phone on all day today," I mumble under my breath.

"Um, sitting next to you and can totally hear you."

"Seriously! Why didn't you call me and tell me this earlier?"

"I was letting you squirm a bit more. I mean, I am your best friend and you were kissing the man you thought I loved. That is so wrong," Em says.

"Yeah," I agree, slumping against the back of my chair.