Page 8 of Keepsakes and Kismet

Resigned, they walk me through the swinging doors.

I soften my tone. “I want to reassure you that I’m here to give you a chance to fix anything prior to tomorrow. I’ll come back for a graded inspection at a later time.”

Mrs. Chung’s posture relaxes, and I begin my work. Starting at the top of my checklist, I inspect their food storage and handling practices, followed by cleanliness, which takes me about thirty minutes.

I nod to the bucket and mop in the back. “What sanitizer do you use?”

“Chlorine-based, of course,” Mr. Chung answers.

Satisfied, I circle the “IN” on my form. Another box ticked. Everything looks good, with the exception of the open trash receptacles.

I wash my hands and give them the final report. “You’re in great shape—only one violation. When you open, make sure you have tight fitting lids for your cans, okay?”

“I’ll add it to the list,” Mrs. Chung tells me.

“Alright.” I give them a small, professional smile. “Then I’m all set.”

They walk me toward the front, and I consider going straight to my car, but I can’t leave without asking. Curiosity practically forces the question out.

“How many employees do you have?”

They both blink at me. Mrs. Chung’s nose scrunches, and Mr. Chung’s puzzled expression is tinged with worry.

“I’m sorry. This isn’t a trick question. I was just curious… uh, for a place this size. How many people do you need to run it?”

After a moment of hesitation, Mrs. Chung answers. “It’s just us and our two sons—they’re out running errands right now.”

My forehead wrinkles. “Oh. I spoke with someone earlier, when I first came in. She was…” Disorienting. Weird. Beautiful. “…kind of tall? With blonde hair?”

“Oh. Her?” Mrs. Chung shakes her head. “No, she doesn’t work here.”

Burning for more information—but knowing that it’s not professional—I nod and walk to the door.

The ghost of a cherry blossom scent lingers all day.

* * *

To my horror, a chorus of surprised cheers greets me as I walk into Cait’s celebration. And as soon as Clover sees me, she slaps a five dollar bill into Carter’s outstretched hand.

Usually, I’m the first to arrive anywhere, but I’d hoped a later entrance would help me go unnoticed. It didn’t work. Every single person is noticing me.

It’s been awhile since I was in Solid Grounds Cafe—I started making my coffee at home ages ago, and I can’t believe how much the space has changed.

Twinkle lights decorate the exposed brick walls, and the mismatched velvet furniture looks modern but comfortable. Even though the evenings have been getting cooler now, it’s really warm inside. I hang up my jacket on the rack near the door and take a deep breath before turning to face the group.

My mom’s work friend, Sherry, pops up out of nowhere.

“Cal! It’s been a minute since we’ve seen you out at town events,” she squeals, wrapping me in an aggressive hug.

“Hi, Sherry,” I manage with what little air she’s left in my lungs, untangling myself from her clutches. “Yeah, I wanted to support Caitlyn.”

“Good for you! What’re you up to these days?”

“Just the usual. Working, mostly. Going to the gym.”

“That’s so fun!” Sherry squeezes my arm.

I give her a wry smile. That’s so fun is the go-to phrase around me. It replaces the usual that’s crazy, because, well, mental health is No Joking Matter around a man who struggles with it. After years of exchanges like this, I slowly realized that I could say almost anything, and the response would be the exact same.