Any Day You Want

Three blackberry tarts, one lemon, one black coffee, one latte, one caramel latte, and a chai tea, not with that cheap syrup, a chai tea. He ran through the order in his head as he bounced impatiently on his feet in the long line. Already he'd waited five minutes, and most likely it would be another five until he even got the chance to order. Snips of conversation from the customers around him flitted into his thoughts. Not a single table was open, but that was to be expected from a bakery midmorning. Why had he been sent to get the office refreshments? Didn't they have interns for this? He was already short on his billable hours, and it’s not like he could bill for this, could he? No, he could not see any of his clients accepting a bill for his time spent fueling the attorneys and paralegals of the firm.

A shattering snapped him out of his thoughts. To his left, a mother scolded her child. What had most likely been a coffee cup and plate was in pieces on the ground, soaked in coffee.

The cashier ran out from behind the counter, hurrying over to the table to clean up the mess. He groaned internally, people in front of him groaning out loud. The espresso machine and milk steamer hissed as the cashier hurried back. He could just see her hands snatch up the espresso shots before they overflowed, pouring them gracefully into the cups, before hurrying off to tend to some beeping in the back.

She must have been working alone that day from the way she seemed to be everywhere at once. He ran through the order again between rounds of everything that would have been a better use of his time than being here.

When he got to the front, he was sure there was steam coming out of his ears that would rival the milk frother. He had three clients who were demanding his attention immediately. A deal had fallen through, regulations had changed as of yesterday, a contract needed to be edited and sent out by five. He was about to spit out the order when the cashier's eyes flicked up to meet his, and his breath caught.

"What can I get you?" Her smile was exhausted but genuine. Her eyes glimmered with a fevered sort of thrill as if the rush was something that exhilarated her. A dash of flour streaked her cheek. Her auburn hair was falling out of her loose bun in clumps, face pink, making her freckles pop, whether from the constant motion she had been in for the past twenty minutes or the heat wafting off of all the machines behind the counter.

She was a mess, an absolute mess. He had never wanted to know someone more.

“Sorry about the wait,” she swiped at her cheek, completely missing the flour. “I was supposed to have someone else here with me today, but...” she waved at the air as if this could tell him why her coworker had abandoned her to man this sinking ship on her own.

“I’m sorry you got stuck here on your own,” he spoke sincerely. All annoyance melted away as he noticed the beads of sweat on her brow.

“It’s fine.” Her smile somehow seemed to get brighter. “I kind of feel like a character in a video game. You know, those ones where you create your own eatery, and you have to make all the customers happy to get to the next level?”

He let out a surprised laugh at her outlook on a situation that would have sent him spiraling into both panic and anger. The disorder of it all, the chaos, she seemed to thrive in it.

“What level would you say you're at right now?”

The smell of sweet bread wafted through the bakery, mingling with the acidic coffee scent that seemed to cling to everything.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she glanced down at her watch for the time. “Perhaps level seven. I’d like to get to twenty by the end of the day.”

“And when is the end of the day?” And how long had she been here?

“Hopefully four, but it depends if the next shift comes in,” she sighed, the exhaustion showing in the slump of her shoulders, the slight tremor in her hands as they hovered above the keys. “But, anyways, what can I get for you?”

“Your hands are shaking,” he spoke absentmindedly.

“Oh,” she let out a breathy laugh, pressing them down on the counter, “I think I’m running solely on like five hundred milligrams of caffeine right now. I got here at four this morning and haven’t had a moment to sit still since. Which is fine. I don’t know if I could.”

He could order, step to the side, grab his purchase, head back to the office. It would be so easy and exactly what would be expected of him. But something was holding him there, a force that would not let him leave that bakery, at least not yet. He dreaded walking back to the office, sitting back at his desk, losing himself in the monotony of Zoom meetings and client phone calls and document drafting, hours combing through documents for one sentence.

He pulled out his phone and sent out a quick text.

No baked goods or coffee today, and I need the rest of the day off. Family emergency.

In the two years he’d worked there, he’d never taken a day off. He doubted they would question his need for one. And the longer he stood here he realized how much he needed one. He desperately needed a break.

“How about a second set of hands for the day?”

“What?” Her eyes widened, gaze darting across his face in question. Had she not heard him over the chatter and caffeine buzzing through her veins?

“Would you want some help? I have the rest of my day free.”

He shoved his phone back into the pocket inside his jacket, after checking to see his boss's reply. A thumbs up, followed by, Just get the work done for Bread Mill at some point today.

“But you're in a suit,” she leaned in, lowering her voice as if this was something she could not reveal to the rest of the customers who could clearly see his attire. As if the fact that he was wearing a suit precluded the possibility that he could be of any use here. Perhaps he would be of no use, but the suit could not be blamed for that.

“I can take the jacket off if that would be more acceptable,” he leaned in, matching her concerned murmur.

She took a moment to consider, glancing around the crowded tables, the line that was well out the door. When she met his gaze again, her eyes sparked with something he could not recognize, a smile playing at her lips.

She pointed to the end of the counter, and he followed her finger to see an opening to walk around. “Aprons are in the back.” She gestured to an opening behind her.

In minutes, he was sweating through his button-up, protected by an apron. He had in fact ditched the jacket, if not for practical reasons then because it was ten degrees hotter behind the counter. With the constant rush of customers, there was no time to learn anything technical, so instead, he was tasked with pulling the different pastries out of the oven when the buzzer went off and giving orders to customers.

He understood the exhilaration in it all now. Seeing how quickly an order could be finished, watching the tickets disappear, the inventory slowly cleared out before it was filled again.

They were able to chat briefly as they hurried past each other.

Her name was Mallory. She had moved to the city for her MFA program and had graduated about a year ago. For now, she was freelancing as she queried her hopefully debut novel. The bakery gave her a steady paycheck to count on as writing could be unpredictable as far as income. She lived a few blocks down from the shop in a two-bedroom she shared with two roommates, two of them in one room for cheaper rent. Her favorite color was purple because it seemed to suit all occasions. He wasn’t quite sure what she meant by that, but he agreed with her nonetheless, wanting to keep her talking, wanting to listen to anything she had to say.

He had never been a good listener, it was always the people around him's biggest complaint. It was hard being in the moment when you knew there were a million other things you could be doing, should be doing. It’s not that he didn’t care about people; he just couldn’t focus.

With Mallory, focusing was easy. She was so much stuffed into one person. She was constantly moving. It was a challenge to keep her in his gaze. Her words flew by a mile a minute. He was running after every sentence she spoke, desperate to catch it, to hold it, to just grasp it for a moment before the next one came rushing by. The thrill of her orbit, her gravity, was enough to hold him here.

It almost was a let down when she asked, “So, what about you, what do you do? What brought you to the city?”

What about him? Compared to her, he was grey, hollow, dull. There was not the excitement of a big move here, just scraping by to accomplish a thrilling dream. He went to law school here, scored a good job after graduation, and had been here since. He made more than enough to get by and do what he wanted. But when was the last time he had felt want? The hunger of chasing something that he did not know if he could ever catch?

“I work in law, mergers and acquisitions, nothing quite as thrilling as you,” he felt his face heat. God, when had he ever been embarrassed of his job?

“Thrilling is subjective,” she waved a hand before continuing to refill the scones in the display case. “Do you like what you do?”

He paused, staring at the counter as if the espresso remnants would arrange themselves into an answer. No one had ever asked him if he liked his job. They asked him what he did, oohed and ahhed at the sound of it, the money he made.

“I,” he glanced up. She was already watching him. It was like she was peeling him apart piece by piece with her gaze, her words. The sensation was not uncomfortable. There was no judgment in anything she did, only a yearning to understand. She didn’t care about the answer, only why it was given.

“I don’t know.” He ran a hand along his jaw. “It was a job at a big firm with a really good offer. I could pay off my student loans and live comfortably.”

She nodded, an invitation to go on. He wanted to, he wanted to work this out, find out his passion with her.

“Not once in the last two years have I felt as satisfied as I did in these last few hours. The work, the atmosphere, the people, it just felt, I just felt,” he paused, looking for the word.

“Alive,” she offered, taking a step closer.

He nodded, matching the movement. “Alive.”

They both studied each other, lost in their trains of thought before the tracks converged again.

“I think I hate my job.” He leaned back against the counter, loosing a long breath. “I think I hate my life. Every day, I wake up to do different variations of the same thing. I make money that I don’t even spend because I have no time for anything. When I do I’m exhausted.”

Again, they just looked at each other and there was no discomfort. Just two people seeing each other. He was not sure if he’d ever been seen, except for this magnetic red head, a struggling writer who exceled at being a one-woman bakery.

“Have I just wasted twenty-eight years of my life pursuing law? I mean, I still have debt to pay off. I settled into a job that was good enough and come home miserable and exhausted every night, just to do it all again in the morning.” He was spiraling now, a tight feeling in his chest. What had he done? How had he gotten here? To a routine he hated, a life that left him feeling drained rather than fulfilled?

“Hey,” she was in front of him now. Green. Her eyes were green. It made him think of the forest he loved hiking through an hour outside of the city. How long had it been since he had gone hiking? Months? Perhaps over a year?

“Guess what?” She leaned in, an exaggerated whisper.

“What?” He whispered back, playing along though everything still felt heavy, his mind racing on how to get himself off this spiral before he woke up at forty-something and realized he hadn’t felt alive in twenty years.

“You can change your life any day you want.” She looked up at him, the playfulness replaced with wide-eyed caring, a face that could make any decision feel okay. “Any day you want. You’re never too old, never too young. We’re on a floating rock. You’re one out of billions of people. The sun will still rise if you decide to completely start over.”

Zooming out, realizing how small he was, how insignificant his choices were made it all feel easier, like it really could be okay no matter what happened. But could it?

“What would you want to do?” She probed, leaning back against the counter beside him. “Instead of this?”

“I don’t know,” he shook his head, “I almost feel like I don’t even know who I am. Like I woke up after years of walking through a dream, and now here I am, disoriented with no personality.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. I think you have a great personality.” She glanced away quickly, but not before he saw the pink tinge of her cheeks.

With a small laugh, he shook his head. “Maybe I could move to a different firm. A different area? Estate planning has better hours. That would leave me time to, to -”

To what?

“Learn yourself. Find out who you are, what you like.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, the knot in his chest loosening with every word she spoke. Like she could talk him into his dream life, and he could step into it with ease if she just spun it with her prose.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. His work phone. Normally, he’d check the notification the moment he got it, needing to put out the fire before it spread. But now, he didn’t even let the spark catch.

“I’m going to quit my job,” he spoke the words, testing them. And as they flitted through the scent of bread and acidic coffee grounds, he decided he liked the way they hung there.

“Yeah?” Mallory smiled, her freckles seeming to dance with the movement.

“Yeah,” he laughed, “And I want to see you again. Tonight?”

He was on a roll with this new life thing, and he wouldn’t mind pulling her into it. She inspired the start. Perhaps they could make it to the end.

“You’re just using me for my life coaching expertise and access to pasteries,” she covered herself as if immodest, turning away and glancing over her shoulder.

“How about I take you out to dinner, compensate you for your time?” He couldn’t help the smile that broke across his face.

“Mm, that could work,” she nodded, turning back to him and snatching out a notepad from under the counter. She jotted down her number and handed it to him. “You know, if all you wanted was my number and a date, you didn’t have to spend hours working with me. A simple ‘are you free tonight’ from an attractive man tends to do the trick just fine.”

“But then I wouldn’t have gotten you life coaching expertise.” He stuck the number in the front pockets of his slacks.

“I knew it,” she tsked.

“Well, I’m going to go quit my job.” His hands were shaking, adrenaline coursing through him. “And then I’ll give you a call, and we can go get dinner around six?”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Perhaps at a hot dog stand, and we can walk around the park. I don’t know if you heard, but I’m about to be jobless and haphazardly floating through the ether until I find something else to cement my identity with.” He gave her a serious look.

“Perhaps we will find something in the park for you to cling to and reform yourself,” she nodded, beginning to clean the coffee machine. It was nearly four o’clock. How had the day gone by so quickly?

“A squirrel wrangler? Every city needs one, right?” Heat bloomed in his stomach at the laugh that drew out of her.

“Okay, see you at six.” He pulled off the apron, and she took it before he could go hang it up in the back, folding it and sticking it under the counter.

“A perfect time to start a new life, I’d say.” She gave him a mock salute.

“A perfect way to start a new life.”

With a promise to call her after the fallout, he stepped back out into the bustling city. He looked up at the buildings so tall he had to crane his neck, listened to the conglomeration of noise, felt the thousands of people that shoved past him. How small and insignificant he was. With the comfort of that thought, he made his way back to the office to begin again.