My rent and writer’s block have been yearning for this day to come. While I anxiously refreshed my inbox throughout each day after the interview, an email from the editor let me know to come in this afternoon, WHICH WAS IN A FEW HOURS.

“Wendy, I need your hair help right now!” I whiningly begged into my phone. Within minutes, I ran out my door to head to Wendy’s salon, still trying to adjust my outfit. My obviously grown out roots and frizz from the humidity make me look like a red headed mess.

“Who’s circus did you join to get the red clown hair?” Wendy laughed as she welcomed me in. People began peering out of their magazines and phones to look at me with sympathy. “Do you want me to chop it now that your first love is back?”

I made a 360 and headed toward the door. “I’m just teasing you come here!”

To others, we sounded more like enemies than friends. We were practically sisters at this point, growing up together and ironically taking different paths that ended up here.

After giving her the side eye, I plopped into the chair and gave a sigh of distress as I looked at the mirror. Wendy began inspecting my hair, fluffing it and seeing what she has to work with.

“All jokes aside, it isn’t that bad. But I do think that you should go for a maintenance-free look for the new job and do some treatment for the split ends. Maybe a trim or...” she continued. As much as I loved my friend, all I understood from her hair terminology is that I need to let her do whatever she deems right so I don’t end up bald. So I said yes, closed my eyes for a nap, and let her do what she does best.

After probably around an hour, I woke up and saw my myself without a trace of my bright red hair on my head. I might have screamed a little too loud.

Thankfully my hair was still long, but I was a chestnut brunette, with a few short strands framing my face. My frizz was completely gone, and the treatment brought my bleached hair back to life. “Well this is definitely going to be a new look,” I said touching my brown hair as a way to pinch myself into reality. “But, I really do like it.”

There’s something about change that’s scary but empowering. Going from a dancer to a writer, being an Australian living in L.A to an Australian living in New York, a red-head to a brunette. These next few months were definitely going to be an adjustment.

I entered the towering building busting with both beaming creatives ready to take on their jobs and others slouching into the clear glass elevator toward their office. An oddly huge cafe took up the left side of the lobby, with a line getting longer as lunch time approached. The sign was neon white with scripted letters that spelled out… The Bean? I guess Josh was working for a cafe franchise.

I went into the elevator which soared through each floor as if it was flying. A bell chimed to tell me I arrived at the writing department’s floor, and my jaw dropped. Pastel colors, neon lights, and fresh plants engulfed the space in serenity with its instagram like aesthetics.

Right on time, the editor walked out of her office and greeted me with a warm smile.

“My writing prodigy!” She exclaimed loud enough that the other writers had their eyes on me. Great way to give a first impression.

“Rosie come into my office dear! Namjoon grab my new employee something warm to drink.” She said with a stern expression to the tall guy standing by the water dispenser.

I sat down, remembering how nervous I was for the interview that I didn’t have a moment to admire everything around me. Her wall was painted a cream white, with an array of succulents on each of her wood shelves. A neon sign illuminated the room with the saying “Caffeine is the new black!” Honestly if I wasn’t so in love with writing, I would have been an interior designer.

“So,” She said while clasping her hands together, “Have you heard of The Bean café chain?”

Wait, what?

“Yes, actually one of my old friends works at a location near my apartment.” I said kind of puzzled.

“Well, we have a type of prerequisite when it comes to our new writers, well at least some of them.” She said as she looked through a yellow folder that had my name on it. “Honestly I find your passion and drive unique and superior to most young writers, yet you are lacking something crucial.” She said with a smirk on her face.

The tall guy from the water dispenser came in with a piping hot mug of what I assumed to be coffee, placing it carefully on my side of her desk.

“Rosé, what do you think of my son?” She said with her eyes darting to see my reaction.

I slowly turned my head toward the tall boy and turned as red as my old hair color. He was definitely good looking, despite his shocked yet annoyed expression toward the editor-who-is-also-his-mom. Probably one of the main reasons I kept my crush on Joshua hidden was because of my intimidation and lack of experience with guys, as both friends and boyfriends.

“My point is proven. You don’t have one of the most important cores of every writer: experience. You froze at a question some of my girls working here would answer in a heartbeat. Something as simple as acknowledging him would have been better than the same silence a preteen would have given me.” She said almost chuckling. Great way to lower my self esteem.

She continued, “Thus I will put you on our month long cafeprogram at Peachy Co. This city is filled with enough characters to give you plenty of writing inspiration, so I will have you working at one of our The Bean locations for a month. Write an entry, no matter how personal, about each of your experiences. If all goes well, you will keep your position as an assistant writer.” She said as if she was excited for this turning point.

I fiddled with my bracelet because of my embarrassment. But I needed the money and this opportunity more than anything.

“I’ll do it.”

        —————————

I felt like laughing after I left the Peachy Co. building. How weird could this situation get? At least I’ll be making more than what I’ve did in any of my other jobs. And you know what, you are going to be darn sure that I’m going to make the best coffee The Bean has ever served and get that job! I almost felt like fist pumping the air but instead I just smiled my way to the subway station.

The people surrounding me on the busy city streets probably think I’m a dork. Sulking and trudging my feet one minute and skipping optimistically the other. That’s life though, a jitter of good and bad moments.

“Ms. Rosie!” someone yelled behind me.

I looked back and saw the tall-guy-who-was-her-son running toward me, holding my bracelet that I fidgeted with during my bad jitter.

“You dropped your bracelet on your way out,” Namjoon said as he tried to catch his breath after that sprint. “Also I wanted to apologize for my mom’s weird way of welcoming employees,” he awkwardly smiled, probably because this wasn’t the first time this happened.

I took the bracelet from his hand, thanking him and saying it wasn’t a problem (even though it was). To prevent me from turning into a red tomato, I tried to look away from his gaze, letting my bangs cover my eyes a bit.

“Well I think I have to head back, but my mom usually has me check up on the cafes every so often so I can swing by to see how you’re doing,” he said reassuringly.

Do you know those smiles that make you feel like you want to be the person’s friend? I finally looked up and his smile looked genuinely comforting.

Before he left he handed me a business card with his info just in case I had any questions or concerns about the job. We parted ways, meaning my Peachy Co. journey has just begun.

I walked toward the subway station that headed to The Bean, getting ready to face this bittersweet month.