finrallover

Fresh starts rarely came with happy endings. 

Eventually, her past would rear its ugly head, tainting the image she’d tried so hard to maintain. Inevitably, after filling the pages with funny stories and wishes for the future, she’d be hit with an all-consuming need to recount her upbringing across half a dozen pages. Her loopy handwriting quickly devolves into scribbles, as this journal becomes permanently tarnished, earning a spot on the ever-growing pile of diaries she refuses to touch again.

Stephanie Brown hated starting over, and yet, that’s all she ever seemed to do.

જ⁀➴

Taking wide steps across the sidewalk, Steph debates whether she should invest in a new mode of transportation. Her singular attempt at riding a skateboard had resulted in a sore coccyx and bruised ego, so that was permanently stricken from the list. Roller skates were an option, though a misstep in those would likely lead to her falling forward resulting in a bruised nose at the very least. Ordinarily, that possibility wouldn’t bother her too much, but, with her new customer-facing role, she figured that might become a problem. Looking hideous wasn’t the issue (Steph had never really cared what people thought of her appearance), but the idea of having to answer the questions of  ‘What happened?’ and ‘Are you okay?’ over and over again to the revolving door of customers would probably drive her insane.

She’d stick with her well-loved Converse for now. She was planning on using her first paycheck to to register for the MCAT anyway, so she’d put her plans for any other big purchases on the back burner. 

Soon enough, she arrives at her newest place of employment. Using her hand to block out the last few intense rays of sunshine this summer would offer before transitioning to her favorite season, autumn, Steph looks up at the blocky letters. 

MERAKI

The quick internet search she’d done before her interview explained that the café's name was a Greek word which meant “to do things with love,” which was sweet, if you cared about that kind of thing. Steph, well she was indifferent. It’s not that she was devoid of feeling, but she had learned to temper her expectations over the years. She’d reinvented herself enough times, switching between different personas like outfits, hopeful that one of them would allow her to finally fit in. Spoiler alert: they didn’t. So, at the grand old age of twenty-one, she’d decided to make peace with the personality she was born with. The sarcastic, outgoing, hot-tempered girl with a sense of humor that didn’t appeal to everyone. Which was fine. She didn’t need to appeal to everyone.

Steph needed a job, above all else. Combining her cumulative three months of barista experience across a multitude of odd jobs with a few well-placed quips during her interview, well, it’s no surprise they wanted her to join their team. She knew how to make her personality shine through just enough that she’d get a call back. Though, this special talent only applied to jobs; her messaging apps and therefore social life were, at the moment, crickets. Not that becoming a barista at Meraki was going to fix that, of course.

Steph didn’t need emotional attachments. She had bills to pay and wasn’t really looking to become part of a ‘work family.’ Sure, she saw the appeal, I mean, Steph loved a workplace comedy as much as the next person, but sometimes, a job is just a job. Once upon a time, she had a job that she loved, with coworkers she really cared about. She thought she’d finally hit the jackpot, but her luck had a tendency to run out quicker than most everyone else’s. That place had been nearly destroyed by a Gotham villain-of-the-week months ago, and they’d been shut down for repairs ever since. Her bills couldn’t wait, though, so she’d gotten this job, which was conveniently located on the outskirts of Gotham University’s campus. 

So, for the foreseeable future, Steph would be spending the majority of her time either in class, studying in the library, or working at this café. It probably wasn’t the best for her mental health, you know, being trapped within the confines of the same 2,500 acres for most of her waking hours, but Steph didn’t have the money to pay for therapy right now. Plus, the thought of opening up completely to someone, well, it honestly made her gag. So instead, she’d do what she was good at. Allow enough of her ‘sparkling’ personality to shine through to make her personable to coworkers and customers, without letting anyone get too close. Shouldn’t be too hard, right? Steph had never even come remotely close to having a best friend before, so it’s not like she knew what she was missing out on.

With her thoughts settled, for now at least, Steph pulls open the door, and steps inside Meraki for the second time.

જ⁀➴

The café was quaint. Large but cozy, thought it currently looked more like a ghost town. It was exactly two weeks before the fall semester started, so it made sense that it wasn’t exactly bustling. At least, Steph hoped that was the reason. While working a chill, slow job would do wonders for her mental health in lieu of the therapy she couldn’t afford, getting a bunch of tips for her stellar service would be even better. After accepting the job, the manager had assured her that things would pick up once the new semester started, which is why she wanted Steph to start two weeks before then so she could learn the ropes before experiencing her first morning rush. 

Fair enough. Steph was a quick learner and she enjoyed coffee enough that she figured training wouldn’t be too difficult. Standing at the counter, scrolling on her phone, is a girl Steph vaguely remembers from her interview.

“Hi,” Steph says brightly, gaining the girl’s attention. The girl looks up and plasters on a customer-service smile that Steph knows all too well.

“Hi! What can I get started for you?”

“Oh, uh, actually I’m here for training,” Steph clarifies, punctuating her statement with an awkward smile that she hopes will make this moment less awkward.

“Oh! You’re Stephanie, right?” The girl asks, her smile transforming into something more genuine. 

“Yeah, but you can just call me Steph,” she confirms. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. My name’s Virginia, but you can just call me Jinny.”

Jinny was a few inches shorter than Steph, with long copper-colored hair that was currently pulled-back in a high ponytail. As she came around the counter to show Steph the space, the break room and lockers, where Steph placed her belongings, Jinny shared a bit about herself. She was a graduate student, having gotten her bachelor’s in history from Gotham U as well, and had been working at Meraki for about three years. Jinny also had a barely-there Southern accent, which would’ve gone unnoticed by most, but Steph had watched too much Friday Night Lights to miss it. When asked why she decided to study here, Jinny answered that she had only ever heard great things about Gotham.

One awkward beat of silence and a wide-eyed expression from Steph later, Jinny explained that she was joking. So Steph felt comfortable enough to cackle, just a little. Enough to show that she was a fan of both dry and awkward humor, and that she’d probably be making such jokes in the future. 

“The real reason is that the history department here is really good,” Jinny clarifies, leading Steph back to the front counter. They pass by another employee, a girl with pearly-blonde hair pulled-back in a claw clip, who introduces herself as Amy. Before Steph shakes her hand, she deliberates whether Amy would be better suited as a model or pageant queen, based on her good looks and impeccable posture. After experiencing her firm handshake, Steph concludes that Amy would, in fact, excel as a CEO, and that Steph should probably do some hand grip exercises.

Her training hasn’t even started yet, and she’s already learning so much. 

Because Steph has some prior experience (that she totally didn’t exaggerate during her interview), Jinny doesn’t hand-hold Stephanie during her training as much as other managers have in the past. Which is great, because, as mentioned before, Steph is a fast learner. Plus she’d done a crash course of barista basics last night, courtesy of Youtube University, so she was feeling undeservedly confident today. Plus plus, Steph also hated people looking over her shoulder, checking her every move, so she appreciated the ability to showcase her own skills.

After showing Steph how to pull a shot (using a coffee grinder and automatic tamper that were probably worth more than two month’s of Steph’s rent combined), Jinny instructed her to do the same. It helped that everything here was quite high-tech and relatively automated, though that did mean simply pressing the wrong button would result in a big fail, as far as her task went. A few unsure movements and a whole lot of luck later, Steph had successfully pulled a shot. Jinny said she was free to drink it, but Steph politely declined. 

She was more of a cold brew girl.

The next hour passed by without issue. Jinny showed her where everything was stored, from syrups to all their plant-based milks, explained the POS system when Amy wasn’t busy helping customers, and taught her drink recipes as different orders came in. Food safety rules, cleaning rules, and highly encouraged “tips” for customer interactions (that were essentially rules), were listed off, and Steph committed them all to memory. 

With the bulk of her training for the day completed, and a relatively empty dining area, Steph felt herself becoming bored. Their drink menu wasn’t that expansive, but, in the interest of not wasting product, Jinny had said that Steph could only practice while making actual orders. But, with no customers coming in, there was nothing for Steph to do but flip through the recipe book until the listed ingredients and amounts swirled together and became illegible to her tired eyes. Maybe staying up all night to watch barista videos wasn’t the best idea.

“Steph,” Jinny voice rings out. “Customer.”

A welcome reprieve from rereading the instructions on how to make a cortado. Steph sidles up to the register, affixing a winning smile to her face. 

“Hi, what can I get for you today?”

She has tilt her head up slightly to make eye-contact with the customer. The first thing she notices is his outfit: a crisp, light-blue button down, grey chinos with a black belt. His sleeves are rolled up and he’s sporting a watch that’s at least five figures. 

A prep. Just her luck. Hopefully he was the kind of rich boy that left thousand-dollar tips without batting an eye, instead of the kind who liked kicking puppies. Or something along those lines; Steph didn’t really understand rich people.

During her training, Jinny (and Amy) had told her about how they liked to guess people’s drinks before they ordered. It wasn’t an exact science, their accuracy was about fifty-fifty, but Steph welcomed the challenge. Analyzing the guy before her, his aforementioned outfit combined with his inky-black hair and stormy blue eyes created an overall polished vibe. Which contrasted significantly with the fatigued aura he was emitting. Steph didn’t see any dark circles under his eyes, but he still seemed tired.

Flat white for the polished vibe. Chamomile tea for the fatigued aura.

Technically, having two options was cheating, but, hey! Steph was still new; she deserved a leg up.

Steph waits patiently as the customer scans the menu above her before their gazes meet. 

She’s not great at reading people, but she knows for a fact he didn’t register any of that. He knew what he wanted from the moment he stepped inside. 

Even better, since Steph is in no place to give recommendations.

“Can I get an large iced americano, no water, with four extra shots of espresso?”

Steph lets out a chuckle. Amy said most of their regulars are really nice, pretty personable, and enjoy joking around with the workers. This is probably a long-time customer messing with the new girl.

But his card’s in his hand, waiting to pay, and one eyebrow is raised in a confused expression. 

He cannot be serious.

“I’m likely ninety-percent sure you’d drop dead after drinking that,” Steph says finally, having not even typed in the order.

“I’ve got a high tolerance,” the customer responds.

“The cocaine I’ve got in my back pocket would probably be healthier.”

“You offering?” His lips are now curling upwards in a smirk, and Steph counts that as a win. Sure, her prediction had been way off-base, but the jest she’d rattled off without a second thought had been a home-run. 

Steph punches the order into the POS, not even trying to hide her grimace as she press the “add shot” button four times. The customer chuckles, and Steph hopes it’s because of her expression as she spins the screen around.

“Whenever you’re ready,” she instructs. 

He taps his card, and, after hearing the ding that confirms the payment went through, she spins the screen back.

“Can I get a name for the order?” Steph asks. Technically, she should’ve asked this earlier, but his order caught her so off-guard that she mixed up the steps.

“Tim,” he answers. After grabbing a disposable cup, Steph quirks her head to the side as she writes his name. 

It’s not a very preppy name, all things considered. She was expecting something more like Hudson, or Damian. Even Bartholomew feels like it would be more fitting for the old-money vibe this guy is giving off. But who was Steph to judge? (She loved judging.) Maybe Tim had gotten all his clothes at the thrift store and that watch was a very-convincing knock-off that would rust and later disintegrate when exposed to water. Or maybe Tim was a sentimental family name that had been passed down for centuries before it was bestowed on this caffeine addict. 

It’s not like Steph was going to find out anytime soon, anyway. 

“Great! I’m Steph, I’m new; your order will be out shortly, but if it’s wrong then I definitely didn’t make it.”

Flashing an overly-enthused smile in his direction, Steph watches as he laughs, his gaze darting to the ground before returning to her.

“Alright Steph, but if it ends up somehow being decaf, then I know who to suspect.”

Her brain short-circuits for a moment when he says her name. Receiving positive male attention after so long is a shock to her system, but she recovers quickly enough.

“As a future doctor, it’s my sworn duty to protect our clientele from caffeine-induced heart attacks.”

“Oh, they make you swear a pre-Hippocratic oath then?” His tone is a perfect medium between teasing and serious, and suddenly, Steph wishes she had a best friend she could talk with this easily.

“Yeah, right after they make you surrender your social life for the next four years. Blood contract, very messy, and a waste of perfectly good plasma if you ask me.”

At this point, Steph remembers that her job is to make drinks and not lollygag with patrons; so she grabs the newly-printed sticker with the order details, and slaps it onto the disposable cup.

“Anyway,” Steph addresses him before she walks away. “I’ll get started on your drink.”

He nods at her and Steph, unexpectedly, feels a little sad as she heads towards her coworkers. Not that she’s really someone who loves attention, but there’s something nice about meeting a person in the wild who gets your jokes. Or that can run with a bit at least. There’s the added reassurance that she could never see him again, so she didn’t feel the need to prop up some manufactured persona. With coworkers and classmates, you see them so often that Steph usually feels like she needs to maintain a different identity for each environment. She sprinkles enough of her real personality for it to seem authentic without really being so. And it’s exhausting, putting on a show every day, but she’s now trapped in a prison of her own making, forced to maintain the identities she created three years ago. 

Though now, presented with a clean slate, she can finally see why people believe they’re a blessing. It’s one more shot at getting things right, starting from the ground up. As she hands the sticker to Jinny, laughing as a disgusted expression takes over her face, Steph knows who she wants to be while she works here.

For the first time in so long, Stephanie Brown wants to be herself.

“Amy will help pull the shots so it takes less time,” Jinny instructs; Amy comes bouncing over at the mention of her name.

“How many shots could—ew!” Amy recoils as she reads the ticket. Steph spectacularly fails at holding back a cackle, and then gets to work. They each grab a portafilter and place them under the grinder, one after another. Steph uses the automatic tamper, while Amy applies a manual tamper before they simultaneously run the shots. Steph scoops some ice cubes into the cup, leaving enough space for the six shots they’ll be adding. 

“Aw, I love seeing my staff work together,” Jinny coos and Amy rolls her eyes.

“Do not get started with that ‘work family’ bullshit,” Amy says over the sound of the pump. Steph chuckles to herself as she adds her shot to the cup, with Amy following soon after.

“How many more people work here?” Steph asks as she dumps the remaining grounds and prepares the next shot.

“Well there’s one more new hire,” Jinny responds, keeping an eye on the register to make sure there’s no new customers. “But he’s out of town, so his training will begin on the first day of classes.”

“Godspeed,” Amy quips, and Steph tries to stifle her laugh.

“Besides him, we have two more workers, but you’ll meet them during your next few shifts,” Jinny adds. Steph and Amy add their shots in succession, and, in no time at all, the drink is ready.

“So,” Jinny states, kind eyes looking at Steph, “Are you going to deliver this monstrosity or should I?”

“I’m sure I can handle it,” Steph responds. She places a lid on the container and brings it to the service counter.

“Iced americano for Tim?” She calls out in a clear voice. Within moments, the aforementioned prep comes to collect his drink. He grabs a straw and carefully undoes the paper wrapping while Steph stands. Once the straw is free, he looks up with a raised eyebrow at the blonde barista who’s waiting across the counter.

“Standing by for CPR,” Steph explains, going so far as doing a mock salute. When Tim laughs, glancing down as his bangs brush over his eyes, Steph feels like the Grinch when his heart grew three sizes. 

“Plus, I don’t believe you’ll be able to drink that without gagging,” Steph adds, trying to reduce the risk of sounding too sentimental. Like, of course she would give medical attention if he needed it, but she didn’t want to seem like she was eager to do so, if that makes sense. In Steph’s head, it made sense.

“Oh yeah?” he responds, taking her declaration as a challenge (which is exactly how Steph meant it, in fairness). Tim stabs the straw through the center opening, and, without even swirling the drink around, takes a big sip.

Steph’s eyes grow wide as she rapidly tries to recall all the medical information she’s retained about caffeine overdoses. The most serious cases can result in seizures, which Steph feels relatively well-equipped to deal with. Though, something like this happening on her first day isn’t ideal, at least she’ll look like a hero to her coworkers, and social capital is always valuable.

Tim’s expression, though, doesn’t change. In fact, after inhaling that sip, he removes his lips from the straw, looks at the cup and then says to Steph:

“Could be stronger.”

Alright, this dude was a freak. Obscenely expensive watch aside, Steph is sure that there isn’t enough money in the world to fix whatever’s wrong with him. A terminal oddball, now there was a new diagnosis. 

As Steph laughs to herself, shaking her head at the quirky customer, she thinks it wouldn’t be so bad if he became a regular. A person who gets her jokes is worth their weight in gold, to Steph at least.

“Don’t worry,” Jinny assures as Steph makes her way back over to the two. “Most orders here aren’t that weird…usually.”

“Yeah, but,” Amy adds, with an aura that seems to almost be sparkling, “most of our customers aren’t that cute either.”

Cute? Steph thinks to herself. Thinking back on their interactions, he didn’t really register as attractive to her. But that might’ve just been her inherent bias against the polished, preppy types. He was funny though, which she thinks is more important.

As if privy to Steph’s inner thoughts, Jinny poses a query to her newest employee:

“Not your type?”

Ruminating over the best way to respond, she settles on ambiguity.

“You could say that.”

“Worry not, our newest disciple,” Amy states, suddenly switching to a terrible attempt at a British accent. “There are loads of scrumptious customers that you have yet to meet.”

“Need I remind you that hooking up with a customer is a major HR violation?” Jinny’s tone is stern, but Amy retains her playful aura.

“Who said anything about hooking up? God, you are so perverted! Everyone knows the chase is the best part.”

Steph has gone rather silent, still listening intently, but without much to add, a fact that Amy takes notice of.

“I take it you’re not a hopeless romantic?” 

Oh Steph was definitely hopeless, but romance was the furthest thing from her mind right now. She always fell too hard, too fast, and ended up hurting herself. Better to avoid that kind of heartbreak altogether until she was a resident, or better yet, an attending. At least then she’d have a big fat paycheck for comfort when her theoretical boyfriend inevitably ended up disappointing her. 

“Unfortunately not,” Steph confirms, frustrated with how her voice has gone from cheery to dejected in a matter of seconds. Growing up low-income, the one thing she’d always hated was when people pitied her for the things she lacked. The newest clothes, elaborate lunches, or even your regular, run-of-the-mill two parent household were all mainstays of the American experience that were missing from Stephanie’s childhood. Over a decade later, it seems that Steph still hasn’t healed from those wounds.

So despite the warmth and reassurance her new coworkers are offering, Steph pulls away. Despite the café's namesake, Steph was adamant about keeping emotion out of her work, perhaps more now than she had been a few hours ago. She didn’t even feel comfortable being vulnerable with her actual family, so there was no chance she’d ever be vulnerable with this (not) work-family. No, Stephanie Brown was going to do her best and keep emotions out of it. 

“Chin up Steph,” Jinny states, shrugging a shoulder in her direction. “You look so serious.”

“Want me to show you how to make an affogato?” Amy offers.

“Ooh, can I drink it after?” Steph asks, having now perked up. 

Amy and Jinny laugh at Steph’s sudden vibrancy, with Jinny agreeing that Steph can have the drink for free.

Well, maybe Steph could stand to let a little emotion pass through. I mean, it was ice cream, after all.