sundays

She was new to The Coffee Shop (yes that's really its name), she had to have been. I was entirely sure that I would have remembered her if she wasn't.

But she was in my spot.

We all had spots at The Coffee Shop. It was a quiet camaraderie between all of us. We all had our own spots. The guy with the beard and green glasses always had the chair by the window, the older woman who did crosswords always sat at the bar. I, sat at the solitary table in the middle of the store. It's like code, written in the mission statement. With imaginary pencil, because there's no real "mission statement". I'd know. I go to The Coffee Shop everyday.

Sometimes twice a day.

But she was in my spot.

Her hair was in a strawberry knot on the top of her head, wisps floating around her face. She had those ridiculously large, imposing black framed glasses. She even resembled a turtle because of the huge scarf she wore. It didn't help that it was green. She was like Christmas, sort of.

"I tried to tell her," Ian told me, when he passed me my usual: white chocolate mocha with soy and toffee nut. He smiled unconvincingly. "But I don't think she heard me."

I nodded, sliding him a tip. "Right. I'll make sure to get here before she does next time."

I glared at her from behind my laptop. Who did she think she was with her typewriter-and-vintage-suitcase contraption? She was probably drank tea with no sweetener or cream because she thought that was the "classic" thing to do. She probably judged people for driving, when in reality, she only took the Metro because she lived in a studio apartment by the new Guthrie, with three other girls. She probably said things like "Their older stuff was better" when referring to The Killers or Radiohead. She screamed hipster. Like, wannabe hipster.

I despised her.

As it turned out, the next time I went to The Coffee Shop (which was the next day), New Girl wasn't there. In fact, as Ian told me, she only came on Sundays. Hannah. I enjoyed the weekdays. I got my spot, then.

She was in my spot again. Ian only shrugged at me from behind the counter. I tried my hardest not to roll my eyes, but failed and then gave him a quarter for his tip this time. I'd finally gotten a decent draft started for my sci-fi/horror/historical-fiction story, and rushed into The Coffee Shop after work to finish. But of course, it was Sunday.

"You realize you're using one of the most over-used names in the history of the world, right?"

I turned toward the voice, stunned. "I'm sorry, what?"

Hannah smiled, looking the same as the first time I'd seen her at The Coffee Shop: huge scarf, auburn hair. Chunky glasses that she probably didn't need.

She was pretty behind the glasses. "Katherine. Completely overused."

"Right. Hannah."

"I'm just saying." She held her hands up, her tea sloshing, "You might wanna reconsider. But definitely make sure she doesn't date a dude named Heath. That usually doesn't end well."

She sat down at table in the middle of the store. My spot. I looked back at my screen. Then held down the delete button.

The week, of course, passed by without incident. Until Sunday, obviously. I'd successfully evaded Hannah and gotten my spot. Ah, peace.

"Do you mind if I sit?"

The whole cafe went silent as I looked up. It was out of the status quo. That was the nice thing about The Coffee Shop, nobody felt required to speak to each other and know names. That was written in the mission statement too.