c h a p t e r  o n e .

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It had been a good weekend, at least in terms of business. 

            Because of the local annual harvest festival, The Roost experienced a great influx of customers from Friday night until Monday morning.

            Usually, Wendy and Mr. Cho could handle all of the customers, even on the weekends, but it seemed as though their “humble little café” had become more popular over time than either of the two realized.  After a hectic Friday evening, Mr. Cho enlisted the help of Henry, a part-time (he was a university student, like Wendy, but he also worked at another restaurant on the northern side of town) barista at the café who normally worked on Tuesdays and Thursdays when Wendy was off.

            It wasn’t that she disliked Henry--quite on the contrary; she found him quite amiable--but Wendy much preferred to have the machines mostly to herself, so with the added stress of a seemingly never-ending line of customers and orders to fill, the weekend was rather testing for her.

            She had also been thinking about actually attending the festival this year but for obvious reasons, that was a short-lived dream.

            There were several times that Wendy had looked up from her work behind the bar, at the street outside, where dozens of festival-goers walked about in their hats, coats, scarves and boots, holding steaming to-go cups of various hot beverages in one hand with some sort of treat in the other hand; pastries, caramel corn, a candy apple, corn on the cob, or a sausage.

            There were old people, young people, singles, couples, grouples, and many excited children.  Smiles.  Laughs.  Happiness.

            Wendy smiled.  It made her feel a little better to know that at least they were enjoying themselves so immensely.

            The espresso machine’s frothing attachment whistled, signaling that it needed to be refilled with water while simultaneously, violently pulling Wendy from her reverie.

            From his place behind the cash register, Mr. Cho watched surreptitiously as Wendy fought with the machine.  Fought.  It wasn’t often that she dealt with the equipment so crudely.  Of course, the manager was well aware that she was still a little on edge.  Business had been nonstop for three days.  Even though it was Monday now and the festival was technically over, many tourists and other visitors had stopped by the café to grab their morning coffee before heading back to wherever they came from.  And Henry had been unable to work that day.

            After he rang up the remaining three customers in line, Mr. Cho approached Wendy and leaned towards her.

            “Before your lunch break, you can go home.”  he said, quietly, so that only she could hear him under the usual atmospheric noise.

            “That’s alright.”  Wendy responded, shaking her head.  “I’ll stay.”

            He was obstinate as usual.  “You’ll go home at noon.  You’ve worked hard this weekend.”

            “But there will still be many customers until evening.  At least let me stay until lunchtime is up.  Then it should be less busy.”

            “I’ll manage.”  he said, wiping spilled milk off of the metal counter near her.  “I’m the owner of this fine establishment, and not a useless one, at that.”  He sniffed, tossing the soiled paper towel into the wastebin.

            Wendy in a breath, but gave in.  “Thank you, Mr. Cho.”

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Even later as she was about to leave, however, she continued to question the decision.  “Are you sure that I should leave?”  she asked, although she had already taken off her apron and was already putting on her scarf and coat.  Her subconscious mind was also already scrolling through a mile-long list of possibilities for how she could spend her free time.

            Wendy could do anything that her heart so desired.  Well.  Almost anything. 

            She could peruse the many unique boutiques that downtown had to offer.  She could go to the library and search the web for a recipe for something warm and chocolatey to bake for dessert that night.  If she found one, she could go to the nearby independently-owned market to buy her ingredients and maybe people watch for a little while.  Maybe she would see that lady with the two shihtzu puppies again.  Or, if she was really feeling adventurous, she could dress up and go out to dinner, and then maybe to the local theatre to see what was showing.  She had many fellows and acquaintances from university who were part of the theatre’s different performance arts groups.

            Mr. Cho eyed her wearily.  “Yes.” he said in response her question.

            She swung the strap of her messenger bag over her head.  “...If things get busy again, call me, I’ll--“

            “I will do no such thing.  You get the rest of toda