[- Routines -]

My Monday through Friday routine was simple: wake up at 4:30 AM, eat a banana with peanut butter, and maybe some granola if I was in the mood. Next up was to pound some water and get ready for a workout. That workout started by logging in to a Peloton spin class that started at 5 AM and lasted thirty minutes. It was an intense ride every morning, and I pushed myself for the physical release / endorphin hit and to squash my life’s usual stresses and frustrations. Done spinning and generally feeling like I was ready to take on the day—I'd pound another big ass glass of water, get showered and dressed for work.

A stop at a local coffee shop—no, not ‘StarYucks’—was a part of my morning commute so I could get my first of many cups of coffee I’d drink on any given day. Once I had that first piping hot cup of lightning-bolt-wakey-wakey dark deliciousness in hand, I’d take a seat at one of the fifteen tables in Café Duro, connect to their free Wi-Fi, and begin scouring the financials and overnight news reports for an hour before packing up my laptop and heading into the office.

I generally didn’t pay attention to the coming and going of other customers while doing my research, though did acknowledge a couple of the regulars who camped at their own claimed table. They were both retired and always seemed to have some ‘hot’ stock they wanted to get my opinion on a couple times a week. Since they had hooked me up with friends of theirs needing financial asset management, I was good about weighing in on whatever stock they threw at me.

Never failed—they'd claim they were going to leave Schwab or Fidelity and have me manage their retirement savings. I knew at their ages—mid-seventies-plus—they weren’t going to jump ship with what they were familiar with and likely paying more than they should for their asset management.

I always left them with, “Just call me; I really can make switching easy."

I hated that my pitch sounded like some car insurance commercial, but it was my usual statement to them and about as much effort as I was going to throw their way given I’d tried to get them to switch for nearly two years since I’d been coming to Café Duro. Nature of the sale, I guess, their loss, not mine, and I had plenty of other clients to worry about anyway. If I didn’t picking up two more wasn’t going to break me.

While I kept to myself mostly and had my own claimed table within the café, I did become friendly with Megan, the owner of Café Duro. More often than not, she’d have my order going before I made it to the counter if she saw me come in or standing in line. Perks of being a regular, I guess. I enjoyed talking with her when I got the chance and found her to be funny, had a big personality—without being obnoxious—and she was just one of those true people people types.

I was impressed with how hard she’d worked to build this business, and by all accounts she was doing quite well for herself, letting it slip a few weeks back that she was considering opening a second location. She had struggles certainly, like juggling some pretty interesting characters she employed and the truly insane rental cost for this building due to its location. Her insurance and the taxes the city imposed on her bordered on crazy too. On top of all of the small business owner stuff she had to deal with, she played the FT divorced mom roll with two daughters—with a shitty husband—to round out her life’s hectic demands.

I certainly could relate to some of that as a business owner myself and some of what she dealt with in her personal life.

When we did talk, I’d push the conversations towards the subject of her kids. I’d listen, smile a lot, and sometimes ask a question or two just to keep her talking so I wouldn’t have to. Pretty sure she figured out that tactic after the first month I’d begun coming here, and eventually I had to lay my story on her for real—in pieces, mind you, and over several months.

I frequented this place for the coffee, the free Wi-Fi, and because I needed to get stuff accomplished before I headed into the office without much interruption or distraction. My commute from the café to my office was barely ten minutes, and I was generally at my desk and talking to my first clients of the day by 7:30 AM. No one in our office is scheduled to begin work until 8 AM (an hour and a half before the markets opened (EST)), and I always beat my business partners in and am making moves before they get their first cup of poorly executed coffee from the office Keurig machine.

My philosophy on investing people’s money through our investment firm was simple—money invested makes mo’money possible over time—simple as that. I wanted my money working for me every waking second, and that’s how I approached investing my client’s money also. I’d coach anyone who wanted to listen to start early and not ever touch what they’ve squirreled away until they were retired. I absolutely love what I do to make a living, generally enjoy the people I provide investment advice and management for, and have been quite successful at it since graduating from college nineteen years ago.

Excelling at my job made one choice I made right after college difficult—that was being a good husband and eventually a good father. The hours I had to put in early on in my career only got worse when the three amigos decided to create our own investment firm. Once that started, I did little else but commute, research, sell my soul to bring in new clients, and occasionally sleep. I was certainly less successful at those two very important obligations I’d signed up for—being a present husband and father.

At the age of forty, my wife couldn’t take it anymore, and we got the Big D (divorced). I’m now relegated to weekend custody of my sixteen-year-old daughter and get the extreme pleasure of paying a hefty child support / alimony payment every month—because what is success if you can’t share the spoils of your sweat and toils with your ex-wife? Bitter much? Maybe a little, but my ex doesn’t drive or define me, and I like to think I’m my own man, and I choose the paths I want to march down.

We split on decent terms, both of us hurting and angry certainly, but we both agreed Jenny, our daughter, came first and there’d be no bashing of the other parent in her presence. Thus far, I can say Jenny hasn’t ever caught me bitching about her mom. I attribute that to realizing I put myself in this situation to begin with by being a less than adequate husband. It helps that my ex-wife rarely ever goes out of her way to make my life a living hell. Her remarrying last year might have had something to do with her happier mood the past two years and that her new man was paying her the attention she deserved. That last bit keeps her focused on her own life and not screwing with mine, thankfully.

I was happy for her, truly. I liked her new husband, liked how he treated Jenny, and their new family dynamic seemed happy and content—so who was I to bitch or complain? I mean, I’m forty-three, single, haven’t dated but twice in three years since the divorce was finalized, don’t get weekends to myself, and have a stress-packed work week. What in my life isn’t peachy perfect?

Life… It doesn’t matter how you plan it out; a curb ball is waiting for you right around the corner and when you least expect it.

“Morning Megan,” I said as I got up to the counter.

“Brad,” she replied, smiling as she slid a cup across the counter to me.

She’d seen me come in and between the three other customers in line before me had made my coffee so that when I got up to the register I could just tap my debit card, choose the default ‘18%’ tip, grab my ‘zoom-zoom’ brain awakening fuel, and get on with my usual routine.

“You have a good day,” she said as I turned, with cup in hand, to go sit at my usual table.

As I turned to head that way, I noticed someone was now sitting at the table I usually sit at. It had been unoccupied when I came in just a few minutes ago and might have explained why Megan had enunciated her ‘You have a good day’ statement differently to me just seconds ago. Guess she was warning me I’d have to switch it up today—break up that regimented and rigid routine of mine.

I turned back to her with raised brow and a smirk, “Yeah, thanks.”

Whatever! No worries; there are other tables, and routines were meant to be shuffled around on occasion anyway. It wasn’t often someone was seated at my usual table, and I had research to do anyway, and... I noticed the woman at my table look up and towards the door as a customer walked in.

Oh… Oh wow, she’s kind of cute.

Younger, maybe late twenties, dressed in scrubs, so maybe a nurse or in the medical / dental field? There were a pile of books on the table, a laptop was open, and after the quick peek at the door, she was right back to looking singularly focused, intense even. She looked to be studying whatever was on her screen, and it made me wonder if people thought that about me when I was deep into my daily research. Did I look that intense and singularly focused, like I didn’t care about those souls coming and going around me?

I made my way to the other side of the café, took a seat next to two police officers—after nodding and saying ‘Good morning'—and sat to get to work. Laptop open, first sip of...

Awck! What the hell is this crap?!

I looked at the cup, still in a state of disgust, and written on it was the name ‘Sara’. In my nearly two years of coming to Café Duro, I’d never been given someone else’s drink or had one prepared for me that was wrong or tasted terrible. What was just in my mouth and difficult to swallow was a foul-tasting sweet and chocolaty drink that sucked! Good God, who drinks this crap?!

I looked back at the counter and could see Megan was busy, and the line for orders was four deep now. I’m not sure why, but I snuck a quick look at the nurse and noticed there were two cups of coffee sitting at her table—she was probably waiting for a study partner or, more likely, her doctor boyfriend to show up. Did it matter? Of course not! Focus, dummy…

I got up and headed to the counter, and once there I waited for Megan to notice me.

“Something wrong?”

“I got Sara’s drink,” I said as she was handing a woman at the register a drink and pastry in a little paper bag.

“Oh, I’m so sorry... I’ll get that replaced in just a second,” she said, turning to her helper and asking for an Americano and mocha. “I’ll bring it out to you. And if you wouldn’t mind warning Sara, she’s at your usual table.”

I turned to look at the nurse, Sara, sitting where I usually sat and could see she was making a face after having taken a sip of her drink. She spun the cup around to read the name on it – mine, looked around, and finally made eye contact with me after looking towards the counter. I mouthed ‘Sorry’, but headed her way to let her know her drink was being remade.

“Guess they got our drinks mixed up; Megan is getting them remade,” I said when I got to her table.

Am I nervous? Do I sound nervous?

“How can you even drink this?” she said, playfully looking disgusted at the cup.

“I had the same thought after tasting your drink,” I chuckled.

“Well, you can have your muddy water,” she joked, extending the cup towards me. “I don’t have cooties or anything.”

I took the cup and smiled, “Didn’t figure you did...”

She slid out of her chair as I stood there stupidly holding my drink she’d sipped when she said, “Our drinks must be ready; they just waved.”

I turned to see Megan holding up two drinks and followed after Sara as she started heading in that direction.

“Really sorry about that, you two; tomorrow’s drinks are on me,” Megan said as we both took our correct drinks, and she took the one I’d been holding that Sara had taken a sip from. “Guess you know each other’s names now at least.”

“Yeah, guess so,” I replied.

Such a brilliant conversationalist, I thought, annoyed that I couldn’t come up with something more playful or funny to say.

“I told him Meg’s that I didn’t have cooties; guess he didn’t believe me.”

Both women giggled at that, and I’m fairly certain I was blushing. What, am I like sixteen again at some high school dance alone and can’t talk to girls?!

“Brad’s one of my regulars,” Megan said finally when I didn’t have anything intelligent to say in reply to the ‘cooties’ comment.

“Really? I haven’t seen him in here before,” Sara replied, skeptical of what Megan had just told her.

I was about to say I’d never seen her in here before either, as Megan countered, “That’s because you’re in here after lunch, until you got through your graveyard shifts prison sentence.”

“It was six months of hell, but they flipped that schedule on us, and I just ‘had’ to put in for OR rotations, and now I’ve got a lot to brush up on,” Sara replied, taking a sip of her mocha and adding, “Ah, that’s more like it. I can feel the heavenly elixir charging my brain cells, thanks Meg’s.”

My tongue was still stuck in neutral listening to Sara’s voice, and I looked at Megan for a brief second, hoping she’d throw me a life line, but she said, “No problem, back to it you two... See you tomorrow.”

Sara went back to her table (my usual table), and I returned to my new and different table. I spent a few minutes beating myself up about that whole exchange and trying to figure out what my problem was. I mean, I talk to people daily and make dozens of cold calls every single day, but I couldn’t just be myself around this woman? And that second cup of coffee on her table? Who was that for? Why am I obsessing on that?! Am I obsessing?

I took one last look at Sara before walking out of the café; she didn’t seem to notice I was leaving, and when I finally made it to work at 7:48 AM, I was later than usual by eighteen minutes. What was worse than being late though was that each of my partners asked if everything was alright as the day progressed. They’d each sensed my day had gotten off to a bad start and that I appeared to be slightly off my game. I assured them I was fine, but it did leave me wondering how it was possible they knew something had gummed up my routine.

Probably just needed some time off or better yet to focus on doing right by my clients...

[- Attraction Detected -]

The rest of my week had definitely been thrown off by Sara because she always seemed to arrive at Café Duro before I did. She’d happily adopted my usual table as her own and while I could screw with my routine and get there earlier, I wasn’t going to make those shifts for a damn table—even though that had been my table for pushing two years. I also figured if I did that, take my table back, she’d think I was being petty or an ass, and that really wasn’t how I wanted her to think about me.

NOT that I wanted her to think about me or anything, or I was even thinking about her... Good God, am I losing it?!

Funny thing, I got no support from the other morning regulars about having to take refuge at another table. They asked about it Tuesday morning quietly, and I just shrugged it off and then proceeded to answer a question they had about whether they should dump their Ford and Boeing stock. I think they kind of enjoyed the temporary hex Sara had put on me, and I think they enjoyed talking to her when she’d pass by them or she caught their eye. Thanks for the support, guys!

The entire week Sara and I hadn’t said a single word to each other, though there were a few nods of acknowledgement on a few mornings to basically say, ‘Hey’ or ‘Hi’. I stole stealthy glances at her a few times, but was generally so into my research I didn’t pay her much attention. Well, except for when I left to see if she noticed me – which she didn’t – not even looking up from her books and computer.

I did notice the second cup of coffee had been missing from her table the rest of the week, and it made me wonder if maybe her boyfriend, the doctor (I was assuming), and she were through or maybe they were taking a break. She didn’t seem particularly sad or melancholy that I could tell, but I didn’t know her, so maybe I wasn’t picking up on what was going on in her life.

Speaking of picking up on queues from people’s lives...

“Watch that truck... He isn’t signaling, so he might want to turn in front of you,” I coached Jenny from the passenger seat of the six-year-old Honda Civic her mother and Gary had purchased for her. I could feel my leg stiffening against the floorboard as if I were trying to brake the vehicle from the passenger seat.

“I can see him, dad,” she complained. “Will you just relax... Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, but driving is a resp...” I didn’t get to finish my statement.

“Responsibility… Yes, I know that,” she whined.

“Okay, then you know not everyone behind the wheel is responsible as they should be then, right?” I asked calmly, looking at her.

She kept her eyes on the road thankfully, but the answer to my question was her turning the radio on, turning it down a little because it was way too loud, braking slightly when she realized she was closer to the car ahead of us than she should be, and saying, “I know dad.”

We’d been driving for a while this morning, and in my estimation, she was a typical teen driver. Cautious, but thought she knew it all and she was certainly oblivious to the dangers that could pop up at any given moment. When she was focused on the road, the other cars out here, and maybe looking a few car lengths ahead, I could maybe relax and not worry as much.

“Can we go get coffee?”

“Sure…”

“What, no demands on where we ‘can’t’ go?” she asked with a giggle and furrowed brow.

“I wouldn’t mind a cup of coffee, but where you want to go doesn’t serve coffee, kiddo.”

“Dad…”

“Telling it like it is Jen... Look, ‘StarYucks’ just tastes burnt to me, bitter, and blah-ahawck,” I said, making a face. “You want to own the stock, eh, okay though I can think of one’s with better returns. Drink their swill? Hard pass.”

“TMI Dad and really, coffee is coffee… Where do you want to go?”

I gave her directions, and twenty minutes later we were walking into Café Duro. I was quick to notice my table was unoccupied, and after ordering our drinks, I got to sit in my usual spot at my usual table. Two minutes later they called our names, Jenny went to retrieve our coffee, and I was taking a sip of my delicious Americano, feeling like a little balance had been restored to my world. Finally, I could...

“Ouch! What was that for?” I complained after being kicked under my table.

“She’s cute,” Jenny was saying with a smile and nod towards an older woman who had just walked into the shop.

“Yeah, thanks… She’s a bit older than me, Jen.”

“I hear older women know their shit and tend to treat younger men well,” she said, giggling.

“Ummh… Language…”

“Just saying,” she replied, and after a moment added, “I think you could use someone in your life.”

“I’ve got all the trouble I need sitting in front of me, kiddo,” I replied, looking across the table at her with a grin.

“Augh… Really? Come on, Dad, something is up with you, I can tell. Are you seeing someone or something?”

“No, of course not... I’d tell you if I were.”

“So not seeing anyone, but you’re interested in someone, right?” she asked.

The momentary hesitation was all she needed to pounce.

“Who is she?” she asked with some genuine excitement.

“No one, sweetie; there isn’t anyone,” I complained.

We sat a few minutes in silence; I was stressing about how people were reading me so easily while she was flipping between people watching and texting madly to someone on her phone.

“How about her?”

I turned to look at the door, seeing an attractive woman with a child in tow and easily an inch taller than my 5’ 11” frame wearing sandals.

“Yeah, I’m thinking her husband would be a problem.”

“No ring,” she quipped.

“Jen, I’m fine, I’m happy, work is good, life is good...”

“I don’t like seeing you sad.”

“Sad? No, honey, I’m really okay, trust me.”

“How about a nurse then?”

“I don’t think I’m ready for a nursing home. Come on, your dad’s not that old,” I replied with a chuckle.

Her reply was a head nod towards the counter, and when I looked that way, I knew who’s backside it was we were looking at. I didn’t get a chance to turn back towards Jenny before Sara had turned to look towards us and could see we were looking her way. Oh crap! This can’t be happening!

A moment later she was at our table. I was standing for some unknown reason, nervous, and introducing Sara to Jenny.

“Nice to meet you, Jenny,” Sara had said and followed that with, “Your dad tell you this is my table?”

“It is?” Jen asked, looking at me and seeing my head shaking ‘No’, smiling, and now looking less stressed than a few seconds ago.

“Not really, but I guess I sort of stole it from him,” Sara replied.

My eyes got momentarily bigger, but I recovered quickly enough to say, “Who told you, the old guys?”

“They might have,” she said, playing coy. “You should have said something; I’d have moved.”

"Eh, it didn’t seem worth it to rock the boat,” I answered.

“I’ll camp out at another table Monday,” she said, smiling.

“If you want,” I said and awkwardly asked, “Hey, I don’t see a mountain of books; what brings you in today and later than usual?”

I was feeling a bit of confidence and maybe a little happy about the prospect of getting my normal table back on Monday. The universe was going to be put back in balance!

“I have a shift in,” she looked at her phone. “Twenty minutes. What are you two up to too?”

“Getting in some time behind the wheel, little drivers education,” I replied, and when Sara looked towards Jenny, she rolled her eyes at her.

“Go easy on him, Jenny; dads are toughest on their kids when they first start driving,” Sara said.

That elicited a little giggle out of my kid and a small nod to the empty chair to her right directed at me. I got the message.

“You, ah… You want to join us?” I asked.

“Oh, I’d love too, but I’m going to scrub in for a heart stint operation – just to observe, so probably should get going. Just needed a bit of a jolt before work,” she said, smiling like she might have appreciated the offer, which made me feel good. “It was really nice meeting you, Jenny, and you,” she said before leaving giving me a look, “I’ll see you bright an early Monday morning.”

Sara walked away after that. I went back to sitting and looking over the table at Jenny, who was watching Sara leave, and when she was focused on me again, I said, “Nice gal, she did take over my table though.”

Jen was thinking on something and casually asked, “You like her though?”

I felt put on the spot and tried to deflect the question, “I don’t know her to be honest; I just met her this past Monday.”

"But you like her? Like you’re attracted to her?” she asked more carefully.

Augh! Was I? God! Yeah, so I might be... No, I was absolutely attracted to her. Damn it! Why is this so hard?! Think…

“She’s a bit young, don’t you think?” I asked, trying to help deflect her inquiry and maybe also get her opinion on there being an obvious age gap on the sly.

“Age is just a number, Dad... So?”

Augh! Why are you pressing?! This is not the conversation I want to be having right now!

“Look, she’s just a nice woman, nothing more,” I tried saying, but I felt like that reply bordered on being a complaint for some reason.

“Do you think she’s pretty?”

“Yes…”

I was being truthful, but angry with myself that I’d answered so quickly.

“So, you like her then?”

“I don’t know her, Jen.”

“You’re avoiding answering the question, that’s what you’re doing.”

"No, I’m not; I just don’t have an answer because I haven’t really given being with her much thought, that’s all.”

“So you would consider dating her?”

“Jen… My life is full up and often overflows the rim of the plates I’ve got spinning on dowels. I’m happy with that though, and I don’t know that I have it in me to explore a relationship with anyone right now.”

She looked confused by the plate analogy but pressed, “But you’ve dated though.”

“Yes, but I screwed those relationships up, and don’t forget I messed up with your mother... None of that is a confidence builder, kiddo.”

“You realize we all tend to get smarter with age; I’m sure you’re smart enough to not make the same mistakes again, right?”

I wasn’t sure how to reply. I was sure I’d handle any future relationship differently, better than the few I’d been in since the divorce. Jenny pressing had me wondering why she was stuck on this ‘get Dad hooked up’ track. Maybe she thought I was lonely, singularly focused—which, yeah, was kind of the truth, but Sara is way too young, and there’s no way I wanted to pull off a 'sugar daddy’ look with some younger woman. How cringe worthy would that be?! God, what would people think!?

“Look, attractive woman, certainly nice,” I began saying, but ran out of steam.

“I don’t think she’s always been a woman, Dad,” Jen said softly.

“Of course not... I mean, just like you aren’t going to be my little girl much longer and be a woman.” I didn’t know where I was going with that train of thought, so I just stopped speaking.

“Not what I meant... I’m pretty sure she’s a Trans, Dad.”

::: --- :::

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Rachel M. Moore