“And you don’t need me in the café today?”
“No, Mamma.” I pour the coffee into the cup my mother had already placed on a saucer by the hob, ready for me.
I down the coffee in one and ignore how it burns my tongue and throat. In fact, I almost welcome it. It gives me something to focus on rather than how miserable I’m feeling this morning. Not that it’s particularly unique. I feel this way most mornings.
“Gotta go.” I give Mamma another kiss as I grab my wallet and keys.
“Okay,amor’ mio. Don’t be late. Got everything?” she asks because she knows me too well. I tap my pockets until I find my phone. When I pull it out, the time on the screen tells me I’m ten minutes late.
“Yes, thank you, Mamma.” I touch her shoulder, slip on my shoes and without even pulling the backs of the trainers up, I head out of the house.
Just like yesterday and the day before, and the day before that, within seconds of starting to jog down my road, my lungs burn and my thighs ache. I’m practically hyperventilating by the time I rock up to the Tube and I curse my out-of-shape body when I hear the next train pulling into the station while I'm still on the escalator leading down.
But my meds must have just started to kick in because I find enough speed in my legs to make it. I make it and I even manage to get a seat, which I collapse into, leg bouncing up and down as I catch my breath. I smile at the stranger sitting opposite me, hoping they’ll share my joy at managing to catch the train and score a seat, but the suited and booted and admittedly very handsome young man stares at me blankly for a second before looking back at his phone. It’s like I don’t even exist.
I sigh. There’s nothing else for it but to put my headphones in my ears, close my eyes and let Eros Ramazotti's rough voice capture a little bit of the sorrow I feel at the sorry state of my life.
*****
“You're late,” Chloe says when I walk into the café.
We’re not open yet so the chairs and tables that fill the space are unoccupied, but there are all the sounds I associate with these early mornings in the café. The music is playing low – something soulful because Chloe got there before I did – the ovens are humming as they bake pastries, and the air conditioner above rumbles every now and then.
As I walk across the black and white tiles of the floor, appreciating how neat and tidy the café looks with fresh flowers on each table and our counter clear of dirty dishes, I inhale the comforting, buttery-rich smell of croissants. I also smell coffee. Which I very much need. I only allow myselftwo cups because of my ADHD meds but this second cup in my café always tastes the best.
“I'm the boss,”I tell her. "In theory, I could come in whenever I want.”
Chloe gives me a look that tells me exactly what she thinks of that. "You promised me you'd be in early so I can get ahead on the Star Radio order.”
“There's still plenty of time to get it ready,” I say as I dump my bag at the rear of the L-shaped counter, the longer length stretching out to the rear of the café. “And we're still ten minutes away from opening so what are you worried about?”
“But I had to get everything else ready.” Chloe props a hand on her waist and her hip pops out so much so it makes her whole body move and her natural afro bounce a little. “That's what you were supposed to do so that I could already start the order.”
“Merda,” I mumble. “I'm very sorry Chloe. How about I give you an extra-long break later? Long enough for you and Radia to take one of your loved-up walks?”
Chloe looks down at the ground bashfully, which is not an expression I often see on her face. And yet, her falling in love with one of our regular customers, Radia, has made her soften in all manner of ways. Something I witness first-hand when she approaches me as I put my apron on.
“Are you okay, Marcello?” she asks, her big brown eyes fixed on me. "I mean, is there a reason you were late? Why you've been late a lot recently?"
I think about my answer as I finish tying a knot in the apron strings behind my back. Chloe is a good person. She's a sweet girl and I've come to think of her as something close to a friend in recent months, despite me technically being her boss.
“I'm... I'm fine, Chlo,”I tell her with what I hope is a convincing smile.
“But..." she adds.
“But nothing. I'm fine.” I move past her to make myself a very urgently needed coffee.
“Fineis notgood.” She follows me and stands next to the coffee machine.
“Fine is fine.”
“So you were late because you overslept?”
“Something like that." I feel the heat in my cheeks and hope my blush isn't detectable. I'm not about to reveal the real reason I was late today.
“You know sleeping more than usual is a sign of depression,”Chloe says and her tone is so very gentle I can't muster the energy to be annoyed at such a potentially invasive question.
“I'm not depressed,”I reply and when she doesn't look convinced I find myself still talking. “I'm... I'm just feeling a little lost at the moment.”
