"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 belowfreezing, the run invigorates him, sets him right for the day.
The early train is half empty, andKevin takes his usual seat in the third car. He picks up the self-help book heis reading. As the train speeds toward the city, Kevin studies the daily habitsof successful people.
Kevin emerges from the station andbounds across the street, steps ahead of a passing delivery truck. The barista atthe all-night coffee shop greets him by name. He nods and takes his regulartable toward the back. This is where he sits every morning, the naturallighting just right. His regular table. He powers up his laptop, and his espressois ready moments later.
The barista—maybe her name is Nancy,he's not sure—once tried to engage Kevin in conversation, asking him why heworked in the coffee shop. Kevin gave her the briefest of replies, telling herhe had long ago vowed to stay clear of office politics, and that he had a shakyinternet connection at home.
What Kevin didn’t tell her was thathe 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 hehad just broken up with his girlfriend. She had yet to remove her things fromthe apartment they had shared. Getting into the city each day and working inthe coffee shop—this was the escape he needed. This was his life now.
Kevin sits at his regular table andsips his coffee. He gets busying buying securities and stocks, then sellingthem later, hoping to turn a profit. For Kevin, the coffee shop is a welcomerefuge when everything in his life has gone wrong. The relaxed ambience of theplace makes him forget, temporarily, the loss of a job, and the girlfriend who walkedout on him. Listening to mood music streaming through his AirPods, he filtersout the surrounding noise and tunes out of his troubles. The morning's caffeineintake keeps him alert, keeps him on course. He reviews his positions andcloses profitable deals where he can, hoping to come out ahead at the end ofthe market day.
On the train home, Kevin reads achapter of his self-help book. When he arrives at his apartment, he sets hislaptop on the table and skims through emails. A dinner of leftover Chinesetakeout awaits him. He walks around the boxes left by his ex-girlfriend, opensa beer, and falls asleep while watching a streaming crime series.
Five days a week, Kevin travels tothe city and sits at the coffee shop for a full day of day trading. Kevinwonders whether it's all worth it. No colleagues to work with, no girlfriendwaiting for him when he returns home. There must be more to life than this.
It's Friday morning, the last day ofthe workweek. When Kevin arrives at the coffee shop, someone is sitting at hisusual table. The table in the back, by the window. His table. A woman with herhead down is typing on her laptop. Kevin looks around at the many availabletables. 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. Kevinturns 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 tooffend 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 realizeshow stupid this sounds because, obviously, something is very wrong.
*-*-*
It’s unusual for Claire to be upthis early. It’s not like her to go to a 24-hour coffee shop for anything morethan a disposable cup of takeaway coffee. To sit down at a table in the backwith her laptop, where no one can see her—this is not normal for Claire, butsomehow her life has gone off kilter.
Claire usually sleeps until noon,takes a leisurely shower, and, having skipped breakfast, sits down to a meal ofhome-cooked pasta while reading Vogue magazine. Haute couture fashion. Beauty.Culture and celebrities. Designer clothing. That’s what interests her; her liferevolves around fashion.
After lunch, Claire texts herfriends, catches up on the latest gossip. Who is cheating on their husband, whois 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 seriousboyfriend. No recent hook-ups. No, it’s okay, she tells them. Really.
It’s only after three in theafternoon when Claire opens her laptop and gets down to the job that pays herbills. The demands of managing the content of a high-traffic online shoppingsite—writing, editing, and revising—keeps her busy through the evening. Thework is intense, but she loves every minute. Writing descriptions of the latestcollections of women’s clothing enthralls her, makes her eager to order theproducts she is helping to advertise. But there is no way she can afford to buythe items up for sale on the site.
This is Claire’s life, and she’scontent with it. She has a good job, close friends, a loving family that shesees from time to time. Everything is going well.
All this changes with just oneemail.
“We are sorry to inform you thatyour services are no longer needed,” the message reads. It’s from the HRdepartment and there is no further explanation. She has never met the HRmanager in person—their conversations have been on Skype with an occasionalZoom meeting—but their relationship has been good, Claire thinks. There havenever been complaints about her work.
Your servicesare no longer needed.
It’s a shock. Coming out of nowherelike this. No reason why. Nothing.
Claire gets into bed but can’t fallasleep. What has she done wrong? She’s been doing a good job managing thecontent on the site, she’s sure. She gets her work done on time and no one hasever complained. The opposite. She has come up with some creative ideas andsuggested innovative improvements to the site. The emails she has received fromher manager have been complimentary. “Great idea!” “Looks good!” “Keep it up!”Short messages, but very positive.
Until this email. Your servicesare no longer needed.
Claire gets up, closes her laptopand 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. Shevows to fight for her job.
It's very early, not even seven inthe morning, when Claire enters the coffee shop, the one she has passed by manytimes. She approaches the counter, almost afraid to state her order. The barista—hernametag reads Nancy—smiles at her, encourages her to speak up.
“I’ll have a latte,” Clairewhispers.
“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 theirduties, the coffee shop is empty. She doesn’t want to be seen by anyone, so sheheads to the back. She sets up her laptop on a table next to the window andlogs 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 jumpsfrom her seat when the barista announces that her coffee is ready.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
Claire doesn’t respond, and headsback to her table. She stares at the screen, not knowing what to write, how tostate her argument. Words fail her and she sits there for a long time, hercoffee growing cold. Maybe she should start with an apology, acknowledge herfailures, 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 strangeman for a moment, and then bursts into tears. He raises his hands, surrenderingthe table, but doesn’t move away. “Is something wrong?” he asks.
Claire can’t stop crying.
*-*-*
Nancy is almost finished with hershift. She works nights at the coffee shop and returns to her apartment shortlybefore Tony finishes his shift at the front desk of a downtown hotel. She looksforward to snuggling with him, to feeling his athletic body next to hers. Towhat will surely follow. Then they will sleep until noon, take turns in theshower, and start their day.
While Tony catches up on thebasketball scores, Nancy gets busy in the kitchen. This is her favorite part ofthe day—chopping, dicing, roasting, and baking. She’s not a professionalcook—far from it—but she has dreams of one day learning culinary arts. Shecould become a sous chef at Tony’s hotel, wouldn't that be amazing?
Later, after lunch, Nancy takes anap. Sometimes she has to force herself into bed knowing that if she doesn’tget some sleep, she’ll be exhausted during her shift. Sometimes she's so tiredthat the nap lasts for hours. The coffee shop doesn’t get much business aftermidnight, yet she must remain alert, ready to serve any customers who comethrough the door. It’s actually quite boring, but Tony reports having similarboring shifts at the hotel.
They have been living together forover a year. Nancy would like to make their relationship permanent, but Tony isa carefree guy, unwilling to make commitments. What’s wrong with the life theylead? he says. He loves her, so why ask for anything more than that? They havea good thing going, but she longs to get married, to start a family. One day…
On the rare weekend when neither ofthem has a shift, Tony heads to the gym. He loves to work out, to lift weightsand run on a treadmill. Anything and everything to stay in shape. In theafternoons, Tony hits the courts near the high school for hours ofthree-on-three basketball games. He loves sports; he thrives on competing withhis buddies.
Nancy stays home, or goes outshopping with her friends. Occasionally her sister visits, and they hang outtogether. Sometimes they spend hours in the kitchen, cooking up a storm andwhat she imagines is a gourmet dinner. While Tony appreciates her efforts, herarely compliments the food.
Late on Sunday, Tony reports to thehotel, and Nancy puts on her uniform and heads to the coffee shop. The night isuneventful. She recognizes the regulars—cops, doctors, and journalists whoorder light meals at the oddest hours. She grinds the coffee, drips steaminghot water through the coffee grounds, foams the milk, and savors the chocolaty aroma.She brings the customers their meals, and they acknowledge her service withtheir tips. Not huge amounts, but still, it’s extra money.
On Monday morning, almost at the endof 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, theshort-order cook. She leans back against the counter, imagining where her lifemay 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 thefamily she dreams about. One day…
A woman walks through the door andapproaches. Nancy waits patiently, but the woman says nothing at first. Andthen, almost in a whisper, the woman, her eyes red and her hand shaking, ordersa latte.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes,” the woman replies, but Nancycan see this is not true. Before turning to prepare the coffee, she watches thewoman walk to the back and open her laptop on the table next to the window.
“Your coffee is ready!" Thewoman returns to the counter. “Are you sure you’re okay?” The woman doesn’trespond and there is another customer waiting for Nancy’s attention.
She continues to prepare and servecoffee and then looks up to see a familiar face. It is Kevin, the regular whocomes to the coffee shop every week day and sits for hours and hours. Sheremembers asking him once why he didn’t work in an office, or from home, butshe can’t remember his reply. Nancy knows he drinks espressos, so she waves himto his usual table. The table where the woman who appeared to be on the vergeof crying is sitting. She smiles, wondering where Kevin will sit.
Nancy can’t overhear what Kevin andthe unfamiliar woman are saying, despite the coffee shop being totally empty. Shewatches as Kevin stands next to the table, and then backs away, his handsraised, palms facing forward. The two continue talking to each other as Nancypours his coffee.
“Your espresso is ready,” she callsout, but it's several minutes until Kevin comes to claim it.
The coffee shop fills up. Accountantsand lawyers, store managers and clerks, even a few early morning shoppers, comein and place their orders. Pumpkin Spice Lattes and Americanos, Macchiatos andsoy-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 andother pastries on the menu. Rick has been busy lathering bagels with creamcheese or butter. His shift will end soon as well.
Nancy looks to the back and seesKevin 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. Thewoman is no longer crying. Nancy wonders what her problem was, and what Kevinsaid to calm her down. It appears as if they are enjoying each other's company.
“Hi Nancy, I hope your night wentwell.”
It is Shauna, beginning the morningshift. Nancy smiles at her, gives her a rundown on outstanding orders, and thenclocks out. She looks at her watch and is reassured she’ll get home before Tonyreturns from the hotel.
*-*-*
I sit at the table at the back ofthe coffee shop every morning and observe the people around me. I sip my cappuccinoas I watch the customers order coffee and croissants, bagels and scrambledeggs. Are they on their way to work, or finishing a night shift? Are they hereto meet with colleagues, friends, or lovers?
Life happens around me, andplotlines run through my head. The people I see make their way into what I’mwriting. Short stories. I create lives as I type.
There is a man who shows up at thecoffee shop every morning, working on his laptop while drinking his coffee. Iimagine 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’sbeen 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 ortwo. “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, theirconversation calming the woman.
I witness their interaction andwonder how I can turn it into a story. As I type, I build their backgrounds andprofessions. Their romances and dreams. The man recently broke up with hisgirlfriend, I imagine, while the woman just lost her job. The barista is hopingto get married and raise a family. In my mind, anything and everything ispossible.
Every morning I sit at the table atthe back of the coffee shop and write, the ideas flowing and my typing racingto keep up. Every morning I have only one hour to pursue my hobby, and the timepasses quickly. I finish my coffee, close my laptop, and nod to the barista asI 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
