Alone Together

Boyd

To say my mood has been foul the past few days would be putting it mildly. I don’t have a legitimate reason why, but my usual crankiness has reached new lows. Now I’m being forced to gather with my siblings and parents, and put on a happy face over dinner.

“Let’s go. I don’t want to show up late,” I snap at Holden as I walk to the door. He doesn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of my bad mood, but unfortunately for him, it’s a position he’s become accustomed to.

“You could have gone without me. I’m sure I can find my own way.”

I roll my eyes at him—an admittedly juvenile response—and sigh. One of the two actions prompt him to head for the door. He walks out first, so I follow and lock the door behind me. Within the ten seconds it takes me to do so, Holden has already made it halfway to our parents’ place, two houses over.

Every Sunday since we each moved out, this has been our standing arrangement. And no one dares defy our mother. She’s a tough old bird who could stir a pot of boiling pasta with her bare hand and not flinch. She’s never been particularly warm or affectionate, but she has always been a dedicated mum. Sometimes too dedicated. Aside from her interest in her kids and the Princess of Wales, little else captures her attention. I thought she’d relax once she became a grandmother last month, but nothing has changed.

The newest addition to our family, Grace, is a tiny little thing whose personality is already starting to show. She’s a girl who knows what she wants and won’t take no for an answer—much like her mother and grandmother.

Phoebe is walking up the front stoop to Mum and Dad’s place as we approach. Her husband, Aaron, is cradling their infant, standing behind her.

Holden stutter steps before climbing the step, and I almost crash into his back. I realize he’s checking his phone, so I chastise him for texting and driving, trying to make a joke. He doesn’t see it as one; or at least, he doesn’t acknowledge it, too consumed with whatever he’s reading. I bypass him and walk into the foyer behind Phoebe. Dad has already claimed Grace, and he’s cooing over how beautiful she is. I kiss my sister and the baby on their foreheads before shaking hands with Aaron and greeting my father. He doesn’t seem enthused to see me. Apparently, once you stop pooping your pants, people don’t gush over you anymore. I don’t have any memories of my father ever being as excited to see me as he is with Grace. I’m not about to start soiling my pants to see if that’s the trick, though.

Holden walks in behind me and, as soon as my dad starts chewing him out for his poor manners, I exit into the ornate living room. Phoebe and Aaron join me, followed by Dad and Grace. Holden detours into the kitchen in search of our mother.

We spend the next hour catching up on anything pertinent to share since this time last week, which is virtually the same as everything we discussed last Sunday. Aaron, as a Toronto police officer, always has the best stories to share. This week he had to arrest a naked man in Nathan Phillips Square, who was performing “the helicopter”, asking random women if they were ready for takeoff. Dad sheds a tear or two over Aaron’s animated re-enactment—fully clothed, thankfully. His description of the takedown is comedy gold, but still does nothing to boost my mood.

My mother’s unamused voice cuts through the laughter to call us into the dining room. She’s never ventured out of her comfort zone when it comes to Sunday dinner preparations. I’d like to say that means she’s perfected the Sunday roast, but we’re not so lucky. Forty percent of the time, it’s fine. Another forty percent, it’s not great, but you can choke it down with enough gravy. Twenty percent of the time, it’s dreadful. Like eating the sole of a sneaker. One that’s made the rounds through an entire NBA team during playoffs.

My father, being the loyal, supportive man he is, compliments our mother for everything. But on those twenty percent days, even he stays quiet. Aaron, on the other hand, takes every opportunity to suck up to his mother-in-law, even though we all know he’s lying through his teeth.

Tonight’s meal, mercifully, is in the top forty percent category, so we’re all able to maintain conversation throughout dinner. We hear all about what kind of achievements Grace should be reaching next, and listening to my sister talk about her daughter almost makes me crack a smile.

Both of my siblings knew what they wanted from a young age. Holden read a biography by a renowned history professor when he was a teenager and decided from that moment he wanted to pursue an advanced degree in history. He’s working toward his PhD with the goal of becoming a professor someday. Phoebe knew from an even younger age that she wanted to be a mother. Other girls had lofty dreams of being CEOs or actresses, but to Phoebe, nothing was loftier than having a family. Our mother always worked, and worked hard, so it wasn’t that she ingrained the mentality that a woman’s place is in the home into us. That was just Phoebe’s dream and, from what I can tell, she’s never been happier.

It’s been a source of pride to see them both achieve their dreams. Even though I don’t tell them that.

As for me? I don’t know what I want exactly, but I’m willing to work hard to figure it out.

I don’t consider myself a proud man, but after six days, Sophie hasn’t returned. My coffee-making skills are top-notch after doing this job for eleven years, so I know that’s not the reason she’s opted to get her caffeine fix elsewhere. Plus, she admitted it was the best coffee she’s ever had. She’s avoiding me.

Nearing the end of our morning rush, I’m just about to take my break when I see her walk in with a bearded brunette. Their arms are linked together as they smile ear to ear. She’s wearing a black floral sheath dress and strappy heels. The smart thing to do would be to save myself from witnessing young love and slink into the back room.

But I don’t.

Instead, I continue making the drinks on order and glance up at Sophie’s other half while he studies the menu. She says something to him, dragging him to the cashier. He replies with his head tilted toward her and one eyebrow raised, but I can’t make out his words.

Then, before I can force myself back to my current task, Sophie’s eyes lock on mine. Not just hers, but the angry eyes belonging to the man on her arm. He stares at me a few seconds longer than what’s comfortable, so I raise one hand and shoot him a friendly wave. One that I hope reassures him I’m not after his girl. She made sure of that.

The two of them exchange words again, leaving Sophie with slumped shoulders, but after a few more verbal exchanges, she’s laughing. The entire interaction is so confusing, there’s no deciphering it from where I’m standing. Not that I should even be trying. She’s a customer, and I don’t get invested in customer’s conversations. Ever.

They step up to the counter, just as the man says, “I love you too,” and kisses the top of her head. I’ve never considered myself the jealous type, but… no. I’m not jealous now, either.

Sophie and her boyfriend each order a flat white, which restores a little of my pride. At least that’s one thing I can always do right. The entire time I’m crafting the perfect caffeinated beverages, I feel eyes on me. I carry on, doing my job, eventually turning around to pop on two plastic lids and hand them to the waiting customers.

That’s all she is. A customer. A sentiment I will keep repeating to myself until my head gets the message.

The man thanks me as he grabs both cups and turns, giving me a bit of a side eye. Not an angry look; he seems more curious.

To ease my suffering, I decide to take my break now. I inform Monica, who gives me another suspicious glare before she nods. When I told her about Sophie’s response last week, I could tell she felt a little bad for pushing me. Even though it stung, I needed a little shove to move out of the slump I’d been stuck in. Though, I’m firmly back there now and will remain in that slump for the foreseeable future.

I waste my break time sorting through order forms that don’t need to be sorted, trying my best to find a distraction. The ten minutes aren’t long enough and don’t help me avoid the scene I was trying to. I return to the dining area and something possesses me to approach Sophie’s table. It’s one of those moments where your brain is screaming at you to stop because you know it’s wrong and bordering on skeezy, but your feet take you there anyway.

I watch as she places her hand on top of his, not paying any attention to my arrival. Until she does. The guy spots me first, which draws her attention. Both of them staring leaves me struggling to explain why I’m standing here. This is not a full service café.

Finally, I choke out, “Sorry to interrupt. Can I get you anything else?”

The guy looks from me to Sophie, then scans the room. His furrowed brows greet me as he replies, “Thanks, man, but I’m good. Soph? You see anything you want? Anything at all?”

Sophie jolts in her seat, which makes her boyfriend laugh.

“No, I’m good, thanks, Caleb.” She narrows her eyes at her tablemate.

I’m totally lost in this conversation. “Right.” I look at Sophie for any kind of clarification, but get none. “Well, let me know if you change your mind.”

My feet cooperate this time to retreat to safety. There’s a small line forming at the counter, so I breathe a sigh of relief I can immerse myself in work and suppress my curiosity over this girl who I have no right to be curious about.

She’s just a customer.

I look up after the crowd disappears and find an empty table where the happy couple was moments earlier. They left at some point while I was busy doing my job, which is exactly what I should be doing.

Staying in my comfort zone.