The bell above the door rang for the ninetieth time that morning, but to Ryan, each ring sounded like it was miles away. He moved through the narrow space behind the counter like a ghost, his hands performing the motions of making a coffee, while his mind remained trapped in a haze, somewhere in a bedroom.
"Ryan, what's wrong with you? Why're you dazing in and out?" Mrs. Chen asked, her voice hurling him back to the present.
He blinked down at his hands like they didn't belong to him. The wrong syrup was already tipped halfway. He straightened it too quickly. "I'm really sorry."
He couldn't count how many times he had said those words that day. He had apologized to the tall lady who waited five minutes longer than she should have because he had forgotten her order.
To a kid whose drink he made taste off. he had dropped, to the student whose bagel he had burnt, and now to his boss.
"I'm really sorry, Mrs. Chen," Ryan mumbled again, his head down.
