Sofi’s Second Chance

Sofi Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. The sound of leaves under my feet made me smile as I made my way along the sidewalk to work. It was drizzling slightly, making me glad I opted for my raincoat this morning and not my Sherpa sweater. I just loved the smell of a rainy fall day. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, committing the smell to memory. I opened my eyes in time to take a quick right at Murphy’s bookstore and continue up the block. I picked up my pace as the rain started to come down harder, glad I was only a few steps away from the front of the coffee shop at that point. I took out my keys to the front door and opened it as fast as could while trying to keep my hair from slipping out from under my hood. I pushed the door open forcefully, making the small bell above the door jingle aggressively as I whipped inside. I quickly closed the door behind me and locked it to prevent anyone from coming in before we opened. I stepped into the employee area, a closet big enough for two small lockers and our back stock of to-go cups and lids. I took off my wet coat and gave it a few shakes before hanging it up in my cubby. I took out a hair tie and put up my frizzy waves in a quick high pony. I grabbed by green apron, and headed behind the counter to get my station ready for the day. I turned on my coffee makers first, adding in the coffee beans and breathing in deeply their aroma. I loved this smell, it smelled like home to me. I continued to prep my counters, giving them a quick wipe down before the day began. I checked my supply of cups, lids, and stir sticks to make sure I didn’t need to grab any from the back. Then I checked my stock of mugs and clean plates, making sure I was ready for my customers that would come in and stay awhile. When I was happy with my setup, I took a look at the clock hanging to the left of the front door. 6:58am. Perfect. I ducked from behind the counter and headed to the front door to unlock and turn my sign from “closed” to “open.” I didn’t expect to see too many faces this morning with the weather, but I’m sure my regulars would start heading over soon. I walked back behind the counter, awaiting my first customer. … A few moments later, Mrs. Lincoln walked in abruptly, stopping to close her wet umbrella before approaching me. “It sure is a wet day today!” She said, smiling at me. “I couldn’t agree more.” I said, smiling in turn. “But I do love a rainy fall day.” “Oh of course you do, you’re too positive not too,” Mrs. Lincoln quipped back. I loved our early morning conversations. Mrs. Lincoln was a kind woman, in her early sixties, but you’d never guess from her appearance. She was always dressed well, with a bright smile and faint wrinkles around her eyes that made it obvious that she smiled most of the time. “We’ll you know me, Sofi, I’ll take a small black coffee and a croissant to go.” “Absolutely, Mrs. Lincoln. Would you like your croissant warmed up today?” I asked. “You know, I think I will today, will help warm me up after all this rain.” Mrs. Lincoln replied. “Coming right up!” I turned and popped her croissant in the warmer while I poured her coffee. I placed the lid just in time for the warmer to ding and let me know her pastry was ready to be removed. I placed the croissant in a small bag and handed both over to her. “Thank you very much dear, try to stay warm and I will see you later.” She turned and headed to the door. “You too! I hope you have a great day!” I smiled brightly at her as she opened her umbrella and briskly walked back to the bookstore. My morning continued without incident, with my regulars continuing in a steady stream until about 9am. At that point, I took a minute to wipe down our few tables and do a quick sweep of the floor. The coffee shop wasn’t huge, it had about four tables between the front door and the counter, and an additional 4 tables if you walked past the counter and went to the back of the shop. Mostly college students from the area would take advantage of our back tables, giving them a private area to sit and study in peace. Adding tables to the back area was my idea a couple of years back when I had started college and needing a place to prep before tests. Mr. Thompson, my boss and owner of the shop, liked the idea and agreed as long as I made sure no one was abusing the free Wi-Fi for too long. In the last five years the coffee shop had become my safe place. I owed everything to Mr. Thompson honestly. At 18, I was without a place to stay, no job and no one to turn to. My dad passed away when I was 14, and my mom wasn’t right after he was gone. My teenage years were mostly me making boxed mac n cheese or ramen noodles for myself waiting for her to stumble her way home from the bar. She hasn’t always been like this, but after my dad passed away, she kind of threw in the towel. To her credit, my mom never missed a day of work. She had been the receptionist at Mike’s Auto Body Repair for as long as I can remember. No matter how she came home the night before, by 7am she was up, dressed, and heading out the door to start her day. Her routine became almost robotic, up at 6am, leave the house at 7pm, and return sometime after 10pm with the smell of alcohol on her breath. Sometimes I would come home and be surprised that she was sitting at the kitchen counter eating something. Every now and again she would even ask me about my day and we would chat for a few minutes before she excused herself to her nightly activities. Those moments were my favorite, I felt like my mom was still in there.. if only I could reach her. On my eighteenth birthday, I made the mistake of asking her for a homemade cake. She used to make this amazing chocolate cake with ganache on top that was just to die for. I hadn’t had it since my dad got sick, but I was hoping that given the occasion she would come around and be willing to make it. I came home from school hoping I’d find her in the kitchen putting finishing touches on my cake, but I came home to an empty apartment yet again. I waited around for awhile, but after 7pm I figured it was a lost cause. I went to my room and started on my homework. My mom didn’t come home until well after 11pm, inebriated as always and clambering her way through the apartment with little care as to how much noise she made. In hindsight, I know now that what I said that night was uncalled for, but I had been so hurt that the words just bubbled out. “Mom!” I called from my room as I heard her continue her journey across the apartment. I got up from my desk and stormed towards her, stopping her in her tracks and blocking her path to the bedrooms. “What, Sofi? Let m-me through.” She slurred out, clumsily trying to get around me. “No mom!” I screamed, not able to keep my emotions in check. “Do you remember what today is?” I asked, tears running down my face. “No.” She said, frustrated that she couldn’t manage to get passed me. “What is today?” She asked with irritation. “It’s my eighteenth birthday!” I screamed in her face. “Do you remember what I asked for you to do today? The one thing I asked?” I continued, pain laced in my words. I could see that my mom was trying hard to think about what I might be asking her about. I could see her eyes glaze as she was processing our few conversations we had had recently. Recognition slowly crept on her face as she must have remembered the answer to my question. “Your cake.” She said plainly. “Yes, my cake.” I confirmed, still leaking tears. “I know it was a lot to ask, but I thought that maybe, just maybe, you would sober up for this one day. All I wanted was for you to think about someone other than yourself, just for once. I don’t even remember the last time you said ‘happy birthday’ to me, or the last time you made me anything, let alone a cake. I just.. I hate you!” I yelled, turning and running back to my room before she could respond. I threw myself on my bed, allowing my cries to rack through my body. … The truth was, my dad and I were always very close. Mom and I had a good relationship, but my dad was my everything back then. When he received his diagnosis, he didn’t let anything change between us. We still did all our favorite things; late night trips to the supermarket, early morning walks down Main Street and a quick stop at the coffee shop for two cappuccinos before walking back home. In his last few months, my dad started slowing down. He didn’t want me to see it, but I could tell it was hard for him to keep up. He started looking pale, his cheeks became sunken and his eyes dulled. I knew that our time was running out. On June 19, he went to bed and never woke up. My mom was hysterical the next morning when she couldn’t shake him awake. The paramedics came and confirmed he was gone. That’s when my mom shut down and, in turn, shut me out. … As I continued to cry into my pillow over my forgotten birthday I heard my mom enter the room. I looked up to see her standing in my doorway. “I’m sorry that I forgot.” She said, her eyes remaining even with my own. “I just wish just once I was worth remembering.” I say back, my throat raw from my cries. “I’m sorry that I keep disappointing you.” She whispered, tears welling in her eyes. I stared at her in shock, surprised by her sudden comment. She dashed her tears away and left my room without another word. I fell into a fitful sleep that night. I felt bad for what I had said, but part of me felt justified in my reaction. I mean, what had she done for me since my father passed? I resolved that we would have a discussion in the morning and air our grievances. Maybe if we had a conversation things could get better? In a few months I would be graduating from high school and having an even more estranged relationship with my mom would just make my senior year that much worse. I woke up early the next day, ready to apologize and start fresh. I came out of my bedroom and went to the kitchen, hoping my mother would still be there pouring herself a cup of coffee. To my disappointed, the kitchen was empty and didn’t look touched after last night. I sighed, figuring I missed her and I’d have to wait until she came home later to talk. As I turned to exit the room. I noticed a note on the refrigerator. Surprised seeing as my mom never left me notes, I cautiously walked over to read what she had written. My heart raced as I began to read— Sofi, I’m sorry for the heartache that I’ve cause you over the years. I know that I wasn’t the mom that you had hoped for and I know that you had to heal from your father’s passing on your own. I can’t make up for the past, but I can help your future. By the time you read this note, I’ll be long gone. I’m going to try and get help, I don’t know where and I don’t know for how long. One day I’ll come back, and I hope then I won’t be a disappoint to you any more. Love, Mom I stared at my mothers handwriting in shock. How could she leave me here by myself? How did running away seem like the right answer? If only we could have talked, we would have been able to come up with a better solution together. I waited for her to come home. I waited every day for her to show up and say she had made a mistake. Weeks past, and nothing. Bills starting coming in and I didn’t know what to do. Eventually I was served with an eviction notice. I went to the landlord and explained the situation and begged for him to understand. As much as he understood, he said that he couldn’t let the unit go without payment. He told me that he did have a studio apartment available and if I could afford the monthly rent he would let me move our stuff to that unit without evicting me. I went for a walk after our conversation. I walked the same route that my father and I used to take down Main Street, past Mike’s Auto and Murphy’s Bookstore. I found myself in front of the coffee shop just hoping that an answer would fall from the sky and fix this mess. That’s when I noticed the help wanted sign in the window. I stared at the flyer, wondering if this was my sign. I walked inside the shop, the bell above the door announcing my entrance. A pleasant woman, probably in her mid fifties smiled at me from the counter. “Hello.” She said to me. “How can I help you today?” “H-hi.” I stuttered. “My name is Sofi, and I wanted to ask you about getting a job here.” “Okay!” The kind woman smiled, “Let me grab you an application.” She went to the back of the shop and I could hear muffled voices from where she had gone. As I waited for her to return, I looked around the coffee shop for what felt like the first time. I hadn’t stepped foot in here since my dad passed away-too many memories- but now, being back here reminded me of a much better time. The kind woman returned from the back, with a gentleman behind her. “This is my husband, I told him that you were interested in a job and he wanted to come out and meet you in person.” “Oh well, thank you.” I stuttered again, not knowing what else to say to the man. “No, thank you for stopping by.” The man said. “My name is Rory Thompson, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I would love to sit down with you for a few minutes if that’s all right? Also, if I may ask, you look very familiar to me, have you come in here before?” I stared at the gentleman, debating on what I should say to him. I took a deep sigh before responding. “Yes sir, my father and I used to stop by a couple of times a week for cappuccinos. He passed away some time ago and I haven’t visited since.” I surprised myself by being so forthcoming with this information, but it felt like the right thing to say. “Ah.” Rory said, “I’m so sorry.” He eyes shown with pity. “It’s okay.” I said. “It was awhile ago.” “Well regardless,” he said, “I am sorry. It’s never easy losing someone you love, let alone a parent. Would you like to speak with me now about the job opening or would you prefer meeting a different time?” “Now would be fine.” I blurt out, not wanting to lose out on this opportunity. “Okay.” He said. “Please take a seat.” Mr. Thompson hired me that day on the spot. He and his wife were kind to me and understanding of my situation. He allowed me to work after school and on the weekends. With both of their encouragement I made it through my last couple months of high school and was able to make it to graduation. After my schooling was over, I was able to start at the coffee shop full time. My landlord stayed true to his word and allowed me to move the contents of our two bedroom apartment to the open studio. I put all of my mothers things into boxes, which I kept in a storage locker across town. I didn’t feel comfortable throwing out any of her things, but I also didn’t want to see them everyday and be reminded of what she had done. That was years ago now, and I was doing well with my current lot in life. When I turned 20, I decided that I wanted to go to college. I figured I could walk to the local community college and I could take classes slow while I continued to work. I wanted to major in business administration. With help from the Thompsons, I applied and was accepted to the business program. I took it one semester at a time, and after a couple years I graduated with my associates degree. I was looking for a state school that I could transfer and pursue a Bachelors, but without a car and financial assistance I wasn’t sure how I would make that happen. Either way, I was indebted to the Thompsons. Without them, and without the coffee shop, I think I could have faded away. The door of the coffee shop slapping closed woke me from my train of thought. I man walked towards me with long strides. “Good morning.” He said clipped. “I will take a medium black coffee please.” “Yes sir.” I responded. “Is there anything else I can get for you today?” “No thank you, that will be all.” He said, while picking up his cell phone that must have been silently ringing in his pocket. I turned, poured his coffee, and waited for him to finish his phone call so I could get his payment. As he continued his call I couldn’t help but examine his features. The man was tall, at least 6 foot. He had broad shoulders and I’d imagine he was quite strong considering how his coat stressed against his upper arms. His eyes were a bright shade of blue and his hair was a mess of dark brown curls. He was quite handsome honestly. He hung up the phone abruptly and I turned my head to the side so he didn’t think I was crazy for staring at him. “What do I owe you?” He asked with a small smile. “$2.08.” I said, trying not to blush from almost being caught ogling him. “Here you go, keep the change.” He said before taking his coffee and heading out the door. The rest of the day went by quickly, and before I knew it, it was time to close. I cleaned the counter, wiped the tables one last time and moped the place front to back before grabbing my coat and locking up. It was about 5:30 by this time and the fall sun was starting to set low in the sky. I pulled my coat around myself to fight the chill in the air as I walked across more wet leaves on my home. Crunch, crunch, crunch.