The boom of thunder made me drop the dirty coffee mug that I was cleaning onto the floor. It smashed into about five or six pieces and I cursed to myself. "The beginning of summer, and a full-on thunderstorm?" asked Mark, my coworker. He had just started working at Freddie's Café and was from California, a long way from southeast Texas, where he was now.
"Yeah the weather here is like that," I said absentmindedly as I grabbed a toy broom and dustpan from beside the register.
"Uh, need any help there, Randi?" Mark asked me.
"No, I got it, and please, called me Randi-Lee," I stressed. Two weeks on the job at the café, working the almost exact same shifts as me, and he still couldn't just say my whole first name? Ugh. In his defense, though, everyone has always tried to call me Randi instead of Randi-Lee, and I've just hated it my entire life. It's wrong to take my lifelong frustrations out on Mark, but he was a lazy moron and it felt nice to get annoyed at him. I looked out the café windows, which took up most of the walls in the dining area, and sighed as the sprinkling from earlier started to turn into actual rain. Surely at this point the rain is going to drive away any customers we were going to get, I thought to myself. No one to distract me from Mark. "Great," I grumbled as I dumped the porcelain shards into a trash can.
I left the service area and walked through a door that swung in so that I was in a little foyer-type area in between the dry storage and the office. I checked the schedule on the wall next to the office door and traced my finger down "Wednesday" to see who else came in that day. It was about noon, and Misty wasn't going to come in until 2. Freddie's owner and general manager, Mr. Steward, liked having two cashiers available until closing, where one usually went home while the other took the thirty or so minutes to close the café.
I went into the office where the current MOD, manager on duty, Ken, was playing Draw Something on his iPhone. "Ken, it's pouring now," I informed him. "We're not going to get any more customers for hours. Think I can just go home?"
"If anything, I'd send Mark home," Ken said without looking up. "That kid is a moron."
"He got here at ten, and I've been here since four-thirty! I'm sure he and you will be fine for the next couple of hours until Misty gets here."
"Nah, I'm fine here," he said, his tone telling me that he didn't like my suggestion that he actually do his job. "Besides, I know you, Randi-Lee; you'll find something productive to do."
"I don't see why I have to be the only productive one," I whispered as I left the office. I walked back out to the front, sighing. Mark was leaning against the counter where we placed drinks for people to pick up, messing around on his phone. "Man, Ken is really good at drawing things," he told me as I neared.
"You're in separate rooms playing the same game with each other?" I asked, half in disbelief.
"Yeah! I mean, if we were in the same room, it wouldn't be as fun."
I turned my back to him and closed my eyes, slowly shaking my head. I scanned the completely empty dining area and noticed a table that had been abandoned by a businessman earlier; it had an empty mug on it as well as some crumbs from the pastry he ate. I grabbed a wet cloth and made my way over to clean the table.
Freddie's Café had three round dark brown tables that each seated four people, five matching small rectangular tables that each fit two people, and then along each of the two main walls were a long couch and a loveseat with low tables in front of them. On the right side of the café, the couch was floral print and the loveseat was light blue; on the other side, the couch and loveseat were faded olive green and bright red, respectively. At night teenagers and groups of friends loved lounging on the couches and loveseats for hours, but during the day they were hardly touched. Near our bathrooms in the right back corner were tall wooden bookshelves filled with books from Mr. Steward's home: some of his mother's old cookbooks, classics from the 1930s to the 1980s, and children's books that belonged to his late son, Fredrick, or "Freddie", whom the café is named after.
"Look at that crazy person," Mark remarked to me. I walked back behind the service counter and looked out the glass door to see a tall African-American man wearing a long black, leather trench coat slowly making his way to our door. He was wearing slacks and simple black loafers. A black bowler sat upon his head and thick, dark brown dreadlocks fell down to his shoulders. He held a white cane and wore sunglasses, telling me that he was blind. I took the initiative and walked over to the door and opened it for him. The strong winds blew against the door and I grunted as I fought against it. Big droplets of rain slammed into my face and I had to hold onto my dark green work baseball cap. "Here, I have the door open for you, sir," I said to him as he neared and towered over me. His head turned to my direction, and I felt my cheeks get warm. I couldn't see his eyes at all from his sunglasses, which made me feel a bit uneasy, even if he was blind. I just smiled politely and he nodded his head, smiling a tiny bit, not parting his lips.
He slowly walked into the café, water dripping off his coat and onto the floor. I pulled the door closed behind him and walked alongside him. "Have you been to Freddie's before, sir?" I asked him. He nodded at me and stopped walking when his cane hit the service counter base. I got behind my register and pointed at the wet floor sign beside Mark. He sighed and rolled his eyes before moving away from the counter and walking into the back to find some dry towels.
I looked at the man and studied his face for a moment: he had a square facial shape and high cheek bones. His skin was about the color of this 80% cocoa dark chocolate bar that my mother enjoys and it looked so smooth. His nostrils were wide and his lips were big and almost appeared to be faded pink. He was quite handsome and I found myself to still be blushing.
"What may I get for you, sir?" I asked the man when he turned his head toward me.
"I'd just like one café latte, please, young lady," he said with a slight Cajun accent.
"Yes, sir. That will be $3.50, please."
He handed me a $50 bill and started to walk away. "Keep the change," he said before I could protest. I blinked and took my ginormous tip out of the register slowly, in disbelief. I quickly began to heat up the milk for his latte, smiling to myself. I glanced at the man; he was sitting at the table I had recently cleaned, his back to the service counter. After his mug was filled with espresso, I poured the milk into it and then topped it with foam from the milk. I placed it on a small plate and carried it to him. I placed it in front of him. "Do you need anything else, sir? Any water or sugars?" I offered.
He simply shook his head. "No, but thank you, miss. Your kindness is appreciated."
"I'd hope that people would treat you kindly," I said.
"You and I both." He smiled, his teeth straight and very white.
I laughed back, a bit nervously. "Well, enjoy your latte, sir, and thank you very much," I said before turning away and walking back to the counter. Mark was wiping up the little puddles that the man left in his wake, and Ken was at my register, looking out the windows. "And you said no one else was going to come in," he said to me, raising his eyebrows. I rolled my eyes.
I was in the restroom when the man left, nearly two hours later. Ken and Mark were chatting and putting fresh pastries in our three-shelf display. "Did he leave?" I asked.
"Yup, and he also left his table dirty so you can clean it up, too," Ken said.
"Maybe he left you a tip," Mark said, softening the blow of Ken's mean comment. I pulled my phone out of my pocket to check the time. It was about time for me to leave, and one more table wouldn't kill me. I walked over to where he was sitting to see his mug still ¾ full of his latte. So weird. I also found it odd that the table still looked so shiny—no dust or crumbs or anything. I don't know why I noticed it, but it made a shiver run down my spine. I shook myself and picked up the dishes. I cleaned the latte mug, forcing myself to stop thinking about it. The café door opened and I heard Misty's high-pitched squeal. I smiled and sighed in relief at the thought of my shift being over. No more Ken or Mark for the rest of the day! I contained my excitement the best I could as we counted my money. I grabbed my things, had Misty chat my ears off for a full two minutes, and ran outside. I could've swung around the wet poles, I was so happy.
I stopped being stupid and put on my coat. It was beige with red flannel inside. I didn't like how it looked against my white skin, but it was a good coat and a gift from my mother. I opened my umbrella and walked to where my dad's car was parked. The rain wasn't as crazy as before, but I did see a group of darker clouds slowly approaching, so I knew this storm wasn't up yet. Freddie's was located near downtown Houston, TX. I, however, lived in Pasadena and had to commute. It was convenient for me to work at Freddie's when I was going to University of Houston Downtown, but now that I live at home, it's been a bit annoying commuting four days a week to Houston. My mother especially gets on my case about it, but even if I found a job near home, my friends lived in Houston, and I'd drive to see them anyway.
A half hour later I was home. Our house was in a nice area and was a two-story with three bedrooms and two bathrooms. I had my own room and was the only child, so the third bedroom was used a guest bedroom. I parked the car in the garage and walked into our kitchen. My mother was smoking next to the open window, on the phone, an open catalog in front of her. She glanced at me with her bright blue eyes and waved unenthusiastically. She had gotten her nails done earlier, I noticed; they were long and red this month. I didn't bother waving back, for her eyes were glued to her catalog once she lowered her hand. I shook my head and went to my room upstairs.
I lounged on the leather couch in the living room after I changed out of my work clothes. My closest friend, Monica, texted me: Hey girl wanna go to a club tonight? What the hell is she thinking? I hate clubs!
I glanced at the clock and then checked text messages from my dad that I ignored earlier: Hey cupcake, when you get home, tell your mom that I'm working until 8, so I probably won't be home until nine. Love, Dad. Oh, hell no. I'd take clubbing than staying here at home with Mom for the next six hours. And it was Wednesday, meaning she'd try to drag me to bible study with her. No, thanks.
I texted Monica: Yeah sure, if you pick me up.
Get you at six!
Around 5:30 I was in the bathroom, doing my hair. "Knock, knock," Mom said as she stood on the threshold, smiling at me. It was the first thing she said to me all day. While I was in the living room, she just stayed in the kitchen, talking on the phone. Even when I grabbed some snacks from the pantry, she ignored me.
"Hey, Mom," I said, doing my best to avoid her gaze in the mirror, and failing. I swallowed hard when I saw the reflection her caring smile that I'm lucky if I see thrice a week. "Do anything fun today?"
"Oh, just the usual," she said, looking at her nails. "Molly did my nails, I called around the phone tree. Stuff like that."
"Cool. Dad's gonna be late."
"Of course he is."
"Why can't he tell you himself? I don't really like being in the middle like this."
"You'd have to ask your father that," she sighed. "Have fun at work?"
"No. Ken is an ass and it was so slow because of the rain. But some blind guy came in and left me a big tip."
"Wow, lucky you. I figure only the blind would leave the house during the rain."
"I'm pretty sure they can still hear…"
"So you're going out, too?"
"Yes, Monica and I are going to a club."
She laughed some. "Should I be worried?"
I sprayed my hair and brushed it so it became wavy before putting it up in a ponytail with a cute clip. "Why would you be worried?" I asked, facing her.
"You have no experience with men," she said matter-of-factly. "And Monica runs off for a quick tryst in the bathroom stalls with any guy who makes eye contact with her. I mean, do you know what to do when a guy talks to you?"
I clenched my jaw. My mother and I weren't the closest (obviously), so I never told her about my four boyfriends or my various hookups over the years. I always remained mum on the subject of men, mostly to avoid her being all judgmental and just in general disapproving of what I do with my life. Then, however, I realized that she took that as I was terrified of men. She probably thinks I'm a lesbian, too. I sighed and crossed my arms. Her smile was gone, replaced by her frown and raised eyebrows, waiting for my response.
"Yes, I pretty much know what to do," I slowly said.
"What does 'pretty much' mean?" she almost demanded. "I don't want you going out and getting assaulted!"
"You're overreacting and acting like I can't get assaulted any other time. Sure, there are going to be men there who have unethical motives, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't go. I could get hurt by a man on my way to my car, too." I turned away from her, signaling to her that I was done with the conversation, to put on a bit of makeup. I heard her stomp off and I shook my head. I knew that her anger was for my dad, but I was there, so why not direct it at me? She was probably projecting, I thought as I grabbed my blush.
I splashed a bit of pink blush on my pale cheeks and put on a light amount of dark brown eyeliner to my bottom lids. I was wearing a grey dress and sparkly black tights, so I decided upon a light pink eye shadow to add more color to my face. I know it wasn't the most attractive color match, but it was just what I felt like wearing that night, which was more important to me. I slipped on a pair of silver heels and was trying to decide between a clutch and a purse when Monica started calling me. "Shit," I muttered as I grabbed the clutch and shoved my ID, credit card, and cash into it.
"RANDI-LEE!" Mom called from downstairs. "Monica is here!"
"Okay!" I shouted back as I gave myself a glance in to the mirror to make sure I looked decent. I dashed down the stairs, holding onto the banister tightly to prevent myself from breaking my neck, and quickly strode to the front door. "Okay, leaving now," I said, looking around. I saw the kitchen light on and heard Mom chatting away. Back on the phone. I sighed and left, hoping tonight was going to be a good one.