“Do you think we should keep the name of the shop? The Coffee Shop is a bit on the nose, don’t you think?” I ask Gabe. This has all been rather sudden that I don’t think any of us have really slowed down to think about how massive of a change this will be for all of us.
“The Coffee Shop is a Sassafras institution. Will people riot if we try to change that?” he muses.
Change is hard, typically uncomfortable, but oftentimes a really good thing. “I don’t think it will truly feel likeoursif we keep operating under the same name…”
He nods, unlocking the door to his apartment—my apartment—and letting us in. It’s comfortable. Fairly similar to my place back in Boston. Definitely a bachelor pad but Gabe isn’t a complete slob so it’s not bad. Honestly, he’s been here so long, it wouldn’t surprise me if Anders and Bex were the ones who forced him into getting curtains that at least coordinated with the pillows on the couch. It’s just enough space for both of us, already feeling much homier than my last place.
Dropping down on the couch, Gabe contemplates for a moment before saying, “I think it should just be the Bardot brothers.”
“It is just the Bardot brothers, Gabriel. Remember, Bex and Anders were pissed about it? Bex kept saying how it was anti-feminist to exclude her even though she continued to admit that she didn’t actually want to help run the place.”
“No, no.” He shakes his head. “I’m not talking aboutwhois running the shop. I mean that’s what we should call it. Bardot Brothers Coffee Shop.”
Hmm. Simple but obvious. It’salmostperfect. “Company,” I correct, continuing when Gabe gives me a quizzical look. “Bardot Brothers Coffee Company. Or Coffee Co. really—shortening the word company sounds more official.”
“Not too on the nose?” He laughs.
I chuckle, settling in the chair across from him. “It’s perfectly on the nose. Pass me my computer, I want to try a few logo mockups.”
A few hours later, several logo options have been ordered as T-shirts—Gabe said he “had a guy” for that—and we are digging into one of Gabe’s favorite traditions, Margarita Monday.
Various menu items were ordered from his favorite Chinese takeout restaurant and are now scattered across the kitchen island. He pulls out the blender and the tequila for margaritas, pouring with a heavy hand.
“Woah there, are we drinking to forget tonight?” I ask to the glugs of the tequila bottle.
“It’s been a rough few weeks,” he laments.
That takes me by surprise. Gabe is the happy-go-lucky one. He’s never met a stranger, putting everyone around him at ease. There’s been a few times I’ve seen him frustrated, mainly when he steps into his perceived role as the protective older brother, but really he’s a big teddy bear.
“Do… you want to talk about it?”
“Girl troubles. But I’ll be fine.” He turns on the blender to punctuate that statement.
I wait patiently as he blends for what feels like an excessive amount of time. Lucky for him—or not—I’m used to playing thelong game. When he finally stops blending and starts pouring our drinks, I ask, “Girl troubles?”
Gabe sighs. “I said I’ll be fine,” he repeats, taking a sip of his drink.
And I wait him out.
And wait.
Not touching my drink, just waiting.
Finally he says, “You aren’t going to quit staring at me until I talk, are you?”
“Bex says you aren’t very smart, but you are proving otherwise, big brother.” I smirk.
He runs his hand through his hair, slightly lighter than the rest of ours, and it flops back down across his forehead. “Do you remember Bex’s friend Luci?”
“Gabriel. You mean the one that was just here over Christmas? The one you snuck out of Louie’s with when you thought no one was watching? The one you’ve been obsessed with for years? That Luci?”
“Fuck,” he mutters. “Yes, Benoit. That Luci. We—” He pauses, trying to find the words. “Things have… it’s complicated,” is what he lands on.
“No shit.”
He rolls his eyes at me. “Anyway, we saw each other over the holidays obviously, but it didn’t… end well.” He finishes off his margarita at that.
My eyebrows creep up my forehead the longer I watch him gulp this drink that will one hundred percent be giving him a brain freeze. “Oh, like it really didn’t end well,” I guess.
