80

As the barista deftly scooped the remaining foam off her no-foam latte, Margaret listened to the conversation occurring at the table closest. Normally, you couldn't hear anything, but it was eerily quiet. She realized the ever-present, ultra-hip compilation CD wasn't playing. Now that it was gone, she missed it.

"I can't make decisions. It's because of my mother. She never let me decide when I was young. My father worked all the time and I developed an unhealthy attachment to men who would abandon me."

"Mmm," said the man.

"One no-foamsoychailatte?"

"Thank you," she said, abandoning the woman herself as she was sure the man would, too.

Margaret sat at a small, round table near the front windows. Another woman with a lap full of computer sat in one of the upholstered chairs. The woman kept laughing at something she was watching. Eventually, Margaret had the idea that the woman was not laughing at something on the computer, but rather something playing in the woman's own head. The realization made her notice the woman's clothes, which didn't match, and her short haircut, which was uneven and quite possibly self-inflicted.

Her chai was hot, but not overly so. She sipped cautiously to make it last.