A Christmas Coffee

December 2018

"Well, here's to another single Christmas," Michael said as he clinked together the two glasses of cider in either hand.

He drank the first down in a single gulp.

The empty glass was so symbolic of what his life was like; empty of any apparent meaning other than to continuously spend his days working at the local retail shop. He slammed the glass onto the counter and decided to sip on the other one.

"You alright, young man?" an elderly woman's voice asked.

Michael turned his head to the doorway of the pub. Apart from the stag's head positioned precariously above the entranceway, there was not a single soul. He checked his right and observed a group of young men laughing and cursing away over their beer.

"Young man?"

Michael turned and eyed the far left of the bar counter. There she was.

A hunched back woman with a beret on her head and a plaid coat complimented by a purple scarf sat shivering.

"Sorry, were you talking to me?" he asked.

"Yes, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Michael muttered.

"Speak louder," the woman said in a groaned voice. "I can't hear you well."

Michael rolled his eyes and switched chairs so that he was next to the woman. He wasn't too fond of shouting, even if it was at someone whose hearing had seen better days. "I'm fine," he said as he drank another gulp of his cider.

"You don't look fine."

"Sorry, but what's it to you?"

"Well, I'm naturally curious. That's not a crime, is it?"

A bald, emaciated man wearing an apron with splotches of who-knows-what interrupted the talk. "Something for your nana?" He leaned across the counter with a smirk.

Michael scoffed. "She's not my—"

"I'll have a Moscow mule," the woman said.

The bartender raised a brow.

"Make it quick," the woman winked. "I don't believe I have long before I drop dead on this chair."

Michael smirked as the confounded host turned away to prepare the drink.

"That was cool."

"Cool," the woman said with a chuckle. "Is that how you say it nowadays?"

"Well, for the past twenty-four years that I've been born, yes."

"So, tell me. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

The woman gripped Michael's arm. "But are you?"

Michael tensed. "Alright, if you really want to know, I'm just wallowing in self-pity at my status in life. An annual tradition around Christmas time for me." He chugged the remaining cider down and motioned for a refill.

"And what status would that be?"

"Single and failing to mingle."

The woman took off her violet scarf and stuffed it into her purse. "Why is that?"

"Here you are," the bartender said as he set a dulled copper mug in front of the woman.

Michael raised a brow as the woman's face lit up.

"Well, I do love the ginger beer. Thanks for the buck, young man."

Michael couldn't decide if it was admiration or confusion plastered on the patron's face as he walked away to a newly seated couple at the bar.

"You're really going to drink that?" Michael asked.

"What, you think I can't hold my liquor?"

"It's vodka."

"Whatever." The lady gave a sip, smacked her lips, and cradled the cup in both hands.

Michael snickered.

"And what are you laughing at?"

"You're holding it like a cup of tea."

The woman smiled. "Therese Abreo." She tilted her head at the introduction.

"Michael Tan."

Therese twisted in her chair so that she was facing Michael a bit more direct. "So, what's up with you being single? That's not a bad thing."

"It is when you've sort of hit the point where you know you're ready and yet you can't seem to find anyone."

"Well, it happens just when you're not paying attention."

Michael raised the collar of his black coat. The pub's heating must have been faulty or something as the air was quite chilly. "Where have I heard that before?"

"Oh, come on. Handsome man like you? You have a good shot at finding someone."

"I doubt it. Trust me, I'm cursed."

"Why do you believe that?"

"It's a long story."

Therese rested one hand on Michael's arm. "I do love a good story."