Chapter One #2
“There's still plenty of time to get it ready,” I say as I dump my bag at the rear of the L-shaped counter, the longer length stretching out to the rear of the café. “And we're still ten minutes away from opening so what are you worried about?”
“But I had to get everything else ready.” Chloe props a hand on her waist and her hip pops out so much so it makes her whole body move and her natural afro bounce a little. “That's what you were supposed to do so that I could already start the order.”
“Merda,” I mumble. “I'm very sorry Chloe. How about I give you an extra-long break later? Long enough for you and Radia to take one of your loved-up walks?”
Chloe looks down at the ground bashfully, which is not an expression I often see on her face. And yet, her falling in love with one of our regular customers, Radia, has made her soften in all manner of ways. Something I witness first-hand when she approaches me as I put my apron on.
“Are you okay, Marcello?” she asks, her big brown eyes fixed on me. "I mean, is there a reason you were late? Why you've been late a lot recently?"
I think about my answer as I finish tying a knot in the apron strings behind my back. Chloe is a good person. She's a sweet girl and I've come to think of her as something close to a friend in recent months, despite me technically being her boss.
“I'm... I'm fine, Chlo,” I tell her with what I hope is a convincing smile.
“But..." she adds.
“But nothing. I'm fine.” I move past her to make myself a very urgently needed coffee.
“Fine is not good.” She follows me and stands next to the coffee machine.
“Fine is fine.”
“So you were late because you overslept?”
“Something like that." I feel the heat in my cheeks and hope my blush isn't detectable. I'm not about to reveal the real reason I was late today.
“You know sleeping more than usual is a sign of depression,” Chloe says and her tone is so very gentle I can't muster the energy to be annoyed at such a potentially invasive question.
“I'm not depressed,” I reply and when she doesn't look convinced I find myself still talking. “I'm... I'm just feeling a little lost at the moment.”
“Lost?”
“Yeah, like directionless. I feel like I'm getting older and have very little to show for it.”
Chloe looks around the café. “This is not nothing, Marcello. Do you know how happy this place makes people. And not just because of your mum’s chocolate croissants.”
“It's not work that I'm worried about, or rather, feeling restless about. It's... it's me.”
Chloe cocks her head. “In what way?”
“Well.” I open my mouth and almost tell her about how pathetic I feel still being single, still living with my mother, still not knowing what the hell I'm doing with my life.
But I push those words aside and say something else instead.
Something I feel will be easier to talk about and not drag me into the pit of misery I already feel I have a toe in. “I'm not happy with my body.”
Chloe's eyebrows shoot upwards. “Your body?”
“Yeah.” I grip my stomach which protrudes over the tied apron strings. “I've put on a bit of weight recently and I just feel very out of shape and very... insecure about it.”
I'm not lying. I do feel all those things. I just can't honestly say that's what keeps me up at night, so late that waking for any of my seven alarms is a Herculean struggle.
“You know, I think you look great,” Chloe says deliberately and carefully. “When we first met, I thought you were kinda cute, dad bod and all.”
“Dad bod?” I wince. “But I'm not even a dad.”
“It's a compliment!” Chloe insists. “And did you not hear the part where I said I thought you were cute!”
A smile breaks out despite myself. “Really?”
“Yes.” Chloe nods and then moves to the coffee machine to rescue the espresso shot that's long been ready. “Espresso macchiato?” she asks me.
I nod and watch as she goes about heating up milk.
“You shouldn't fall foul of toxic masculinity and the same idiotic diet culture that tells women they need to have small bodies in order to be worthy.”
“It's not that. At least I don't think it's that. I just feel... out of shape.”
It's another true statement. One that hits very close to exactly how I feel about everything, not just my body. It’s like I can’t find my place in this world. Like I’m a jigsaw piece trying to fit into a puzzle that isn’t missing me.
“Then do something about it,” Chloe says as she scoops out foam to sit on top of my shot of espresso. She hands the glass of coffee over to me.
“Like what?” I ask, although it feels like a stupid question. I'm not an idiot. I know I could start running or join a gym or maybe even a football club. I liked playing football in my teens and twenties.
“Set yourself a challenge,” she says as she leans back against the counter opposite me.
“Like running a marathon?”
Chloe wrinkles her nose. “That sounds boring... and predictable. How about... doing a triathlon?”
“A triathlon?" I say and bring the glass away from my mouth, not ready to take a sip while I'm shocked by her suggestion.
“Yeah, why not?”
“Because it would likely kill me,” I scoff and then finally take a hot swig of my coffee.
“No, it wouldn't.” She swipes at me with a tea towel. “You'd train for it. But rather than just going to the gym or running or swimming for no good reason, you'll actually have a goal in mind for all that exercise. And a good reason to also start eating healthier, perhaps.”
I take another sip of coffee so I can think over Chloe's suggestion. It doesn't sound terrible.
I mean, yes, it does sound terrible, awful, horrible, in terms of the actual effort it will require, not to mention the aches and pains that will come along the way, but it does sound like the kind of challenge I need.
It sounds like the kick up the backside I've been hoping somebody would come along and give me.
But that's not going to happen. It's an ironically depressing thought but nobody is coming to shove their foot up my butt.
If somebody's got to kick me into action, into changing for the better, it's going to be me.
It’s just a shame I struggle with motivation, focus and commitment – all the things required for such a challenge.
But maybe… Maybe I can try? Maybe I could be good at it? Maybe I could lose all the extra weight and feel fit and sexy again, and maybe that’s exactly what I need to feel confident enough to try dating again?
“Okay,” I say.
“Okay you're going to do a triathlon?” Chloe asks, disbelieving.
“Don't sound so shocked. You suggested it.”
“Yeah, but I thought you'd tell me to fuck off and get back to work.” Chloe scoffs out a laugh.
“Oh,” I say and I realise the trap I've fallen into. Me and my hopeless optimism and terrible impulse control. “Let's pretend that I did do that? Fuck off and get back to work!”
Chloe shakes her head, making her afro bounce again. “No way, José. You just agreed to do a triathlon and I was a witness. I'm going to hold you to it. Deal?”
She holds out her hand. I look at it and feel like I'm looking at a future of literal blood, sweat and tears. I haven't run further than the Tube station in nearly a decade. This has the potential to not end well at all.
But maybe it also has the potential to end really well. I could get fit. I could lose that little bit of weight that makes my jeans uncomfortable. I could get my confidence back. I could... enjoy it?
I take her hand and shake it.
“Deal,” I say.
Chloe's gleeful grin is damn well contagious. "Just wait until I tell Radia about this!”
I roll my eyes and nod at the door which now needs to be unlocked and open for imminent customers. “Now you really can fuck off and get back to work,” I say with my first real smile of the day.