All That and Then Some

MAEVE

"What do you mean? You have a boyfriend in New York."

He shrugged and the warm skin of his back moved under my palms.

"Didn't work out. I couldn't seem to give him what he was looking for. I'm just not built that way."

Hm. This was an interesting piece of news.

"Like, commitment?"

"I guess so," he said. "It's not that I didn't like him. I did. I just... like art better? I dunno. I've never been that motivated by physical stuff."

"Because of your past?" I confirmed.

"Maybe. Or maybe that's just the way I am. Some people like sex, but not romance and that's been totally normalized by society. Other people like romance but aren't into sex -- and somehow, that's completely weird."

It was like looking in a mirror for the hundredth time when all I'd ever seen was NOTHING there, but suddenly I could see myself. "So, you like some parts of being with someone, but not all the parts. You'd prefer to go without the sex part."

He paused. "I guess... I like it well enough when it's happening. But I don't seem to care that much about getting it."

I processed that. Maybe it was like having no appetite but still enjoying a soft-serve ice cream when one's given to you.

Still clinging to him, I took one last experimental gamble.

"Would you possibly want to have sex anyway? To help me figure some things of my own out?"

He seemed to give the suggestion fair consideration. I even thought for a moment he might say okay. But then he relieved us both by saying, "Not really, to be honest. And anyway, if I'm not going to have sex with someone, I prefer it to be with a guy. But I'd also be honoured not to have sex with you, Maeve. Anytime."

I nodded and went back to my room, a little embarrassed.

Even though nothing happened, you can understand why I don't want to run into him first thing this morning and why I told Mum I'd be happy to take her shift at the cafe.

IT'S ONLY A SHORT walk from our house, but my coat carries a full layer of snow by the time I get to the cafe and let myself in the private backdoor. Entering the kitchen, my old domain, I have this welcome rush of good feelings. Shaking the snow off, I look around at the big industrial-sized appliances and gleaming surfaces with something as close to love as I've ever felt. Mine, I think.

Then, of course, it's not mine. Not anymore. Not since I went away to school and put all this behind me.

I'm saddened to see the state of the baking tins and racks. They're piled a little too neatly, off in a corner shelving unit. Unloved and unused now that they bring pastries in from Mum's friend Margolie. Sorry friends, I whisper. Maybe now that I'm back...

But I'm not here to bake, I remind myself. I'm here to help out front. So, I head through the swinging doors that lead to the main area, where I'm a little surprised to see Natalie swamped by a major lineup. There's a new part-time guy bussing tables and trying to discourage the dance challenge selfie-makers that continually break out among the crowd. A handwritten sign hangs above the cash that reads "NO VIDEOS PLEASE" but people are doing it anyway. I wave at Natalie when she looks up from the espresso machine.

"Thank god!" she says and points her chin toward the register. I assume the position and start taking orders and lining up cups. This way, she can go twice as fast. The machine whirrs, grinds and streams for a full hour before it feels like we're getting ahead of things. The wave of dancing customers starts to recede at last and we can all take a breath.

"Wow," I say. "That was intense! I don't think I've ever seen a rush like that in here."

Natalie shakes her head. "It's a good thing, but we aren't staffed to handle it. And it's happening all the time now. Maeve, this is Raj. He's new."

"Hey Raj," I say. "Are you living upstairs?"

"Yeah," he nods and smiles broadly. "It's sick.

Nice, I think warmly. That's one more kid like Jeffry safe off the street. As yikes as my Mum is in every other way, she's got a good thing going here.

My eye is drawn to what looks like a cellophane bomb behind the counter.

"What's all this? Looks like gift baskets." I start rooting through the loot as Natalie explains what they are and what Mum is supposed to do with them. Too funny. I make a mental note to make sure she does some influencer reviews just because I need a laugh.

"This one's not a gift," I say, holding a big legal-sized envelope with the Carvil Foods logo on it.

"Or is it?" asks Natalie cryptically.

"Do you think she'd care if I took a look?" I'm already slicing the seal open.

"I think you'd better."

So I do.