My knees buckled, and the tray twisted out of my hands and crashed onto the red tile floor.

The sound of heavy porcelain shattering bounced off the stainless steel splash guards along the back wall.

Thick brown coffee and crushed ice spread across the tile, soaking through my canvas shoes and white socks.

Patty came through the swinging kitchen door with a roll of brown paper towels under her arm.

“Are you cut anywhere, Emily?” she asked.

“No,” I said, dropping down on the wet tile to grab the sharp white pieces.

She reached down and gently pulled me up by the wrist until I was back on my feet.