“Oh, in line with that, I have a box of condoms in the first aid kit near the tableside in the living room. You can go there if you need some, and it comes in all sizes: small, medium, large, or even up to like . . . 4XL. A woman needs to get laid, too, you know.” I almost gaped by mouth in surprise. Instead, I let out a smirk before biting again on the bread.

“I think I know my spirit animal.” We both chuckled at the idea.

“Anyway, enough of the chit-chat. Tell me more about this date.” She raised an eyebrow, wanting to confirm her thoughts. And, as a diligent nephew, I told her about The Espresso. Obviously, I said there’s no date. All in the most nonchalant, stressful way possible. “Seems like its owner has taken a liking to you.”

I laughed about the idea . . . until it hit me. “I’m sorry; what? There’s absolutely no way someone like Kaizer Licht Woodsworth would like someone like me, considering the fact that he outed me back at junior high, and I still don’t have the idea why I accepted his offer.”

“Woodsworth, you say?”

“Yes,” I confirmed, looking at her in the eye, and in the fifteen flares of her ocean eyes, I saw the shock in them. “W—what about it?” She shrugged.

“Nothing.” She looked away from me and ate her poached eggs. Changing the subject, she took a cup of matcha coffee from the refrigerator and placed it beside me. “Have a matcha coffee; it may help you organize your thoughts.” Again, it was from The Espresso.

“Auntie, these are 7 dollars a cup; I don’t think you should purchase like this so extravagant for me.”

“That Francis Hayman polo shirt costs about 50 loonies; the belt, meanwhile, is a Trixie’s: 30 max. The pants are obviously a Nam Nguyen collection, which cost 60. All in all, you could’ve bought 20 cups with this insane amount of money.” I stared at her in disbelief as she put down her cup with all the might and fury of an attorney-ace in action. She raised an eyebrow to me. “You milked another boy, did you?”

I raised my hands up in the air, trying to defend my innocence. “Oh, hell, no. It was Roxie, a . . . a friend of mine. He—I mean, she, was insisting I should buy clothes for the ID photoshoot. And she bought each and every latest design, hence the bags I have brought home. I’m sorry I get to tell you this now and not yesterday when I had the time to say it.”

“What’s with the change of pronoun?”

“She’s a trans.”

“Oh.” She sipped her coffee and peeked at the window.  “I’ll keep that in mind.” She looked at her phone, and I saw her widen her eyes a bit before nonchalantly saying, “It’s already 15 past seven. Should I drive you to the mall?” She looked at me, wanting an answer as I looked at her in those sapphire irises, the napalm skies reflecting on it, and I knew right then that there was no talking back once she decided something. She is the law, which, depending on the situation, can both be a help and a hindrance.

I was still sleepy from nutting two times in a row, and I was too tired to try and learn where in the fucking Edmonton the Mall of Canada was. In theory, I could use the built-in maps in my phone, but I’m drowsing right now in Auntie’s car, close to totally sleeping, especially when we rode the 30-minute sojourn from 8304 to MoC. She, in her bathrobe, turned men’s heads to her as she rode on the road like a suave.

It was 7:47 when we reached the mall, and sure enough, not even a living soul was there.

“Arthur, wake up, you lazy bum.” I was about to wake up when she pushed the horn loudly; it woke my senses aback.

“I’m awake; I’m awake!” I said as I took my breath.

“That’s what happens when you have too much coffee to drink and too little time to sleep.”

“I slept like a log yesterday. I just—” Arthur, stop! You don’t need to point out you beat your meat and shot your shot a while ago! “Maybe I did have little sleep. I can’t remember, your Honor.” I chuckled and opened the latch of the car before going out of the same. I kissed her cheeks goodbye, and she sped up away into the darkness of time. I took another glance at the beige lifeless establecimiento slowly having life as few have wandered into the now-open department store at the side. Apparently, the department store opens at 7:00 in the morning, sharp.

A cold spot slowly landed on my head. Shivers went down my spine and I jumped in surprise. I caught my breathe as I looked up and saw this motherfucking coal-head grinning while holding another matcha coffee, which seems not of his doing because of its different packaging. He is in his most casual of all casual attires known to men: white crew-necked t-shirt with the words VENI, VIDI, VICI written on top of each other in royal blue bold condensed capital letters (probably Impact but I don’t know), encapsulated on a blue-outlined square, partnered with an open sky-blue denim jacket, dark blue denim pants, and white suede shoes laced with a blue thread. After all, he ain’t the Mr. Blue of my junior high if he ain’t blue.

“I see you’re 10 minutes early, Art.”

“Hijo de puta.”

“Je ne parle pas espagnol.” I flipped the bird on him as he gestured his bare eye-glassed face into a smug. “Is that how you treat your employer, Seymour?” He stretched his denim-covered arm, holding a transparent cup filled with hot matcha latté. Compared from what I’ve gotten from aunt Clara, this seems to be having more coffee than the actual matcha-milk mixture. An error in brewing, perhaps?

“A matcha cortado. Equal amount of coffee and milk. Made with a touch of matcha in this case. Milk’s not frothy compared to a latté.”

An eye of confusion dawned upon my face as I stared right at his face. “What the fuck is that accent on cortado? It’s /KOR-tah-doh/, not /kor-tah-DOH/!” I facepalmed. “Esto es lo que pasa cuando un francés intenta hablar español.”

“Esto—what now?”

“Forget it.” I saw him shrugged his arms in defeat as I drank the matcha cortado that I am holding. Compared to the normal latté, this cortado is strongly espresso-esque. I usually hate how the taste of strong coffee aroma lingers in my mouth,  that is why I usually opt for a matcha coffee to hopefully cover the aroma away. Not in this cortado, though, I have to admit. Yes, the strong aroma still lingers, but it’s bearable. I smiled at how this cortado is just right. Speaking of Goldilocks. The moment I stopped gulping the drink, it was half-empty.

“We should head to the shop; I’ll introduce you to the other staff there.” He went inside the mall before I could say anything else.

Silence between us was evident when it was only the two of us in this unlit shop. Black square-shaped plastic chairs were flipped and organized at the table, and coffee machines are covered in white cotton cloth (probably to avoid accumulating dirt). With the air conditioner off, the smell of the room was full of enamel paint. I inhaled and exhaled in nostalgia of the same smell on the computer rooms back at my elementary school in the Philippines. Kaizer turned the light on and started to flip the chairs right-side up and organized them to face the round table. After that he took a spray full of disinfectant and spewed liquids on the table before wiping it off with a white microfiber cloth that he had in his pocket randomly. Out of empathy I also joined him flipping the chairs.

As Kaizer pulled the cloth on the coffee machines out, a literal bell rang from the door. It wasn’t the bell that turned my head; it was the voice so familiar that actually made my head turn.

“Oh-ho-ho! If it isn’t King Arthur cleaning the round table.”

“G—Gale?”

I felt heat going throughout my body as I got turned on by his voice. He is in a fitted black polo shirt, his muscular physique wrapped around in it, and its button is hanging on to its dear life. He partnered his attire with a pair of grey sweatpants and completed it with a pair of white sneakers. He is wearing a black wireless earphone that is shaped like an earring.

“Bingo. Looks like two gays will save the day.”

“Uh,” Kaizer butt in, looking back and forth to Gale and I, “you two . . . know each other?”

“Technically yes, since yesterday.” I eyed on him trying to warn him not to tell all the gory details, ’cause let’s be real: no person would believe someone meeting someone at a fucking rest room without thinking another dirty thought.

“Oh, that eases the introduction. But anyways.” Kaizer went to Gale and reached out his hand for a handshake. “Welcome to The Espresso Machine. I am Kaizer Licht Woodsworth, Jr., the manager and son of the proprietor. I hope we will have a wonderous collaboration for the success of this business.”

Gale grabbed Kaizer’s hand and shook it strongly. How manly. “Gale Windsor, son of Zephyrus Windsor, and grandson of Gale Zephyr Windsor, the former prime minister of Canada.” Zephyrus Windsor, huh. The name sounds familiar—wait a minute!

“Wait, wait, wait,” I butt in, “Uncle Zep’s your what?”

“Father. You’ve met before?”

“He’s . . . well, he, uh—”

“A taxi driver. Uncle Zep will come to your place like a zap in the wind. That guy?”

“Yep.”

Gale scratched his head in defeat. “Jesus Christ; I already told that old man to stop that already. That’s why I decide to take this job, actually. So that he could have some rest.”

Kaizer nodded in agreement. I did too. It got me thinking, Gale is actually family-oriented. I’d like that kind of person, top or bottom regardless.

“Well,” Gale interjected before he could go and be the emotional daughter of the crowd with his backstory, “is there anything I could do?” Kaizer directed him to continue flipping the chairs while he opened the air conditioner of the shop, along with around three aroma humidifiers after shoving green wax cubes on it. The shop smelled good after that.

The bell rang again, and the door spitted two more people. The first guy wore a plain yellow t-shirt and a pair of black cotton pants. He looked nice: his auburn hair and ash-colored eyes fit his round freckled face. His demeanor seemed to show that he has a knack for social skills, something that I sometimes find struggle in developing. The second one . . . well, he’s the literal opposite of the other. The second guy is a literal typical Asian-esque kid who probably have a thing with mathematics, although he seemed to be nonchalant about the overthinking of his buddy. He wore a white buttoned-down dress which is buttoned way to the top, tucked inside a khaki tight jeans and paired with a pair of white sneakers. He also wears an eyeglass, just like this shitty manager that we have here, except that he has a snow-white hair and a pair of dull emerald eyes, and a scar on his neck. I also noticed a semicolon tattoo just above his wrists. Huh. Wonder what that means to him.

“Are we late?” the first guy of them asked.

“Dude, it’s already five minutes past eight; what’s the fuss?” the other whispered, crossing his arms and looking the guy in distaste.

“Oh, no, no,” Kaizer assured them; he held his hands up to his shoulder level and tried to console them. “You’re just in time. Come, lemme introduce you to the others.” He gestured for them to enter the shop, and so they did.

The second guy looked at Gale in great curiosity, and as if a bulb went out, he blurted “By any chance, you’re GayWithAnL, the fanservice boy in the net?” A grin from Gale confirmed his thoughts and he was left gaped in disbelief.

“He’s what?” Kaizer asked in his curiosity as the guy’s remarked piqued it.

“Fanservice boy,” explained the first guy, “you know, the one who does services for his fans. By that, I mean that kind of services. We both watch him do things, but this dude of mine is head over heels for him.”

“Eh? What, wait . . . oh,” Kaizer realized. It hit me: Gale is doing . . . porn? Well, not that I can judge, but he’s good in masking it as if he doesn’t engage with such intimate matters. I looked at Gale and he just blurted out that “In my defense, I am tight in cash. And it’s just work, nothing personal.” He patted the hair of the second guy before he got back into his senses when the first guy knocks his skull lightly.

“Well, anyways,” the first guy started and cleared his throat. “I am Sean Benizi, Italian-born pure maple leaf citizen who is taking up a degree in hotel and restaurant management, and a half a decade experience in the barista field.” He then placed his hand in the second guy’s head and he just waved “hi” to us nonchalantly but goes back to having puppy eyes at Gale. “This horny, nonchalant homie here with my is my soon-to-be husband Luke Oakwood. He’s—”

“Soon-to-be husband?” Luke said, cutting Sean off before he rolled his eyes in disgust. “In your wet dreams, it’ll be.”

“Aww, soon enough you’ll be carrying my last name. Luke Beni—ouch!” Sean didn’t finish his cheesy and corny line because Luke right here only pinched his right ear downward. “Okay, okay! I’ll shut up, Mr. Oakwood-Benizi.” And Luke lowered Sean’s ear more before casually letting it go. Sean hopped back to his position and grinning his heart out.

“Back to the topic.” Luke fixed his collar before staring at Gale’s chest. “I—I’m Luke Oakwood, an Information Technology student, and had built around 10 programs in my life, some of which being used by multi-million companies.” He turned his gaze to Kaizer’s face as if there’s something stuck in it. “If you ask where did my commission go, I actually had it kept in my savings account so I can save up for retirement. I just want to work here for fun. And to keep this horny Sean from getting laid in another bed.”

“And I guess I should be the one keep you from getting laid with your fan, no?” Luke shrugged at Sean’s joke. Gale chuckled at the chemistry of these two lovebirds whom I want to throw rocks at because their relationship is an eyesore for me. Or maybe I’m just jealous.

“My real name’s Gale. Gale Windsor—”

“—son of Zephyrus Windsor, and grandson of Gale Zephyr Windsor, the former prime minister of Canada.” I looked at Kaizer because we have said the very same thing at the same time. “Jinx; you lost.” Kaizer said quickly. I rolled my eyes in disinterest.

I guess this will be the most hectic job I’ll have. My bully who is now my manager, a love interest who seemed to have a complicated job description, two lovebirds who’d be close to having a cockfight, and an audience to watch my barista self in work. Great.