It had taken a minute, and he wasn’t sure whether it was because he had come back to the counter that afternoon to complain about his coffee — the peppermint flavor was just terrible and he couldn’t hold his tongue — or because she had started her shift with a surplus of goodwill and some residual loneliness, but regardless of how it had happened it had certainly happened. And look at them now. He had begged the world for love for a decade and stopped only when he felt the shame of the empty cup. She had dated copiously, been in and out of situations that would have broken a weaker woman, and had learned to chalk it all up to experience. But he had asked for a full refund. If I had known it was this awful, he said, I certainly would not have gotten a large. I would have ordered an even smaller size than you offer. not to mention that a cup of cleaning chemicals should not cost six dollars, he had said. She had knitted her brows sternly but burst into laughter. “It seems like you’re suggesting a second use for this delicious beverage,” she said. “It is a festive holiday flavor, beloved by — checks notes — all.” She had refunded him cash from her own pocket. It had been near closing time and she had mentioned that it was cold to walk home so he had offered a ride, striking the right tone between conciliatory and hopeful. His fear, which was usually his defining feature, came out as if a surgeon had removed it.
©2020 Ben Greenman/Stupid Ideas
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