"The Table at the Back of the Coffee Shop" - short story

 

Up and about when all is quiet, Kevin puts on his sports clothes and running shoes and races through the park. It doesn’t matter if there is light rain, or if the temperature has dropped below freezing, the run invigorates him, sets him right for the day.

The early train is half empty, and Kevin takes his usual seat in the third car. He picks up the self-help book he is reading. As the train speeds toward the city, Kevin studies the daily habits of successful people.

Kevin emerges from the station and bounds across the street, steps ahead of a passing delivery truck. The barista at the all-night coffee shop greets him by name. He nods and takes his regular table toward the back. This is where he sits every morning, the natural lighting just right. His regular table. He powers up his laptop, and his espresso is ready moments later.

The barista—maybe her name is Nancy, he's not sure—once tried to engage Kevin in conversation, asking him why he worked in the coffee shop. Kevin gave her the briefest of replies, telling her he had long ago vowed to stay clear of office politics, and that he had a shaky internet connection at home.

What Kevin didn’t tell her was that he had recently been fired from his job at a brokerage firm. Insider trading, they said, but it wasn’t exactly true. He also didn’t tell the barista that he had just broken up with his girlfriend. She had yet to remove her things from the apartment they had shared. Getting into the city each day and working in the coffee shop—this was the escape he needed. This was his life now.

Kevin sits at his regular table and sips his coffee. He gets busying buying securities and stocks, then selling them later, hoping to turn a profit. For Kevin, the coffee shop is a welcome refuge when everything in his life has gone wrong. The relaxed ambience of the place makes him forget, temporarily, the loss of a job, and the girlfriend who walked out on him. Listening to mood music streaming through his AirPods, he filters out the surrounding noise and tunes out of his troubles. The morning's caffeine intake keeps him alert, keeps him on course. He reviews his positions and closes profitable deals where he can, hoping to come out ahead at the end of the market day.

On the train home, Kevin reads a chapter of his self-help book. When he arrives at his apartment, he sets his laptop on the table and skims through emails. A dinner of leftover Chinese takeout awaits him. He walks around the boxes left by his ex-girlfriend, opens a beer, and falls asleep while watching a streaming crime series.

Five days a week, Kevin travels to the city and sits at the coffee shop for a full day of day trading. Kevin wonders whether it's all worth it. No colleagues to work with, no girlfriend waiting for him when he returns home. There must be more to life than this.

It's Friday morning, the last day of the workweek. When Kevin arrives at the coffee shop, someone is sitting at his usual table. The table in the back, by the window. His table. A woman with her head down is typing on her laptop. Kevin looks around at the many available tables. He could sit anywhere, but this is where the natural lighting is best. The barista has a wry smile on her face as she prepares his espresso. Kevin turns to the woman.

“Excuse me. This is my table.”

The woman looks up, stares at Kevin, and then breaks into tears. He steps back, not understanding what he’s done to offend her. He raises his hands, surrendering the table, but doesn’t move away. He won't be able to get any work done sitting near a crying woman.

“Is something wrong?” He realizes how stupid this sounds because, obviously, something is very wrong.

 

*-*-*

 

It’s unusual for Claire to be up this early. It’s not like her to go to a 24-hour coffee shop for anything more than a disposable cup of takeaway coffee. To sit down at a table in the back with her laptop, where no one can see her—this is not normal for Claire, but somehow her life has gone off kilter.

Claire usually sleeps until noon, takes a leisurely shower, and, having skipped breakfast, sits down to a meal of home-cooked pasta while reading Vogue magazine. Haute couture fashion. Beauty. Culture and celebrities. Designer clothing. That’s what interests her; her life revolves around fashion.

After lunch, Claire texts her friends, catches up on the latest gossip. Who is cheating on their husband, who is sleeping with whom? Claire informs her friends—she has known Stacy, Jessica, and Amy for years—that there’s nothing new in her own life. No serious boyfriend. No recent hook-ups. No, it’s okay, she tells them. Really.

It’s only after three in the afternoon when Claire opens her laptop and gets down to the job that pays her bills. The demands of managing the content of a high-traffic online shopping site—writing, editing, and revising—keeps her busy through the evening. The work is intense, but she loves every minute. Writing descriptions of the latest collections of women’s clothing enthralls her, makes her eager to order the products she is helping to advertise. But there is no way she can afford to buy the items up for sale on the site.

This is Claire’s life, and she’s content with it. She has a good job, close friends, a loving family that she sees from time to time. Everything is going well.

All this changes with just one email.

“We are sorry to inform you that your services are no longer needed,” the message reads. It’s from the HR department and there is no further explanation. She has never met the HR manager in person—their conversations have been on Skype with an occasional Zoom meeting—but their relationship has been good, Claire thinks. There have never been complaints about her work.

Your services are no longer needed.

It’s a shock. Coming out of nowhere like this. No reason why. Nothing.

Claire gets into bed but can’t fall asleep. What has she done wrong? She’s been doing a good job managing the content on the site, she’s sure. She gets her work done on time and no one has ever complained. The opposite. She has come up with some creative ideas and suggested innovative improvements to the site. The emails she has received from her manager have been complimentary. “Great idea!” “Looks good!” “Keep it up!” Short messages, but very positive.

Until this email. Your services are no longer needed.

Claire gets up, closes her laptop and puts it in its case. She needs to respond, to ask what she’s done wrong. She isn’t willing to see her position at the shopping site end like this. She vows to fight for her job.

It's very early, not even seven in the morning, when Claire enters the coffee shop, the one she has passed by many times. She approaches the counter, almost afraid to state her order. The barista—her nametag reads Nancy—smiles at her, encourages her to speak up.

“I’ll have a latte,” Claire whispers.

“Are you okay?” Nancy asks.

“Yes.”

Claire looks for a place to sit. Except for a pair of uniformed police officers taking a break from their duties, the coffee shop is empty. She doesn’t want to be seen by anyone, so she heads to the back. She sets up her laptop on a table next to the window and logs into the website's content management system, possibly for the last time. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee is so strong and inviting that Claire jumps from her seat when the barista announces that her coffee is ready.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Claire doesn’t respond, and heads back to her table. She stares at the screen, not knowing what to write, how to state her argument. Words fail her and she sits there for a long time, her coffee growing cold. Maybe she should start with an apology, acknowledge her failures, although she can’t imagine what they might be. She starts to type.

“Excuse me. This is my table.”

She looks up, stares at a strange man for a moment, and then bursts into tears. He raises his hands, surrendering the table, but doesn’t move away. “Is something wrong?” he asks.

Claire can’t stop crying.

 

*-*-*

 

Nancy is almost finished with her shift. She works nights at the coffee shop and returns to her apartment shortly before Tony finishes his shift at the front desk of a downtown hotel. She looks forward to snuggling with him, to feeling his athletic body next to hers. To what will surely follow. Then they will sleep until noon, take turns in the shower, and start their day.

While Tony catches up on the basketball scores, Nancy gets busy in the kitchen. This is her favorite part of the day—chopping, dicing, roasting, and baking. She’s not a professional cook—far from it—but she has dreams of one day learning culinary arts. She could become a sous chef at Tony’s hotel, wouldn't that be amazing?

Later, after lunch, Nancy takes a nap. Sometimes she has to force herself into bed knowing that if she doesn’t get some sleep, she’ll be exhausted during her shift. Sometimes she's so tired that the nap lasts for hours. The coffee shop doesn’t get much business after midnight, yet she must remain alert, ready to serve any customers who come through the door. It’s actually quite boring, but Tony reports having similar boring shifts at the hotel.

They have been living together for over a year. Nancy would like to make their relationship permanent, but Tony is a carefree guy, unwilling to make commitments. What’s wrong with the life they lead? he says. He loves her, so why ask for anything more than that? They have a good thing going, but she longs to get married, to start a family. One day…

On the rare weekend when neither of them has a shift, Tony heads to the gym. He loves to work out, to lift weights and run on a treadmill. Anything and everything to stay in shape. In the afternoons, Tony hits the courts near the high school for hours of three-on-three basketball games. He loves sports; he thrives on competing with his buddies.

Nancy stays home, or goes out shopping with her friends. Occasionally her sister visits, and they hang out together. Sometimes they spend hours in the kitchen, cooking up a storm and what she imagines is a gourmet dinner. While Tony appreciates her efforts, he rarely compliments the food.

Late on Sunday, Tony reports to the hotel, and Nancy puts on her uniform and heads to the coffee shop. The night is uneventful. She recognizes the regulars—cops, doctors, and journalists who order light meals at the oddest hours. She grinds the coffee, drips steaming hot water through the coffee grounds, foams the milk, and savors the chocolaty aroma. She brings the customers their meals, and they acknowledge her service with their tips. Not huge amounts, but still, it’s extra money.

On Monday morning, almost at the end of her shift, Nancy yawns as the first light of day streams through the windows. A noisy delivery truck passes on the street and Nancy jokes with Rick, the short-order cook. She leans back against the counter, imagining where her life may go. One day she and Tony will get married. She’ll be able to quit this job, stop working nights. Maybe they’ll buy a house outside the city and start the family she dreams about. One day…

A woman walks through the door and approaches. Nancy waits patiently, but the woman says nothing at first. And then, almost in a whisper, the woman, her eyes red and her hand shaking, orders a latte.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” the woman replies, but Nancy can see this is not true. Before turning to prepare the coffee, she watches the woman walk to the back and open her laptop on the table next to the window.

“Your coffee is ready!" The woman returns to the counter. “Are you sure you’re okay?” The woman doesn’t respond and there is another customer waiting for Nancy’s attention.

She continues to prepare and serve coffee and then looks up to see a familiar face. It is Kevin, the regular who comes to the coffee shop every week day and sits for hours and hours. She remembers asking him once why he didn’t work in an office, or from home, but she can’t remember his reply. Nancy knows he drinks espressos, so she waves him to his usual table. The table where the woman who appeared to be on the verge of crying is sitting. She smiles, wondering where Kevin will sit.

Nancy can’t overhear what Kevin and the unfamiliar woman are saying, despite the coffee shop being totally empty. She watches as Kevin stands next to the table, and then backs away, his hands raised, palms facing forward. The two continue talking to each other as Nancy pours his coffee.

“Your espresso is ready,” she calls out, but it's several minutes until Kevin comes to claim it.

The coffee shop fills up. Accountants and lawyers, store managers and clerks, even a few early morning shoppers, come in and place their orders. Pumpkin Spice Lattes and Americanos, Macchiatos and soy-based cappuccinos. The occasional herbal tea here or there. Coffee to stay, coffee to go. The croissants are very popular, as are the cheese Danish and other pastries on the menu. Rick has been busy lathering bagels with cream cheese or butter. His shift will end soon as well.

Nancy looks to the back and sees Kevin and the unfamiliar woman sitting together at the table near the window. Their laptops are open, side by side, but they don’t appear to be working. The woman is no longer crying. Nancy wonders what her problem was, and what Kevin said to calm her down. It appears as if they are enjoying each other's company.

“Hi Nancy, I hope your night went well.”

It is Shauna, beginning the morning shift. Nancy smiles at her, gives her a rundown on outstanding orders, and then clocks out. She looks at her watch and is reassured she’ll get home before Tony returns from the hotel.

 

*-*-*

 

I sit at the table at the back of the coffee shop every morning and observe the people around me. I sip my cappuccino as I watch the customers order coffee and croissants, bagels and scrambled eggs. Are they on their way to work, or finishing a night shift? Are they here to meet with colleagues, friends, or lovers?

Life happens around me, and plotlines run through my head. The people I see make their way into what I’m writing. Short stories. I create lives as I type.

There is a man who shows up at the coffee shop every morning, working on his laptop while drinking his coffee. I imagine him to be a day trader, handling transactions in the markets of Asia, Europe, and New York. A woman comes into the coffee shop and it’s clear she’s been crying. After placing her order, she sits down and stares at her laptop, too tearful to do anything. The man approaches her, saying a comforting word or two. “Your coffee’s ready,” announces the barista. The woman takes her coffee, and the man moves close to the woman’s table. The two talk quietly, their conversation calming the woman.

I witness their interaction and wonder how I can turn it into a story. As I type, I build their backgrounds and professions. Their romances and dreams. The man recently broke up with his girlfriend, I imagine, while the woman just lost her job. The barista is hoping to get married and raise a family. In my mind, anything and everything is possible.

Every morning I sit at the table at the back of the coffee shop and write, the ideas flowing and my typing racing to keep up. Every morning I have only one hour to pursue my hobby, and the time passes quickly. I finish my coffee, close my laptop, and nod to the barista as I leave. I must hurry if I want to get to the office on time.

 

# # #

Originally published  in New Plains Review (Fall 2022) and available on Amazon.

     Photo by Jonas Jacobsson on Unsplash