A Flat White and a "See You Later"

I’m in line at Little Joy Cafe again. It’s 8:15 am, I have a work shift at 9. I don’t have time waste, but here I am, wasting it anyway. 

I check my phone notifications. CoStar’s horoscope is at the top. How do the planets line up for me today? The cracked skin around my thumbnail skims the screen of my phone as I scroll. Pressure in routine and social life. Trouble in love, sex, and money. 

Great. 

The line moves up, I’m only one person away from the counter now. It’s 8:16, I just want to get my coffee and leave.

Little Joy is down the block from my apartment, and it’s the easiest place to get my morning coffee before heading off to work. I didn’t use to hate going there, not until James started working there. He’s a newly hired barista who rubbed me the wrong way the moment he said hello to me. I didn’t know him at all, but he always tried to talk to me. I usually responded with a thank you and took my leave. 

Today is not different. I’m at the front of the line now, and James is at the register, as he always is. I don’t know if he does it on purpose, just to see me, or if it’s an accident. There are so many other baristas that work with him, but he’s always ringing people up when I arrive, has been for two straight weeks now. 

I’m still scrolling through the horoscope. Today, you will question how far you’ve come in your efforts to be happy, and what changes you want to make. Love and hate are both likely reactions to something you do not understand. Remember that it’s ok to ask for help. 

“Can I help you?”

It’s James, of course. I could have sworn he was reading over my shoulder, except he’s behind the counter. He’s wearing his nametag and his standard black apron tied over an olive green T-shirt. I’ve never seen him in green before. His hair is still a bit damp. He looks nice. 

“Uh - um, yes, yes, you can,” I splutter, still a bit surprised, putting my phone in my purse and grabbing my wallet. “I’ll take a -”

“A double blonde shot with cream and foam, made to look and taste exactly like a flat white but without you having to pay the extra fifty cents to order it by name. Coming right up.” James interrupted me before I could even start to order. It’s not that he was my friend, but he wasn’t usually this snappy with me at 8:22 am. Yesterday he smiled at me, and I almost smiled back. Today, he had a sour look on his face. He was feeling extra abrasive towards me, it seemed. Maybe he wouldn’t ask anything today. 

“Yes, and that’s all.” I choose not to respond to his jibe and hold out my card, with my name, Maggie White, stamped across it. 

He just stares wordlessly down at my hand, swallows hard, and takes it. 

He rings me up, $3.25 at 8:24, without any more snappy remarks. The card slides across the counter to me. “It’ll be out shortly.” 

“Thank you.” I turn away from him, not wanting to have to look at his face any longer. Or his name tag, with his messy handwriting, his green shirt. The neat bow tied on his apron. The tan lines on his neck and wrists. 

“See you tomorrow.” It’s his standard goodbye. He says this to me every morning, and I never say it back, although today, he sounds almost angry. 

Usually, by this point in my daily visit, he’s asked me if I’d like a pastry, or if I’ve had a good morning. If I’ve been having a good week at work. Obtrusive questions like that. 

I dare to take one last glance at him as I go stand at the other end of the bar to wait for my drink. He’s still looking at me, flat-out ignoring his next customer. He seems to be waiting for a reply. Without thinking, without even realizing I’ve done it, I say, “See you tomorrow.” 

His eyes soften, his clenched jaw relaxes. He’s still upset, god knows why, but not as much as before. He finally ducks into the back room to gather the beans for my blonde shots. Every morning, when I come, he has to grind and brew two fresh blondes just for me. I tip him, of course. I’m not a psychopath. I appreciate his effort, I just don’t know how much longer I can afford coffees like this. Hell, I don’t really know why I still come here every morning. I know I can’t afford this. 

That settles it. I’m not coming back after today. 

8:27. Another barista, not James, puts my flat white up on the bar and calls my name. “Maggie?”

I grab it, and practically run out the side door onto the patio, letting out a sigh of relief. I’m putting my wallet back in my purse when I hear his voice again. “Wait, you forgot this.” 

I hesitantly turn, wishing I could just disappear, and see him holding out my credit card. My eyes widen, I must have left it on the counter when I was focusing on my escape. His green T-shirt looks brighter out in the sunlight. I hate that I like it even more.

“And you should really get it fixed soon.” 

My eyes snap up to meet his. “Get what fixed?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Your card.” 

“What about it needs fixing?”

He stares at me in disbelief. “What?”

I’m very confused now. I’ve put my flat white down on the table next to me and I’m wringing my hands together nervously, possibly to protect myself, or maybe I’m praying to whatever gods are out there. I just want to get out of here. “What about my card needs fixing?” I repeat. 

He doesn’t move. He seems utterly shocked. He’s quiet for so long I start to feel amazingly uncomfortable. More than I already was, of course. 

“You mean,” he finally stutters, “that you don’t know.”

I can feel the blood rushing up into my face, though I have no idea why. “What don’t I know?”

He blinks before saying, almost angrily, “Your card has been declined every day since the second time you came here and I rang you up.” 

Now I’m the shocked one. In fact, I don’t even think I believe him. “Really? Then how in the world have I been buying a flat white with it every day for the last two weeks?” 

“You mean, you really don’t know.” He’s disappointed now. In what? In me?

“Just tell me what’s going on! What have you done?” 

“What the hell do you think I’ve done?” He almost yells, but he holds himself back. He’s always restrained, always careful, always so… kind. I don’t like kind, I don’t like it at all.

“Have you stolen money from me?” I snarl, and he takes a step back and puts both hands up like I’m going to attack him. 

“No, god no! I guess you’re too busy to even check your bank account because if you did, you’d see that you’ve been getting your coffees for free!” 

“I’ve been… what?” 

He doesn’t even let me finish. “Let me rephrase. You’ve been getting your coffees because someone else was paying for them, not you.”

I’m not stupid. I know what this means. 

“You’ve been buying me coffee.” My tone is flat, emotionless, almost cold. I can see it hurts him. 

“Yes, I have.” His jaw ticks.

I won’t meet his eyes. “And why would you do that?” 

“Because you seemed like you could use a little help. Sue me.” He turns away from me and rubs his face, sighing. 

I’m reaching for my phone. I swipe out of CoStar and open my credit card app. The notifications are turned off for all my bank apps, they stress me out. I almost never spend this money because I get my groceries from food stamps. As dirt poor as I am, I budget everything religiously. The account for spending, the one I scarcely use, the one I’m afraid to use on anything except a latte, is still full from two weeks ago. 

James just spent upwards of $45 dollars on me, not including the tips. And he doesn’t even know me. Jesus, what have I done.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. And thank you. But you didn’t have to do that.” I don’t know what else to say except sorry. But this whole situation isn’t my fault… is it? 

“I know I didn’t, but I did. Because you seem like you need help.”

“Why is that?” I turn on him, the anger is back in my voice. “Why do I look like I need help? Do I look poor to you? Taking pity on a girl who can’t pay for her own coffee? I didn’t want your help!” I can’t believe I’m getting angry at him like this after he just admitted to doing the nicest thing someone’s ever done for me, but I don’t know how to react. The last time someone was nice to me, it didn’t end well. They let me down. I didn’t want James to let me down. And the last thing I want is for him to look down on me in pity for not being able to afford my morning coffee. 

“No.” He shuffles his feet and sighs. “You’re always tired when you come in, like you’ve haven’t slept. I can tell you’re exhausted, I’m not blind. Sorry if you hate me for caring.” 

I scoff and roll my eyes, about to walk away. That’s none of his business and he knows it. He takes a step closer to me, begging me to stay without touching me. Or maybe I’m imagining that too. 

“I was worried about you.” He continues, softer now. “What was I supposed to do every morning? Deny you a coffee every day?” 

Great, he was having a pity party for me. “Yes! I don’t want your help, I never did!” I’m stabbing my card into my wallet and snatching my flat white off the table. 

He’s not done. He throws his arms wide. “Well, I thought you would have noticed! Every morning you come in and you ignore me! I tried to talk to you, and you’d never respond. You were always staring at your phone. But I helped you anyway, hoping it would make it better. Especially after a whole week of it, I thought you knew!” We’re both angry, we’re yelling at each other. It’s a shame really, there are so many better ways to resolve this. I know this, and so does he. 

“No, I wasn’t ignoring you! And I didn’t know! Why would you assume that…” I trail off. I suddenly understand. 

He likes me. 

He likes me. 

“Wait, let me get this straight. You thought I knew after a week, yet you still bought them for me.” I put the coffee down on the table again, slowly. “Did you buy me those coffees, even after you thought I knew… because you thought I was flirting?” I’m a mixture of disgusted, embarrassed, and angry. And in the deepest, darkest part of me, I’m excited. But that’s the part of yourself you always deny. 

“No, I - no. Not exactly.” He’s flushed a little. Now he’s definitely lying. 

“Did you think I liked it? You buying me things? That I was teasing you for fun?” 

He shakes his head emphatically and starts to respond, but I cut him off. 

“I wasn’t flirting with you. Ever. Sorry that it came across like that.” The cold, emotionless tone is back. I marvel at my own ruthlessness. He’s obviously embarrassed and upset, and I’m exacerbating it by telling him I’m not attracted to him and that all the money he just spent to be nice was in vain. Jesus, Maggie. 

I have a moment of real regret. I shouldn’t have been so hard on him, I don’t have a complete lack of empathy. I feel the need to prove it, suddenly. That I wasn’t trying to hurt him. “No, I - forget I said that. I’m sorry I didn’t notice. I shouldn’t have put you in that position.” 

He’s just staring at the ground between his feet. He hasn’t looked up since I rejected him. 

“And thank you, for helping me.” 

“I’m glad to help, anytime.” He’s still looking down, but the sadness in his voice stops me cold. 

I hate him. I hate that every morning, I’ve gone to Little Joy just to see him, then have the satisfaction of pretending to ignore him, and comforting myself that I was doing the right thing by rejecting him. But I like seeing him every day, I just hated that I couldn’t tell him. He was just too nice, too gentle. Too kind. Too cheerful, always smiling and asking me how my day was. I had no one at home to say hello to, no one to ask me how I was feeling. I barely had enough money to eat, yet I thought I could spare my tiny amount of spending money to come here for a few minutes with James, savoring every second of attention and care in secret. I never even noticed him swiping his own credit card, since I never allowed myself to look at him for too long. That might be too indulgent, or cause him to notice. 

I’m so selfish. I can’t believe how horrible I am. 

I like him. 

“James, I’m sorry.” 

He was walking away, and something in my voice makes him pause. He stops with his hand on the door handle. 

“I can’t believe you bought all those coffees for me. It’s too much, honestly. And for the last ten minutes, I’ve treated you horribly. I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t answer right away, which worries me. But then I see his shoulders starting to shake. He’s laughing? 

“You mean, for the last two weeks, you’ve treated me horribly.” He releases the handle and turns back around. He’s smiling slightly. His voice is soft and sarcastic, a strangely attractive combination. 

“Yes, I have. I’m sorry,” I repeat. 

He just shakes his head. “I thought maybe getting you to actually talk to me would solve all this. But one minute you’re screaming at me and then the next you’re apologizing, all in the first real conversation you’ve ever had with me that’s lasted longer than five minutes.” 

He’s confused, I don’t blame him. I’m a piece of work. I don’t really know what to say to him now. 

He grabs my drink from the table between us and presses it into my hand. “Your flat white’s a bit cold now, sorry. I really do have to get back to work. Have a good day.”

He’s walking away again. I know a rejection when I see it. Serves me right. Damn it. “James, wait.” No turning back now. I don’t want this to be the last time. “Can I… can I buy you a coffee? In return?” 

He smiles. “I’m a barista, Maggie. I don’t really need anyone to buy me coffee, but thank you. I know what you’re trying to do, you don’t have to pay me back.”

“Are you sure?”

“I didn’t do it for charity, or because I had pity on you. Or for some sick twisted game where I make you feel like you’re obligated to go out with me or repay me in some other way. I never meant anything by it except for doing you a favor. You don’t have to pay me back,” he repeats. 

“Ok.” I’m glad for his clarification, it would poison everything I knew about him if he did all this just to pressure me into seeing him again. Not that I don’t want to see him again.

He has to go back to work now, and so do I as a matter of fact. I check my watch. 8:40. We need to go, but I don’t want it to end like this. He was too kind and I too selfish. My conscience will not allow me to leave him hanging. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he says, standing by the door again. 

“I will… but can I see you tomorrow? Really, like meet up somewhere for lunch. Not coffee, of course, maybe ice cream - “ 

“Yes, I’d like that.” He smiles at me, the first genuine smile of the whole day. “One ice cream or lunch together equals one coffee repaid.” 

“What happened to not paying you back?” 

He shrugs. “Hey, you’re the one that offered, not me. Why would I turn you down, I’ve been trying to get you to talk to me for two whole weeks.” 

I smile back. “Sounds like a deal.” I’m proud of myself. I don’t hesitate to pull a pen out of my bag and scribble my number on the cardboard sleeve taken off my drink. My phone still lies face up on the table, the screen glowing. Somehow CoStar is back up and I can see my horoscope again. I can’t say if the planets lined up well for me today, or if they just found happiness in screwing me over. I quickly turn the screen off before I hand the sleeve to him, and he tucks it in his pocket. But he doesn’t linger like I wish he would. 

He’s opening the door to the cafe again. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Maggie.”

“Tomorrow.” 

He goes inside. I watch his green T-shirt disappear into the back and the tint on the window prevents me from seeing him anymore. 

It’s 8:43. I’m excited to go to work for the first time in months. 

Because I get to see him soon, for real.