Poison In The Coffee Cup

Tomorrow was the day of the launch. I woke up before my alarm, smoothed my crisp white bedsheets, and walked to the bathroom. Mayor Emmett had been working on a “Clean Air” project for quite some time now. Being his secretary, I helped him with everything. I was happy to, as usual. Clean air for the town meant clean air for everyone, including my sickly brother.

I hadn’t visited my family in a while. Four years, to be exact. They didn’t always approve of my ways, but it doesn’t matter. Anything was worth it if it meant you were working to better and improve your town. I put my hand under the tap sensor, and clean, cold water rushed through my fingers---something my family’s bakery, South of the town, never had. Once, I tried convincing them to move up North with me, but my parents never liked change. They were insistent on staying, and I didn’t have the patience to hear their reasoning. I patted some water on my face before stepping into the shower. It immediately turned on for me and I shivered from the striking cold. I could take a hot shower, but today I needed my head to be clear. I hated to admit it, but last night, my mind was a chaotic mess. I was reeling and flipping over in my bed, something that had never happened before. Mayor Emmett’s voice echoed in my ears nightlong, ringing of the confession he made at the office before I sped back home.

I’ve worked for the mayor for four years, ever since I was 18. But, nothing could’ve prepared me for what he’d told me yesterday evening. I hated how it plagued my mind with thoughts of my parents and my childhood. I didn’t want to hear another word from them, but I had to do it. For Elio. I seethed, steeled my nerves, and stepped out of the shower, wrapping the clean, white cloth around me as I picked up my toothbrush. My hands shook as I squeezed the toothpaste on.

Suddenly, a chill raced through my body and I dropped the toothbrush. The minty cream splattered all over my once spotless sink. Staring at the mess, I tried to still myself. My vision swam, and I knew for sure now that if Sir Emmett’s launch continued, my brother’s blood wouldn’t be the only one spilled---just like my toothpaste.

Putting on my newly-ironed white suit, I walked out the building and started up my car. I didn’t need a GPS for this. I pulled my hair tight---tighter than ever---into my signature bun before I drove my way back to my childhood home, dread sitting in the pit of my stomach like poison.

***

Our small town, where the stench of clams could be smelled all the way to the city, was split into two halves: the North and the South. I haven’t been down South in a while, and the once green trees that messily sprouted from the half-paved ground had turned a rich, red-orange colour, marking the arrival of autumn. I parked my car on the side of the street and stepped out. Immediately, the leaves rustled and a gust of wind blew my way, but no matter how windy it got, or how long it’d been, the town never could get rid of its smell. I wrinkled my nose. This was part of the reason why I moved up North. The clam smell was much more bearable.

One of the mayor’s campaign posters blew my way. I picked it up, inspecting the poorly-made glue on its edges. Staring at Sir Emmett’s printed face made my insides curl. I’ve worked for this man for four whole years. He’d always done what was best for the town. That was the whole reason I decided to work for him in the first place. So, why did he suddenly decide to do…that? I shook my head and banished the thought away, my eyebrows knitted together again as I folded and tucked the poster into my purse. I pushed the bakery door open and the bell let out a soft, welcoming jingle.

“Welcome to---” my mother started to say, cheerily, before her voice dropped and she stared me dead in the eye. I tried not to twitch as I stared at her back, feeling a bit out of place since I was wearing a full-white uniform, and the bakery was made from an assortment of all colours. I forced myself to look around---anywhere but at her face. Almost everything was still the same. The kettle shaped like a fish was still displayed on the same chipped wooden shelves. Fresh hydrangeas---Mother’s favourite flower, I remembered---were still in their peculiar shaped vases, scattered all around the bakery like a tornado had hit them. The only sign of change were the big scuff marks on the pole in the middle of the shop. That was where I had measured my height back when I was a child. Now, it had a different set of marks lined right next to mine, which could be none other than my little brother Elio’s.

Suddenly, my mother ushered all the customers outside. She apologised to them and her voice cracked a little, before announcing, “The bakery’s closed for today! I’m so sorry for the inconvenience. We’ll have a sale tomorrow so make sure to come back!”

Just when she shut the door and locked it, flipping the sign from OPEN to CLOSED, she abruptly wheeled on me, glaring at me as I returned her with a cold, unbothered expression.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, storming across the room to wipe her flour-stained fingers. Her voice shook, but I couldn’t tell if it was from anger or shock. I took a deep breath in. I started to feel dizzy as I prepared myself to tell her. I lifted my gaze and stared at her head-on from across the room.

“Pack your things,” I forced it out, my body stiffening. “I need everyone to move up North with me, or else Elio’s going to die.”

***

“We are not going anywhere,” my mother said. She’d moved me to the back room, and her, Dad, and I were now sitting at our round dining table, glaring at each other. “Your dad and I built this place brick by brick. We’re never leaving it behind.”

“Never,” Dad agreed with her. He’d never been much of an agreeable person. He was always the loud one with big, conservative opinions, while Mother was equally loud and always panicking. She had a fiery temper, too. They both did. It was another reason why I decided to move up North: living here was never going to give me the structure and organisation I needed. I squared them both with a look, not backing down. They don’t know what’s going to happen if they stay here. I do.

“Amelia Tucker, you have the audacity to come down here, after four years of never visiting,” Dad fumed, banging his fist on the table. The wood fractured slightly but I didn’t flinch. I knew how my parents were. They would never change. “First you ran away to work for that sick mayor, and we were coming to terms with it. But you never sent a letter, never came to visit, and now you show up here, out of the blue, demanding us to come with you?”

“What your Dad said!” Mother added heatedly. “A little hi would’ve been nice! That’s not how we raised you.”

I raised an eyebrow, trying to contain my anger. Their way of raising me was twisted---chaotic. I started cooking for myself at nine years old because these two never had a consistent dinner time. It made my blood boil just thinking about it.

Slowly, I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath. When I opened them, I said, in the most level voice possible, “It’s not safe here anymore.” I paused, then squinted at them. “Do you want Elio to die?”

The room fell silent. A flicker of worry passed through their eyes, and they glanced at each other.

Seeming to come to an agreement, Mother declared, “We aren’t leaving this shop, and we aren’t letting Elio grow up on the North side. That’s final!”

I only glared back harder. I should’ve expected this. They were always like this. Bakery this, bakery that. Why can’t they see the bigger picture? Elio is in danger. I opened my mouth, about to say something, just when---

“I’m already grown up!” A voice grumbled from the staircase. I startled, glancing back. An eight year old boy with wild, blonde hair and freckles hid behind the railings, peering from the cracks. Was that…Elio? My eyes widened without meaning to. I haven’t seen him since he was four. He was a lot…bigger now. Elio glared at me as he stomped his way to the dining table, then glared at our parents.

“What is she doing here?” He pointed an accusing finger at me.

Well, one thing was for sure: the kid hated me. Yet here I was, trying to save his life before the launch. I looked at his skinny stick limbs and pale body. He looked a lot stronger than he was four years ago, but the way he breathed…that was still the same: a struggle to inhale, a hitch when he did, and a whistle-like sound when he exhaled. My heart turned to stone as I realised he really wouldn’t survive what Sir Emmett had in store if he stayed here at the bakery.

“It doesn’t matter, Elio,” Mother answered him curtly. “Go back to your room. We need to have a word with your sister.”

Grumpy, Elio crossed his arms and marched upstairs as he mumbled under his breath, “She’s no sister of mine.”

I kept my face deadly still. When I recollected my composure, I turned back to my parents, as if nothing had happened. “So…will you come with me?”

“We’re not going anywhere,” Father said, his voice low.

An arrow pierced through my chest. I stared at them, trying to calm down my hammering heart.

“Elio’s not the only kid here with that condition,” Father continued. “We’re not leaving any of them.”

My eyes widened. There were even more kids with Elio’s breathing problems? I tried to hide my shock, but both my parents saw through me, shooting me another disapproving look. After a moment of silence, Mother spoke.

“You work for the mayor. You sort this out,” she snapped.

With that, I left the bakery.

Searching for my phone in my purse, I picked something out instead: the poster with Sir Emmett on it. Unfolding it, I stared at his flawless, grinning face, then glanced up at the bakery where my old bedroom used to be. Through the window, a little, blonde haired boy was watching me. When he caught me staring back, Elio immediately jumped back, falling onto the floor. I immediately looked away, quickly stepping into my car.

Still, the corners of my mouth curved up slightly as I drove away. The thought of that scrawny little boy all happy and healthy warmed my heart.

No matter what my parents thought of me, or what decision they made, I was not going to let Elio die.

***

I swerved into the parking lot. The moment I got out of my car, I rushed in, heels clacking aggressively all the way through the Local Government Office. The LGO had always felt like home to me: plain white walls, smooth marble tiles, and impeccably clean surroundings. The Northern officials never had a knack for decorations, and that’s part of why I like it so much. It was minimalistic in a way that cleared my mind, but today everything felt out of place. The strong stench of clam from the South still lingered in my nose, the tiles seemed oddly lined up, and in the corner of my eye, I thought I saw Mother’s same fish kettle placed at the office’s café. I shook my head and charged on, already feeling like my bun wasn’t tight enough even though it was pulling on my forehead like over-stretched rubber bands. Coming up to his office, I rapped my knuckles on the white door.

“Come in,” a voice from inside chimed. Someone was certainly happy today, I thought to myself. A coil of resentment and anger wrapped around my neck. I feel it burn from betrayal, but still, maybe I misheard. There was still a chance this was all a misunderstanding.

I pushed through the double doors. Shoving them open, I immediately came across Sir Emmett lounging on his leather couch, a pained smile on his face now as he saw me.

“Hello, dear Amelia. What brings you to my office?” he said begrudgingly, no doubt hoping I wouldn’t show up to his office. I couldn’t help but feel my heart shrink. Four years. Four years I’ve been working for this man, and he never could be fully grateful for all that I do for him. “I thought I gave you the day off, considering…” he trailed off. But we both knew what he was talking about. I feel myself cringe unwillingly. How could he expect me to just stay silent after the bomb he dropped on me yesterday? I shoved the feeling down my throat and cut to the chase.

“Sir, I strongly advise you to rethink this,” I said, words clipped and my back as straight as a ruler. My hands were clenched on my purse and I tried to keep my face as calm and professional as possible.

Sir Emmett let out a sigh, as if he saw this coming, and threw his head back. He looked airily at the direction of the kitchen, down at the gold watch on his wrist, then back at the kitchen again, no doubt waiting for one of his waitresses. Without looking at me, he said, “What is there to rethink, Amelia? I’ve thought this through enough.” Finally, he squared me with a look, as if telling me he doesn’t have time for me and my foolish squabbles.

But this isn’t foolish. I don’t have time for idiotic pranks. I never have, and I never will. He should know that. So, I returned him with an equally pointed look. After a moment of silence, Sir Emmett shrugged carefreely, and continued, “We’ve been working on this project for ages, dear.” He tapped his fingers impatiently on the armrest. I tried not to roll my eyes. I get it. You’re in a hurry and have no time for me. Unfortunately for you, I don’t care. I glared at him, then he put his hands behind his head and leaned against the couch, sinking further into its thick leather cushion. “Why are you doubting it all now?”

I tried not to snap. “Because you only told me yester---”

“Or do you not trust me?” he suddenly interrupted, a sly, threatening gleam in his eyes that I knew all too well. I fell silent---mouth taped shut. Seeing me tense up unwillingly, Sir Emmett’s face cracked into a satisfied smile. The man was a sadist, and I’ve known this for years. He took any opportunity to remind everyone of their position and relished it. I just didn’t think that also applied to me. But now, as he sat there, enjoying watching me squirm under my skin, I knew something had changed. I narrowed my eyes.

He was a smart man. He’d known this was how I’d react. ‘Trust’ didn’t just mean trusting others here at the LGO. It wasn’t something you played idly with, and he knew I was intelligent enough to know what happened to non-trusting people.

He also knew that I was vulnerable enough to stay in line. He knew I had things to lose, and that I wasn’t willing to risk it.

Steeling myself, I bit out bitterly, “No, sir. I do trust you.” After a moment of him staring up at me from his couch with raised eyebrows, and with me glaring angrily at the floor, Sir Emmett finally relaxed into the leather once more. He gave me an approving nod, seemingly satisfied, just as a waitress hurried out from the kitchen, presenting him with a cup of freshly brewed coffee. “Ah, wonderful,” he said as he took the mug. Blowing at the surface of the drink as the waitress scurried back into the kitchen, I knew he expected me to leave. Turn to the door and disappear, like I always do. But I wasn’t done yet. And I wasn’t going anywhere until I obtained the truth.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the dump?” I glared at him, voice low and hopefully, dangerous.

Realising I was too stubborn to leave him alone without getting answers, he let out another tired sigh. “Sweetheart, I’ve known you for four years. I know how you are.”

I flinched, looking up at him. I’m sure my eyes looked bloodshot, but inside I felt as if I might break at any moment. “What do you mean by that?”

He shot me a knowing smile, similar to the grin on the poster tucked away in my purse, but more personal. Like a parent talking to their child. I hated him for that. I am no one’s daughter. I am my own person. Sir Emmett cocked his head to the left deviously, then took a sip from his coffee. “I knew you wouldn’t approve of it, so I had someone else take care of that part of the paperwork.”

I take an angry step forward, bursting out, “I am your secretary!”

“And I’ve told you many times, Amie. You’re too young to see the big picture. We’re making millions from this project. You should be happy!” He threw his other hand in the air. “We’ll be thriving, and you might be able to finally move out of that crappy apartment of yours!” he exclaimed.

I flinched. My apartment was not crappy. I spent more than 10,000 shints just to purchase it. I took a deep breath in and tried to calm down. Cautiously, I flicked my gaze up to his and said, quietly but clearly, “We won’t be thriving. The town will be in a constant state of disarray. The South will rot.”

Sir Emmett looked at me as if I was a little girl, not understanding how the real world worked. Then, his mouth curved into a condescending smile.

“Oh, but that’s where you’re mistaken, dear.” He averted his gaze, looked down at the drink in his hands, and swirled the dark coffee in his mug slowly. He raised an eyebrow. “‘We’ never included the South.”

My eyes widened, and I tried my best not to shout at him. Anger bubbled up my throat like venom. I could taste its scalding heat as frustration clenched at my heart and throbbed in my chest. And I think to myself, for the first time in my life, that maybe this man’s heart wasn’t as pure as I thought. That maybe it was just as black and bitter as the coffee in his cup.

Author's Note

written: July 2025