Looking around, I counted seven cramped glass topped tables. The space felt cozy and welcomed peopled to sit and read a paper while they drank. The top half of the interior walls were brick like the outside, while taupe paneling capped with a chair rail covered the bottom half. Someone had managed to hang a few pictures and decorations in the mortar.
An ‘L’ shaped counter quartered off the back of the room near the bathrooms. A register sat on the longer stretch of counter along with a variety of coffee making equipment partially hidden by a high ledge. The same ledge hid what the smaller counter held. Along the wall behind the counters, a cold storage and food prep unit crowded into the already tiny space.
At the sound of the bell, a middle-aged woman with a fluff of orange hair haloing her head stepped away from the food prep unit and leaned on the high ledge of the coffee counter. She wore a printed tee shirt tucked into jeans.
“You can order up here and sit anywhere you like,” she said with a friendly smile.
I ordered, thankful for the change in my pocket, and while I watched her make my drink, asked about the sign. She explained she just needed help during the weekend, someone to help take orders at the counter and deliver them to the tables. On the weekends, she served breakfast sandwiches. While delicious, she assured me, they slowed her down.
“I have to be honest. The pay will suck. It’d be waitressing wages because of the tables and tips. I’ve had a few kids try it, but they usually leave for something that pays minimum wage.” She handed me the application. “Bring it back if you’re interested.”
I smiled my thanks, taking the sheet and my coffee.
“I’m Mona by the way,” she said introducing herself.
I offered my hand. “Tessa.”
“I have to ask… what happened to your eye?”
“I’m probably one of the few people that can honestly say I ran into a door.”
“Clumsy?” she asked her gaze flicking to the application.
I laughed. “Not usually,” I assured her. Hiring a clumsy person in a coffee shop wouldn’t do much for the already slow business. “If I can borrow a pen, I’ll fill this out now.”
Thankfully, the simple application didn’t ask for any prior employment references. When I handed it back to her along with my empty cup, she looked over the application.
“First job?”
“Yeah. I don’t own a car,” I admitted, “and you’re close for walking.”
She nodded while reading. “This looks good. If you’re up for it, let’s give it a try this Saturday. Be here by seven thirty. Wear comfortable shoes, jeans and a tee shirt. Nothing freaky. We’ll see how that goes.”
Walking home, I couldn’t help but smile. Mom would flip and probably not in a good way. I paid attention to the time as I walked. I made it home in seven minutes, the walk brisk but manageable.
Gran was talking to Aunt Danielle quietly when I opened the front door. The book lay in her hands. When they saw me, Gran smiled widely and stood.
“You look much better. Happy. What happened?” She took my hat and mittens and put them in the hanging basket under my coat hook.
“I got a job,” I said with a small smile hanging my jacket and then moving to the fridge to start pulling out dinner ingredients. While walking home, a bus passed me. More time had passed in the Coffee Shop than I’d realized.
I noticed Gran’s smile fade slightly. She questioned me with her eyes.
Setting everything on the counter I smiled widely at her surprise. Spontaneity wasn’t usually our thing. We were careful people. We talked, planned, and then decided together if the plan would work.
“Seriously. It was as if it was meant to be. It’s only on the weekends from seven thirty until one. The owner, Mona, admitted the pay sucks, but it seems like it’d be a good first job. And it sounds like a few kids left the job already so, if it doesn’t work out, I doubt she’ll be surprised if I quit.”
Gran nodded and helped me put a salad together for dinner. When mom came home, she wasn’t as surprised about the job as I’d thought. She smiled saying she knew moving was the right thing.
The next morning, my bruise had faded enough that I could hide the remnants with heavy concealer. Having done my fair share of first days, I wasn’t nervous. Mom had stopped by the school last Friday to get me registered. Schedule in hand, I walked into the doors ready to try again.
The main entrance opened to a modest lobby that smelled like wet sneakers. Two primary hallways branched from the lobby. I spotted the office to the right and went to check in.
Another student already stood in the office, leaning comfortably against the counter, talking to the secretary. Dressed in a red, black and grey plaid pleated skirt and solid grey sweater layered over a white collared button-up, I wondered if this school encouraged uniforms.