Steeped in comfort
A flash fiction with coffee pairings
Not the best spot but it’ll do
Chelsea placed the number card onto the table. Lined against the full glass panel facing the streets, the spot she had chosen comprised a small, dark-brown, melamine wood table, and a pair of mismatched white, plastic chairs.
Surveying the crowded café once more, she notes how most seats had already been filled with patrons. No queue had formed at the outside or remained at the counter though.
That’s good.
She took another glare-peek at the man hoarding the ideal corner spot just one table away before finally seating down. Upon settling, she turned her head and glanced again…
Oh how tough it is to bear such heavy responsibilities at just 28 (or so)…working on a Sunday and all…being able to do it here is my only reprieve.
Briefly straightening himself to take a sip of his flat-white, the man in boat-shoes, tapered dark-blue jeans, black slim-fit t-shirt, and a navy colored blazer quickly went back into a slight slouch. Eyes narrowed to an intense focus and shoulders just slightly raised, the man bore much resemblance to a leopard staring down its unsuspecting prey. As if to contrast the unimposing posture, his keyboard punches remained heavy and audible.
No more than two minutes passed before the man again disengages from his work. This time, he adjusts his chair slightly before taking a quick survey of the café…
Pfft look at these laypeople, the lot of them probably working in corporate(s) with typical job descriptions and accustomed salaries. I’d bet they don’t even know the true meaning of agile innovation and design thinking. Soon, my startup will…
“Regular latte and Tammy’s cheesecake?”
“Oh…yes…yes, that’s me. Thank you,” Chelsea replies.
“Here you are, enjoy,” the waiter smiles warmly as he lowers the orders onto the table and reclaims the number stand.
“Thank you,” Chelsea repeats, this time slightly louder, as the waiter finishes and leaves.
She cups the mug with both hands and raises it close to her face. A tender warmth travels up from her palms. She tilts the mug gingerly and watches as the light-brown mix of crema and fern-shaped micro-foam mimics the soft ripples of ponds under gentle breeze. A slow and lengthy whiff brings a dance of nuttiness, char, and caramel. By now, the weight of the week had dissipated. She finally goes in for a sip.
“Ahh…” Chelsea sighs uncontrollably while slouching into the backrest, mug still in hands. She stays in the position for some time.
After another sip, she places the mug back on its saucer and breaks off a portion of the cake using the matte-black desert fork that came with it.
mmhmmm…smooth, thick, and absolutely sweet
She allows the cake to mush around a little before swallowing.
Leaning forward, she rests her elbows onto the desk and tilts her head to the left. There it was, a small two-lane road flanked on both sides with modestly wide pedestrian paths. Pockets of what seemed like randomly scattered parallel parking slots ate into both sidewalks and were mostly filled. Conversely, the road saw only the occasional passing of slow-driving cars.
For some time, Chelsea watches the coming and going of pedestrians and cars whilst intermittently consuming coffee and cake.
A loud crack from shattering glass interrupts her ritual. Almost involuntarily, she pulls away from the glass and turns her focus to the perceived source of disturbance.
She takes some milliseconds to get the right bearings. The segmented remnants of a black-tinted glass cup and some dark brown liquid had splattered all over. The nasty pairing lied somewhere around the center of the café, near where a couple and their child had seated. The father was already frantically checking the child, a girl who looked to be no older than five. A waiter, possibly the same one who had served Chelsea, was already making his way over from the counter.
“Careful ma’am, are you guys ok?” the waiter inquires as he subtlety uses his right foot to shift a particularly nasty looking glass shard from within inches of where the mother, in flat crossover sandals, stood.
“I’m so sorry I’m so sorry she was just playing and we I hope no one was hurt,” the mother replied frantically as she looks around.
“Doesn’t seem to be the case, thankfully,” the waiter replied after scanning the vicinity to confirm, “don’t worry, these things happen all the time. Just take a seat and be careful of the shards. I’ll go get some equipment and clean this right up.”
They exchange thankful nods and warm smiles before the waiter went back to retrieve some wiping cloth and a mop to do as promised.
By the time the waiter returned, most other customers had already turned their attention away. Chelsea kept looking, first at how the mother gently explained her wrongdoings to the child, then at how the waiter cleared the mess.
Now looking from some distance, she could observe that he was of good height, relatively lean, and bore a light tan. His cleanly shaved face was oblong with a defined jawline and nose bridge.
Cloth wrapped around his right hand and a makeshift container folded from layered newspapers in his left, the waiter first knelt over to gingerly pick up larger shards. Doing so, he carefully ensured that his uniform apron did not contact the dirtied floor by folding the tail end back and allowing it to rest on his thighs as he knelt. Then, he mopped the spilled liquids in one direction to simultaneously concentrate smaller shards that remained to scoop up with cloth in hand. Thereafter, a final mopping with lightly soaped water followed.
Throughout, the waiter smiled warmly at any customer who looked over to re-visit the area of prior commotion.
Hmm, I think I’ll be coming back some time
Another ten minutes had passed by the time Chelsea finished her cheesecake. She takes another sip of coffee and again turns her head to peak at the corner seat.
Yes!
With swift motion, she migrates her coffee and bag over. She then returns the cake plate to the counter before finally claiming her rightful chair.
Another sip.
The latte had lowered to room temperature by now. The natural sweetness from the milk less pronounced and the fragrance no longer rising with hot vapors. There was, however, now a faint lingering of berries in the aftertaste.
Chelsea looks up once more, scanning the café for another observation target and finds a family of four. Three of them — the two sons and their mother — were on their phones while the fourth watched on with pursed lips.
“Look, I’m sorry alright? Just wanted us to spend some time together.”
“You know Dan, I’m not exactly just having fun here. There are important emails that I need to settle now,” the wife snaps while lowering her phone slightly to throw her husband a death glare, “I don’t exactly bother you when you’re working on your negative pay bullshit passion do I?”
For a moment, the husband seemed about to erupt, his slightly balding head turning rash red along with his face. However, he simply lets out a long, soft, sigh, lowers his head, grabs a fork, and starts poking around at a half eaten carrot cake in front of him.
All the while, the two sons were glued to their phones. The older one, probably nearing twenty, held his phone vertically on his left hand. It was not possible to make out what he doing from the distance but some telltale signs gave Chelsea a hint. The young man was relatively muscular and had applied so much grease that his hair appeared to defy gravity. He wore a constant smirk on his face, alternating between under-breath scoffs and wide eyed interest as he swiped his index finger left and right of the screen in seemingly random fashion.
In contrast, the younger son held his phone horizontally with both hands and swayed his body back and forth in fits of excitement as his two thumbs ran all over the screen.
Same difference. Thank god for Wilson’s condition…
Disengaging from the sight, Chelsea returns attention to her personal space. For a while, she reads a book, which she had brought along, on Incan history, glancing out the glass panel momentarily every three to four pages.
Approximately twenty minutes in, she sees her cue.
Two…four…eight…sixteen…seventeen…hmm, that’s quite a number
She closes her book, leaving a dog ear to mark the page she was on. She takes a final sip of the now cold latte. Then she returns the empty mug and leaves, ready for the coming work week.
