Michaels Mess - 3. Chapter 3

David is usually gone by the time I wake up, but today he was working from home. I did miss those mornings—early hours spent diving into work, Sarah would wake the kids up and prepare them for their day. Back then, life had a rhythm I enjoyed: the nanny would arrive, I’d grab my briefcase, and off I’d go to the office. It was a different kind of monotony, one that felt fulfilling.

I made myself a quick breakfast—bacon, eggs and toast. David wasn’t a coffee drinker, so I’d bought a basic machine. The scent of fresh coffee filled the apartment, bringing a small comfort to my otherwise stagnant routine.

I bit into the flaky pastry, something that David had made the other evening, savoring the buttery, melt-in-your-mouth texture. “David, seriously… you could open a bakery with these. They’re amazing.”

David glanced up from his laptop, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Oh, please. They’re just pastries. Besides, you’ve got to balance the universe when your cooking skills are this good.”

I chuckled. “Humble much?”

“Not at all,” David replied with a wink. “But hey, if this whole corporate gig doesn’t work out, maybe I’ll consider it. Glad you liked them, though.”

Once I finished eating, I made sure to clean the counters thoroughly—David was particular about cleanliness. He never said anything outright, but the passive-aggressive way he’d wipe the counters in front of me said plenty. He was a good roommate, though, and for now, this arrangement worked.

After breakfast and a bit of job searching, I decided to go for my run. I changed into my gear and stepped outside. David was glued to his laptop, as usual. The air was crisp, and the familiar rhythm of my sneakers hitting the pavement helped clear my mind. Ten kilometers later, I returned to the apartment building, tired but feeling good. As I reached for the front door, a middle-aged woman stepped out, offering me a kind smile.

“Hey there, you must be the new guy staying with David,” she said, her tone warm and welcoming.

“Hi—yeah, I’m Michael. I’m just renting a room, though. We’re not, uh, together.”

She smirked knowingly. “That’s what they all say.”

This was interesting—David was gay? I wasn’t looking for a relationship, and since he hasn’t mentioned anything, I didn’t want to assume. Still, there was something refreshing about his energy, his humor, and the easy way he lived his life. For once, I could just appreciate someone without needing to complicate things.

Her laugh was rich and genuine, immediately disarming me. “Welcome to the building, Michael. I’m Loretta, in 360. Been here 20 years now. It’s a good place—solid tenants, and the landlord’s one of the decent ones.”

“Nice to meet you, Loretta,” I said, appreciating her friendliness.

Loretta’s gaze softened. “So, what about you? What brings you here? You’re obviously not from around these parts.”

“I moved from LA. I needed a fresh start,” I admitted, surprised at how easy it was to tell her the truth. “I’ve visited before and thought this might be the place to figure things out.”

“Uh-huh. Well, you picked the right city for reinvention. You’re young, decent-looking—you’ll find your way.”

Her bluntness caught me off guard, but there was no malice in her tone. “You here alone? No girlfriend, no boyfriend?” she asked. “These days, you gotta ask.”

“Uh, no. Just me,” I said, a little flustered. “Single and starting over.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Well, if you’re into men, let me tell you—David’s a catch. You two might make a nice pair. And if you like women... oooooh, wait till you see whose in 410! I think she's single.”

I felt the heat rise to my face at her boldness. It wasn’t just her assumption about my sexuality—it was her casual confidence in bringing it up. Still, there was no judgment, only warmth.

“I’ll, uh, keep that in mind,” I replied, chuckling nervously.

“Relax, honey, I’m just teasing,” she said with a wink. “Listen, if you ever need anything—sugar, advice, or just someone to talk to—you come up and see me. Everyone in this building calls me Mama Loretta.”

“But just remember one thing,” she said, leveling me with a firm look softened by a hint of a smile. “I ain’t no black woman trope. I’m strong-willed and don’t take no crap from anyone. You be good to me, and I’ll be good to you.”

She adjusted the strap of her purse and turned toward the door. “Anyway, I’m off. Need to get some groceries.”

“Do you need any help, Loretta… sorry, Mama Loretta?” I asked, catching myself with a grin.

That earned me a broader smile. She was a sweet woman. I liked her.

“Aaah no, I got this,” she replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I’ve been doing my grocery run for 20 years—where were you 20 years ago? I’ll be fine, honey. You go on with your day. If you’re here when I get back, maybe I’ll let you help me take the bags up.”

I chuckled at her quick wit. “I’ll be watching out for you, Mama Loretta.”

“Oh no you won't,” she shot back with a grin. “240 faces the back of the building. Unless you plan on waiting out here.”

Her laughter trailed behind her as she headed out, leaving me standing there with a smile on my face. She had a way of making the world seem a little less heavy, even for a guy like me.

As I walked back into the apartment, I found David still working at his laptop. I needed to shower, change, and dive back into job searching. Some days felt more promising than others, but most days left me feeling deflated.

David was heading out that evening, leaving me to fend for myself for dinner. He had given me a list of places to try nearby, and I decided to check out a soup and sandwich spot I’d noticed a few times. I wasn’t particularly hungry, but something about the simplicity of it felt right.

Getting out of the apartment was a relief. I had been cooped up inside for too long, and although running helped clear my head, I realized I needed more than that—some change of pace.

The restaurant was quiet, with only a few people chatting over their meals. I approached the counter, placed my order, and chose a table by the window. The server brought my meal—a fresh sandwich and a bowl of soup—along with a steaming cup of coffee. The warm aroma was comforting, and I couldn’t resist ordering a coffee cake that looked too good to pass up.

Dinner was simple, but satisfying. After finishing, I walked back home, the evening air warm from the day’s sun.

When I got back to the apartment, I noticed that David was still out. I hadn’t eaten anything at home, but I took a quick glance around to make sure everything was in its place before heading to my room. I was feeling a little more tired than usual, probably from the walk, and the fresh air was doing me good.

With David still not home, I seized the opportunity to shower without worrying about David catching me walking around naked. I dropped my clothes into the basket and stepped into the bathroom, the warmth of the water helping to soothe the day’s tension.

By the time I finished and came out, David still wasn’t home, so I wrapped myself in a towel and grabbed the ridiculous slippers he’d gotten for me. His sense of humor always made me smile.

I got into bed, lying there staring up at the ceiling. My thoughts drifted, as they often did, back to the past. Was it a mistake not to reach out to Sarah? I hadn’t heard from her, and after everything that happened, I figured she didn’t want anything to do with me. But it lingered—this uncertainty, this nagging feeling of a door left unopened.

I eventually drifted off to sleep, thoughts swirling in random directions, but none of them bringing me peace.

I woke up early the next morning, hoping to catch a glimpse of David, but he had already left for the day. These quiet mornings reminded me of the early days with Sarah—waking up before her to get some work done, hearing the soft sounds of her moving around as she got ready for the day. The memory felt like a lifetime ago, yet so vivid it was hard to believe how much had changed.

After making myself some breakfast, I decided to go for a run. It had become part of my routine—a way to clear my head and stay grounded. As I returned to the building, exhausted but feeling accomplished, I spotted Mama Loretta sitting on the steps outside.

“Mama Loretta, good morning! You’re up early today. Grocery shopping?” I asked, catching my breath.

“No, not today,” she replied, smiling warmly. “My son is coming to pick me up. We’re gonna do some shopping.”

“Your son?” I asked, intrigued.

“Yeah, you know, the one who came out of my uterus. Don’t they teach you white boys anything in LA?” she said with a mischievous glint in her eye.

I laughed, unsure whether to joke back or play it safe. “I guess I missed that class,” I said, deciding to keep it light.

“Uh-huh,” Mama Loretta said, rolling her eyes. “He comes by once a month, but calls me every day. Busy man, but we make time for some mother-and-son bonding,” she added, straightening up as if preparing for his arrival.

“That’s nice. You don’t want to live with him?” I asked.

She gave me a look that could cut glass. “Are you kidding? I don’t need his wife getting into my business. No, I like it fine here. Like I said, I’m a strong, independent woman. I need my privacy.”

I chuckled. “Got it. Strong, independent woman,” I echoed.

“You got that right,” she said with a wink. “Oh, there he is. Help an old woman up, will you?”

I offered her my arm, and she took it with surprising ease. She wasn’t frail—far from it—but she enjoyed making people work for her approval. I helped Mama Loretta down the stairs, just as a sleek red car pulled up in front of the building. Once it had stopped, a sharp-dressed man stepped out, exuding confidence and charm and walked toward us.

“This here is Michael,” Mama Loretta said, gesturing toward me. “He moved into the building a few months ago. Michael, meet my son, Marcus.”

Marcus extended a firm hand, giving me a quick once-over before flashing a polite smile. “Michael, nice to meet you. I see you’ve met my mom. Word of advice—don’t cross her. She’s got a temper.”

“Now that kind of talk will get you in trouble, Marcus,” Mama Loretta said, shaking her head. “Just like his father—doesn’t know when to stop. Except he’s got a mouth on him.”

Marcus laughed, clearly used to her playful jabs. “And yet you still love me,” he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek.

The three of us exchanged a few more pleasantries before Marcus and Mama Loretta walked back towards the car, Marcus opened the car door and Mama Loretta sat down. As they drove off, I stood there for a moment, watching the car disappear down the street. Mama Loretta was one of a kind, and her son seemed to have inherited her charisma.

I made my way back inside the building, the morning air already giving way to the promise of autumn. I’d need to figure out a gym soon—these outdoor runs wouldn’t last much longer.

I stepped into the apartment, kicked off my shoes, and headed straight for the shower. The run had been refreshing, but the sticky humidity of summer clung to my skin, and all I wanted was a hot shower to clear my head. The monotony of job searching had been weighing on me, and even though I tried to stay positive, the days felt heavier as they dragged on.

As the hot water poured over me, I leaned against the cool tile wall, letting the steam envelope me. This was my sanctuary, the one place I could escape the swirling doubts and self-recriminations. The nightmares weren’t as frequent as they had been when I first arrived in New York, thanks to therapy, but they still crept in every so often, haunting the edges of my thoughts. Sarah’s face, the kids’ laughter—both distant and unreachable. I shook the thoughts away, forcing myself to focus on the here and now.

After drying off and dressing in a simple t-shirt and jeans, I noticed the blinking LED on my phone. A message. Probably another rejection, I thought grimly. I set the phone on the table and brewed myself a cup of coffee, deciding to face the inevitable after I’d had a moment to enjoy the calm.

As I sipped the steaming mug, the rich aroma filling the kitchen, I picked up the phone and tapped on the voicemail icon.

“Hello, is this Michael? Hello? Nobody is answering!” The voice was older, gruff but not unpleasant. “Well, honey, you’re probably talking to an answering machine. Leave him a message,” a woman’s voice chimed in, her tone amused but impatient.

The man continued, sounding flustered, “Oh, uh, this is Roger. You dropped off a resume a while ago. I’m wondering if you could come in and we could chat? One of my baristas quit, and I need someone to help me run things… there, done.”

I stared at the phone, replaying the message in my mind. A job? After three months of silence, was this finally a lead? My pulse quickened with a mix of excitement and apprehension. Without hesitating, I hit redial.

After a couple of rings, a woman’s voice answered, warm and welcoming.

“Hello?”

“Hi, this is Michael,” I said, trying to keep the nervousness out of my voice. “I got a message from Roger about a job opportunity?”

“Oh, Michael! I’m so glad you called back. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if he left the message correctly—he’s not great with these things,” she said with a laugh. “Anyway, yes, we’re looking for a barista and someone to help around the store. It’s nothing too complicated, and we’ll train you if you’re interested.”

“That sounds perfect! I’d love to come by. I can stop in today if that works for you?” I offered eagerly.

“Sure, that would be great,” she replied. “We can sit down and chat, go over the job details. Just to be upfront, it doesn’t pay much, but it’s steady work.”

“That’s not a problem at all,” I said quickly. “I’m new to the city and looking to get established. This sounds like just the thing I need.”

“Wonderful! Let me give you our address,” she said. As she read it out, I jotted it down. It was about a 20-minute drive from my place—maybe a 30 to 45-minute walk. Not bad in the summer, though I wasn’t sure how I’d manage the commute once winter rolled in. But I’d figure that out when the time came.

I finished my coffee and changed into something more presentable. First impressions mattered, especially now. Not wanting to risk arriving all sweaty from the walk, I called for an Uber. Within minutes, I was on my way.

The Uber stopped in front of a quaint coffee shop, its exterior painted a soft sage green with white trim. A small wooden sign hung above the entrance, swinging gently in the breeze. "Home Brew," it read in elegant cursive. A couple of round tables and wrought-iron chairs sat on the sidewalk, each adorned with small potted plants. Though the chairs were empty now the setup exuded warmth and charm.

I stepped inside, immediately enveloped by the rich, inviting aroma of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries. The interior was cozy, with exposed brick walls adorned with local artwork, shelves lined with books and plants, and a soft glow from pendant lights hanging over the counter. The polished wooden counter stretched along the left side of the shop, with a gleaming espresso machine as its centerpiece. Behind it, shelves were stocked with jars of coffee beans, neatly labeled with their origins—Colombia, Ethiopia, Sumatra. A glass display case at the front showcased an array of pastries: flaky croissants, cinnamon rolls with glistening icing, fruit tarts, and savory quiches.

The hum of quiet conversation and the occasional hiss of the espresso machine created a peaceful, almost meditative ambiance. This place felt… good. Comfortable. Like it could be a home away from home.

Behind the counter, a stocky older man with a thick mustache was fiddling with a coffee grinder, muttering to himself. Beside him, a petite woman with short, curly hair and kind eyes caught sight of me and stepped forward, a warm smile spreading across her face.

“You must be Michael,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m Janice. Welcome to Home Brew.”

“Yes, thank you,” I said, shaking her hand. “This place is amazing. It feels so inviting.”

Her smile widened. “That’s what we aim for. Roger’s in the back, but he’ll join us in a moment. He’s… well, you’ll see. Let me show you around and give you a little bit of our history.”

Janice led me on a quick tour of the shop. She pointed out the different sections—the seating area with its mismatched but charming furniture, the small nook in the corner with a chalkboard sign reading “Take a Book, Leave a Book,” and the kitchen in the back where the pastries were made fresh daily.

“Roger and I opened this place nearly 30 years ago,” Janice said, her voice warm with nostalgia. “We wanted to create a space that felt like home. We’re both big readers, so the idea of having a little book library was a no-brainer. We also love supporting local artists, which is why you’ll see their work on the walls. Everything here is for sale, so if someone’s interested, feel free to help them out. The prices are programmed into the cash register.”

She paused for a moment, adjusting a mug on the counter. “We try to change the artwork every few months, keep things fresh and exciting for the regulars.”

"That's a great idea—a really solid concept. Everything here is made fresh, right?"

Before I could say more, the man from behind the counter approached, wiping his hands on a towel. “You must be Michael,” he said gruffly, but not unkindly. “Roger. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” I said, shaking his hand.

"Fresh? Yep, wouldn't have it any other way," Roger replied with a grin. "Sure, we could make a bit more money by buying in bulk and freezing everything. But would you want that in your own home?"

“This is the heart of it,” she said, gesturing to the counter. “You’d be working here most of the time, pulling espresso shots, steaming milk, helping customers. We’ll train you on everything. It’s not hard once you get the hang of it.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” I replied earnestly. The idea of serving coffee, chatting with customers, and being part of this little community felt… right.

“So you’re new to the city,” Roger said, his sharp eyes scanning me. “Ever worked in a coffee shop before?”

“No, but I’m a quick learner. I’m just looking for steady work, and this place seems like somewhere I’d enjoy being.”

Roger grunted, nodding. “Well, we’ll see how you do. Looks like you’ve got a good attitude, and that counts for a lot. You willing to start tomorrow? We’ll put you on for a short shift, see how you like it.”

I was taken aback by how quickly this was moving but managed a smile. “Absolutely. I’d love to start tomorrow.”

Janice clapped her hands together. “Great! We’ll get you set up with some basic training, and Roger will walk you through opening procedures. Welcome to the team, Michael.”

As I left Home Brew, a sense of relief and excitement washed over me. It wasn’t a big job, and it wasn’t glamorous, but it was a step forward—a step toward building something new. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

I had a job. Three months in a new city, and I finally had a job. Roger and Janice seemed like good people, and the place had a welcoming vibe. It wasn’t much, but it felt like a step in the right direction.

On my way home, I picked up a bottle of Chardonnay. I knew David wasn’t much of a drinker, but I hoped he’d share a glass to celebrate. Just in case, I grabbed a bottle of sparkling water—he’d mentioned he liked the citrus-flavored kind.

I debated getting takeout. In the three months I’d lived there, David had never once brought any home. He always cooked, and honestly, I was starting to get used to it. But against my better judgment, I grabbed a tray of sashimi. He had mentioned when I first moved in that sashimi was one of the few things he’d buy instead of making himself.

When David came home, right on schedule, I was in the living room, lounging. His routine was predictable—shoes off at the door, slippers on, straight to the living room to decompress before he even thought about cooking. I admired his ability to leave work at work. It was something I never managed to do when I was working, but maybe I could learn from him.

“Hey, David,” I said as he walked in. “I brought wine, sashimi, and some sparkling water.”

David raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What’s the occasion?”

“I got a job. It’s not much, but it means I’ll be doing something instead of moping around all day.”

David’s face lit up. “Michael, that’s great! A celebration is definitely in order. Congratulations! Tell me about it.”

For the next few minutes, I filled him in on everything about the job. It felt good to share the news with him. David was easy to talk to—always receptive and genuinely interested. I found myself appreciating his company more and more. But more than that, I was falling for him. And yet, as much as I tried to push those feelings down, I couldn’t help but wonder: Was it even appropriate? With Mama Loretta’s comment in my mind, I was unsure whether I had misread everything or if it was something I shouldn’t pursue at all.

“Well,” David said, standing up, “let’s crack open that wine and dig into the sashimi!”

“Sounds good.”

We headed to the kitchen, and I grabbed two wine glasses. As I reached for the sparkling water, David stopped me.

“Today,” he said with a small smile, “I’ll have a glass of wine.”

That surprised me. In all the time I’d lived here, I hadn’t seen David touch alcohol once.

“You seem surprised,” he said, noticing my expression. “I told you—I don’t drink often. Maybe a few times a year, for special occasions. I don’t like the taste.”

“Yeah, just caught me off guard, that’s all.”

“Got it. But don’t let that fool you—I can hold my alcohol. I’m Korean. We love our soju. I’m just the odd one out.”

I laughed as I poured the wine. David was full of quirks, but that’s what made him so likable.

We opened the sashimi tray and sat down at the kitchen table. David had a rule: no eating in the living room. Not even coffee. Everything had its place. As we clinked our glasses, I realized that, for the first time in months, I felt hopeful.