SEASON #1 follows six of Debbie’s customers: Albert the timid, Emily the burnt-out, Judith the jealous, Barista Dude the aimless, Sam the desperate and John the grieving. Over the course of six chapters, Debbie will help them each kindle new relationships, ingite new passions, and rise from the ashes (so to speak).
**PRO TIP: hover over some of the images for hidden editor's notes!
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
ALBERT
If there are witches and wizards in this world...
…then there must be an abundance of them, surely. Entire schools dedicated to teaching the art of witchcraft and wizardry; Warring warlocks battling for power, sending lesser witches and wizards on epic quests in search of enchanted objects to save the mortal realms.
But in reality, it’s not that grandiose.
It’s just Debbie.
If you weren’t paying close enough attention, you might not notice Debbie’s Dry Cleaning, Custom Fitting and Tailoring Shop on Battery Street. Most people don’t.
They’re too busy thinking about the pitch they have to give at work the next day, or the squabble they got into with their neighbor over the leaf blower.
And they just walk by.
Luckily, Albert Lieberman was not one of those people. Albert was an incredibly timid, nervous sort of person. He never felt like he knew what to say in conversation, and often stayed up late at night thinking of all the better responses he could have used throughout the day. Some more cutting, some more clever.
Always better than what he had said in the moment.
This was especially true when it came to talking to Emily. Emily also worked in advertising, or marketing, or digital brand experiences [whatever that meant]... Just like Albert.
She loved horseback riding, cucumber cream cheese sandwiches, and was the only person Albert knew who said ‘it’s raining cats and dogs out there’ whenever there was the slightest bit of rain.
And Albert was in love.
Despite knowing her favorite color [lilac] and the last book that made her cry [Normal People], Albert could never quite figure out how to strike up a conversation with Emily. He needed a new personality, or more confidence at the very least, and was desperate for a quick fix.
That’s when he heard about Debbie.
‘I heard she sews the magic right into the seam of your suit.’
‘I heard she can give you powers, or make you really lucky.’
‘Or wealthy...or both!’
‘I heard she can even get you laid...'
Albert, who was a top-tier eavesdropper, wrote down Debbie’s address and paid her a visit that very afternoon. He didn’t actually need his suit tailored or steamed or pressed [he always did that on Sundays].
...but he wasn’t sure if a suit was needed for Debbie’s particular kind of magic. So he brought it in with him anyways. Just in case.
Debbie didn’t look up when Albert entered her shop. She didn’t need to.
‘I’ll be with you in a minute,’ is all she said.
And Albert, being the patient sort of person that he was, waited patiently.
That is, Albert was a perfectly patient person until he felt that his patience was being tested., or that a minor injustice had befallen him. And befallen him it had.
John, one of Debbie’s oldest and most loyal clients, entered the shop shortly after Albert.
Debbie looked up from her sewing machine, smiled, and took his jacket from those black zipper bags they sometimes come in.
‘The usual?’ she asked.
‘The usual,’ he replied.
Albert, who felt that he ought to be helped before this new strange man, fumed.
If steam could pour from his ears in anger, it surely would.
‘But- why- excuse me-’ he spluttered.
Debbie, who had seated herself back down at her sewing machine, looked up.
‘Yes?’
‘Well- you see..." Albert paused, looking from Debbie to the strange man, and back again.
‘Well, I was here first! And I think it’s only fair that you take my suit before his.’
‘And why is that?’
‘Because first come first serve, obviously! You stupid cow!’
Albert normally had a tougher time expressing himself when he was angry. But just now, in Debbie’s shop, the words had exploded from him the second he thought of them. If he weren’t so angry at Debbie for her sub-par customer service, Albert would be very pleased with himself.
In fact, he was pleased with himself, just a little. He straightened the collar of his shirt and looked Debbie straight in the eye.
‘I’ll be back for my suit at two,’ he said. ‘And I don’t like to be kept waiting.’
And without another word, Albert left the shop, and Debbie grinned, watching a spiral of her magic float out after him.
CHAPTER TWO
EMILY
Everyone always seemed to want something from Emily Reid. Maybe it was her unassuming posture, or the soft way she spoke that made people feel instantly at ease. Whatever it was, Emily knew there was something about her that made other people ask her for things.
‘An obliging personality,’ her mother had once called it. And Emily, not wanting to argue with her mother - or anyone, really - obliged.
Lately, it seemed, things had gotten particularly worse. Her sister wanted Emily to help her move into a new apartment... her parents wanted her to visit more... her friends wanted constant reassurance on their outfit choices, and dating advice, and a reliable wingwoman for late nights at the club.
Even Albert, her cubicle mate at work, seemed to be wanting things from Emily lately.
They all wanted her time, mostly, and not wanting to let any of them down, Emily...
...obliged.
And Emily was exhausted, quite frankly, as anyone in her position would be. These days, Emily felt like the stump in that awful book about a tree that knows nothing of it’s own self-worth, giving everything away in an act of extreme anti-self-care. Emily was at her wits end, and didn’t know how long she could go on living like this.
That’s when she heard about Debbie.
Her friend Judith, who was always talking and always had food in her teeth, had heard about this seamstress who could grant you magical wishes.
‘She’s like a genie, but not living in a lamp, obviously,’ Judith said. Judith was also always stating the obvious.
Emily, who spent the rest of her evening consoling Judith on her latest dating app fail, didn’t have time to stop by Debbie’s that night. She didn’t like running errands on her lunch break, but seeing as her situation was getting quite desperate... Emily set off for Debbie’s Dry Cleaning the very next day.
When she walked in, Emily was surprised to see a woman quite like herself, sitting behind the sewing machine. Sure, Debbie and Emily were not close in age, nor were they of the same height, or stature, or general appearance. But the resemblance was uncanny, and Debbie, feeling it too, smiled.
‘How can I help you?’ Debbie asked. And that was exactly what Emily needed to hear.
Yet, in her hurry to get to Debbie’s, Emily realized that she hadn’t brought a reason to come into a dry cleaning shop in the first place.
‘I forgot my dress,’ was all she could manage to say.
Debbie, saying nothing, merely held up a finger and hurried off into the back room. And when she returned, she brought with her a silver shawl.
Emily was so transfixed by its softness that she almost didn’t notice it’s other defining feature: The shawl made Emily invisible. She threw the shawl around her shoulders and watched her body disappear from sight.
‘Wear this, and no one can ask you for anything.’
Debbie’s shawl was one of her more intricately designed pieces, and one which she rarely lent out. Only when the recipient was truly needing of a much deserved break. The shawl rendered Emily invisible to most passers-by as she walked down the street. The man at the hot dog stand could not ask her to buy a quick snack... the teenager with a clipboard couldn’t ask her if she had five minutes to spare for climate change. Even her boss, who was wondering why Emily hadn’t returned from lunch, conveniently forgot who he was trying to call every time he picked up his cellphone.
The only time anyone could see Emily was when she needed something from them. like when she popped into her favorite coffee shop and requested an oat milk latte, no foam... before sitting by the windowsill to quietly read a new book.
Hours passed by without interruption, and Emily sat reading the entirety of her favorite book that very same day... perfectly content and happy. And no one so much as looked at her, or asked if she was using the other chair at her table (where her backpack was conveniently sitting), or told her there was a time limit for how long one could occupy a seat in a crowded cafe.
And it was perhaps one of the best days of Emily’s life thus far.
As the sun began to set, Emily closed her book and held it to her chest: a beautiful story for a beautiful day. It was only then that she noticed a man sitting across the cafe... staring at her.
He smiled at her, and had the kind sort of smile that made you want to smile back. And Emily obliged.
And she wondered why he could see her, and what that meant. And this is when Emily met John.
CHAPTER THREE
JUDITH
In addition to being Emily’s best friend, a loud talker and a chronic stater-of-the-obvious, Judith was also a particularly nosy person. She could smell gossip from miles away. Could sniff it out like a bloodhound in an episode of Law & Order. And so, when Emily suggested that they meet at a new coffee shop instead of their usual cocktail bar... Judith was suspicious.
And now that she was sitting across from Emily [who was practically glowing]... Judith confirmed that something was definitely up.
A barista set two mugs on their table: one black coffee, one oat milk latte, no foam.
‘Wish I got what you ordered,’ Judith said, eyeing Emily’s latte. For in addition to being particularly nosy, Judith was also easily overcome by bouts of jealousy.
The grass was not only greener on the other side, but more lush, and better for picnics, and never muddy or dry or scratchy whatsoever.
‘Well, you’ve clearly had a good week,’ Judith said, stating the obvious once again. ‘Finally quit your job?’ Emily shook her head.
‘Did your sister relinquish you from all Maid of Honor duties?’ Emily shook her head again.
‘Did you have a lobotomy then?’ Emily laughed.
‘No! I just saw Debbie.'
Judith remembered telling Emily about the magical seamstress weeks ago. It had been at the end of a rather long dinner, and Judith could feel Emily’s attention waning as they ordered their final round of drinks. She had brought it up more in the spirit of gossiping, laughing at how a coworker asked Debbie to get him laid, and by no means was a suggestion for Emily to seek out the seamstress herself.
Judith immediately felt a pang of jealousy for not going to find Debbie first. She had even given Emily the idea! Emily ran her fingers through her hair, and Judith noted how her chestnut locks looked even softer and shinier than usual.
‘You should go see her, Jude.’ Emily sighed, ‘she’s changed my life.’ Judith nodded, noting that she might no longer want to be friends with this new-and-improved Emily. Her happiness was almost too much to bear.
They finished their coffees in silence, both women lost in thought. Emily’s mind drifted to the man she had seen at this very coffee shop a few days ago...
Judith, on the other hand, had resolved to find Debbie immediately after this, and wondered what she should ask the seamstress for when she arrived. The trouble was, every time Judith thought of something to ask for, she worried that there was something even better that she hadn’t thought of yet.
But after lots of silent pondering, during which her coffee became disgustingly cold, Judith decided that she would ask for help finding love. That would make her happy.
The two old friends hastily finished their coffees, both realizing that maybe this friendship had run its course. And they quickly adjourned.
Judith found herself running to Debbie’s Dry Cleaning, desperate to get some of Emily’s good fortune before it was sold out.
‘Does magic sell out?’ she thought. Surely, it could, if it was as hot of a commodity as Emily claimed.
And Judith ran even faster.
Judith entered Debbie’s shop, and Debbie once again looked up from her sewing machine.
Judith held up a finger, too winded to ask for a minute to catch her breath. She hated not being able to speak, and wished that she enjoyed running more, or was in better shape, or both.
‘I need some help finding...’
‘... love,' she finished, somewhat lamely.
‘Is it that you need help getting dates to go on, or–’
‘No, no. I can get a first date just fine. The trouble is, I can’t seem to find a guy who I like enough to go on a second date.’
‘Hmm...' the seamstress thought about this for a moment, ‘so you need help liking the men you date.’
‘Finding men that I like, er, yes.’ Judith confirmed.
Debbie stood from her sewing machine and walked to the back of the store. She returned with a bumble bee brooch, encrusted in bright yellow sequins. Judith struggled to hide her disgust.
‘Is there, er, another one perhaps?’ Debbie simply placed the brooch in her hands.
‘Wear this on your next date,’ was all Debbie said. Judith stared at the bug, staring back at her.
‘Great.’
Judith sat in the cocktail bar she and Emily used to meet at for happy hour.
‘I’ll be the one wearing a bumble bee brooch,’ she had texted moments before. Her date had seen the text, as confirmed by his read receipts, but he had not responded. Normally, Judith would take someone having their read receipts turned on as a bad sign.
‘It was literally designed to create hurt feelings,’ she had once told Emily, ‘I don’t see any other purpose to it other than to tell the recipient that you saw their text and decided to say nothing in response.’
But today, while wearing the bumble bee brooch, Judith found that she was not at all upset by the read receipts. She didn’t mind that he arrived fifteen minutes late, either, with no apology or explanation upon his arrival.
His name was Albert.
Judith noted that he was assertive, ordering for the table without so much as a look in her direction. And he talked about himself. A lot. With food in his mouth, no less.
But none of this seemed to bother Judith. In fact, she found it all quite endearing. She seemed to have a soft spot for his pompous demeanor, which made her smile when paired with his unplucked eyebrows and poorly fitted shirt. His confidence was a near miracle, and Judith found herself, for the first time, speechless. And she was laughing more than she had laughed in a good long while.
And maybe, she realized, this was because she stopped talking long enough to listen to someone else.
Many years later, when Albert and Judith reminisce about their first date to anyone who will listen, they both credit the same woman for helping them find true love.
‘Funnily enough,’ Albert always says with a grin, 'the secret to any good relationship is just finding the right dry cleaner.’
CHAPTER FOUR
BARISTA DUDE
The one thing that you should know about Barista Dude is that he smokes weed. A lot. Like, every day, multiple times.
He graduated from high school a year ago, and had since found adulthood utterly unsatisfying. He still lived with his mother, and took pride in telling people that he actually lived in her basement.
X
He found it funny that he was living such a cliché, and found it even funnier when he was high.
His mother begged him to get a job. To get out of the house, off the couch, for a few hours a day. At LEAST. He considered it nagging, she considered it necessary. But whatever they called it, Barista Dude finally caved and got a job at a coffee shop...
...as a barista. [hence the name]
...and he was STILL bored. Nothing interesting ever happened in that coffee shop. Or in adulthood in general, really. That was why he smoked so much weed in the first place!
‘If life is going to be this mundane, at least let me smoke so I can try to enjoy it.'
Day after day slipped by, and Barista Dude could feel his soul melting away. You wouldn’t know it, due to his chemically chilled-out demeanor, but Barista Dude was truly at his wit’s end.
And then he overheard two women, both looking miserable in each other’s company talking about a seamstress named Debbie.
Emily and Judith, who had since made amends [a byproduct of Debbie’s magic no doubt], discussed their magical experiences over coffee and baked goods.
‘You were right, Em. Debbie really can grant magical wishes. She changed my life!’
‘All hail the seamstress on Battery Street!’
Barista Dude was not a skeptical guy. In fact, he was the opposite of skeptical. Open? Trusting? Stupid? Whatever he was, he was the kind of guy who believed two women talking about a magical seamstress.
Curiosity killed the cat...and it also led Barista Dude to leave work forty minutes before his shift was up to go looking for Debbie.
It’s important to note that Barista Dude was also exceedingly high at the time. To this day, he wasn’t sure if any of the following events truly happened, or if he’d dreamt them in some sort of drug-induced hallucination.
But it had happened.
Barista Dude stepped into Debbie’s Dry Cleaning, Custom Fitting and Tailoring Shop. And there sat Debbie.
He hardly noticed the line of people, waiting to be helped, or the strange woman who ran from the shop crying. When his eyes fell on the magical seamstress, Barista Dude’s jaw dropped.
‘Grandma?’
‘Aren’t you supposed to be at work?’ Debbie asked. She squinted to get a good look at her grandson's pupils. Were they dilated? Was he high?
‘I- uh-’
‘Everybody out,’ she sighed, ‘I need to have a quick word with my grandson.’ Her other patrons grumbled & groaned, reluctant to leave the shop. What a missed opportunity to eavesdrop! For most of them had assumed, deep down, that Debbie had no earthly family whatsoever. She must have crawled her way up from the netherworlds, from the pits of heaven or hell from which she came, centuries ago.
Surely she couldn't be something as ordinary as a "grandma". But she was. And so everyone left as asked, looking over their shoulder as they went.
‘I wish you would stop smoking so much weed, honey,’ Debbie said. ‘It’s holding you back.’ Barista Dude couldn’t look at Debbie as she spoke. He thought he was going to meet a magical seamstress who could grant you wishes... but instead, he was talking to his grandmother about marijuana. He could’ve died right there on the very spot!
‘Every once in a while, sure, but during work?' Debbie asked. You see, Debbie took immense pride in her work, and was troubled to find that her grandson did not feel the same way.
‘You smoke weed?’ he asked.
‘Let’s not get off topic,’ Debbie said quickly. [She lived in San Francisco in the 60s! What did he expect?]
‘I just want something interesting, or exciting to happen in my life,’ he said quietly, ‘otherwise, like, what’s the point.’ Barista Dude looked away as he confessed his deepest darkest thoughts to his grandmother. But then, she did something that made him look up.
Debbie laughed.
‘Well of course it will!’ she said. ‘You’re only nineteen, for pete’s sake. You’ve barely scratched the surface on what life has in store for you.’
Barista Dude hadn’t known that this was exactly what he needed to hear. But when Debbie said the words out loud, Barista Dude knew everything was going to be okay. He stood, feeling rather silly, and turned away so Debbie wouldn’t see the tear pooling at the corner of his eye.
‘I came in here, you know, thinking you were some sort of sorceress performing magic through your sewing machine.’
‘What? That’s preposterous!’
‘Totally. I don’t know why I believed it in the first place.’ And Barista Dude left the shop, chuckling all the way.
But just before the door closed, Debbie waved her needle in the air... and watched a waft of her magic follow him as he went.
Barista Dude then found it strange that the most exciting thing to ever happen to him happened only fifteen minutes later.
But this was just a coincidence, perhaps. Not magic surely.
For when Barista Dude returned to the coffee shop, he discovered that the building had burst into flames.
CHAPTER FIVE
SAM
These days, Sam woke up every morning with a pit in her stomach. Her alarm would go off at four A.M. and she would groan, cursing the world for creating such an early hour in the first place. She’d pull herself from the warmth of her bed sheets, throw on some jeans and a cable knit sweater, and run downstairs to open the coffee shop.
Each morning, she would let the delivery guy from the bakery in through the back door, and say ‘Good Morning’ to him in a falsely cheery tone that she only used for customers and, well, this. The delivery guy would merely nod as he unpacked the day's bounty of baked goods: croissants, morning buns, madeleines, scones.
She would offer him coffee, he would decline, and she would leave to set up the tables and chairs in front of the shop.
This was Sam’s routine. Every. Single. Day.
And Sam was tired. Bone-deep tired. And she didn’t remember when or how her life had become this very coffee shop.
Three years ago, Sam’s little sister Sarah opened a cafe called Sugar + Spice. Sarah was the sugar, and Sam...well, she was the spice. Sarah had always dreamed of running a cafe, and Sam had always dreamed of making Sarah’s dreams come true.
But when Sarah got sick, Sam took over the family business on her own. She took over the bills, and the paychecks, and the hiring, and the staffing, and the setting up in the morning and closing at night.
Sam almost said something to Sarah once, during her treatments. To ask if they should hire more help... or even better, sell the shop.
But just as Sam opened her mouth, Sarah said, ‘When I’m in here, it makes me happy thinking about you in our cafe, drinking good coffee...’ So Sam bit her tongue.
But when Sarah passed away, there was no one left to tell that she didn’t want to run the business anymore. And despite making the best cup of coffee in town [as so voted by the SF Chronicle], Sam was barely making ends meet.
Sarah’s husband, or widower now, had offered to help Sam with the cafe. He even learned how to operate the espresso machine, which took many months, and wasted coffee beans, to master. But John was sad, and seeing John sad made Sam sad, and it was all just too much sadness for one to endure, really. So she told him she had it under control, and to visit any time he liked.
But Sam did not have it under control. Not at all.
She forgot to pay the bakery the week before, and now worried that the delivery guy’s silence was really a cold shoulder. She forgot to lock the front door two days prior, and had to crank up the heat the next day to get rid of the midnight chill that hung in the air.
Sam even hired the first person who interviewed for the barista job, despite the fact that she could smell marijuana on him throughout the interview. But Sam couldn’t stand the thought of conducting even more interviews, and so she handed him an apron on the very spot.
Sam needed a miracle, and hoped and prayed for one, while simultaneously hoping and praying that Sarah couldn’t hear her hopes and prayers. Wherever she was. And that’s when Sam heard about Debbie.
A bald man with a loud voice had come into the shop that morning, demanding his coffee black, no sugar. And it took all of Sam’s strength to muster up her customer service voice in response. While she poured his coffee, Sam heard him say into his airpods, ‘Look, I didn’t believe it either. But there’s a magical seamstress on Battery Street who can grant you wishes..."
Sam handed him his coffee, but not before spitting on the top and quickly covering it with a plastic lid.
‘That’ll be two fifty,’ Sam said. The man merely grunted in response, lifting his apple watch to the card reader. It dinged, and he left the shop without another word.
And that's when Sam had an idea. A desperate, crazy idea.
On her lunch break, she ran down to Battery Street, and bust through the front doors of Debbie’s Dry Cleaning, Custom Fitting and Tailoring Shop. And Debbie looked up from her sewing machine.
Something had overcome Sam on her run over to Debbie’s. Resolve, perhaps. Temporary madness. Delusional determination. She could almost laugh, were she not so dead-set on asking this poor old woman for the one thing she couldn’t bear to do herself. Whatever it was, her eyes were ablaze when she said:
‘I want you to burn down my coffee shop.’
As soon as she said it, Sam knew that this idea had been percolating in the recesses of her brain for quite a while. Burn down the shop, collect the insurance money, and high-tail it far away from San Francisco and all of the painful memories that the city constantly threw in her face.
Memories of walks with Sarah to the dog park at the top of Potrero Hill...
Trips to their favorite Pho place...
Favorite movie theater with the extra buttery popcorn.
Sam looked at the small woman before her, wielding an even smaller nimble and thread. She seemed docile, unassuming. Certainly not someone who would commit a felony for a complete stranger.
‘Please,’ Sam whispered. And then she burst into tears.
‘I can’t do it anymore,’ Sam said between hiccups. ‘And I- we’ve already dumped so much money into it. Our entire life savings...'
Debbie, who knew when words were needed, and when they were not, simply put her hand on top of Sam’s. And she let Sam cry.
Sam wasn’t sure how long she had been sitting there, sobbing. Time, which ruled Sam's every waking moment these days, seemed to stand still while in Debbie's Shop. And it was then that Sam realized that what she needed most [other than her sister of course],
was just a good, long cry.
‘Asking a complete stranger to burn down a building! I must be going out of my mind.’ And Sam stood to leave, feeling much better already. But then Debbie held up a finger and wandered into the back room. When she returned, Debbie held out a handkerchief embroidered with intricate little roses.
‘Oh no, I couldn’t take that from you,’ Sam said. You see, Sam made the mistake of thinking that Debbie meant she needed the handkerchief to wipe her nose. Which was rather snotty.
When Sam finally blew into the handkerchief, a swirl of Debbie’s magic puffed up into the air. But Sam had blinked, and didn’t notice it at all.
CHAPTER SIX
JOHN
All his life, John had been sure of only one thing: that he and Sarah belonged together. Well, not all his life, but since the third grade, so the part of his life that mattered, anyways. Their meet-cute had been as corny as a John Hughes movie. A Peter Gabriel song. A Hallmark Christmas special (without the farm in the country and the religious undertones).
One day in third grade, he noticed a girl with pigtails who had forgotten her lunch at home. He shared his lunch with her, and John fell in love right then and there on the very spot. Over a cucumber and cream cheese sandwich.
They’d gone to college together. Moved to SF together. Rented their first (overpriced) apartment together. Bought their first home together (very overpriced). And talked about doing just about everything else... together.
So when Sarah got sick, the only way that John knew how to get through it...was to get through it together.
And it wasn’t all sad moments, either. There were many laugh snorts and snort laughs, mostly at the expense of Sarah’s poor bumbling doctor, who try as she might, seemed to always be falling down and bumping into things in a ridiculous manner. John joked that he had a banana peel in his pocket, and threw it in front of her every time she entered the room. And that made Sarah laugh.
But she was a little less funny, this bumbling doctor, when she had to deliver some very bad news [despite having a piece of toilet paper stuck to her shoe as she delivered it].
‘There’s no getting around it. Sarah’s not getting any better.’ And John’s heart sank.
The beauty of Debbie’s particular kind of magic was that it always found people when they needed it most. And so, on that very same day, John overheard two nurses talking about a magical seamstress on Battery Street. And John, desperate for something to do, ran to Debbie’s Dry Cleaning, Custom Fitting and Tailoring Shop.
Debbie, who was accustomed to people rushing to her shop in search of quick fixes, smiled at John as he entered her shop. John, slightly out of breath, knew that he was being rather silly. And that there was a very high chance those nurses were being hyperbolic. How stupid he was! Of course they just meant that she sewed a mean cross-stitch. She couldn’t literally be a magical seamstress. But if there was a chance... John had to know.
‘My wife is dying, and I need you to save her.’
‘Sit down,’ Debbie said. And John sat, for he hadn't realized how unbelievably tired he was until this very moment. Debbie grabbed his hand, holding it in hers.
‘Unfortunately I can’t save her life,’ Debbie said. And the color drained from John’s face. He pulled his hand away and made to stand up.
‘Right, right, of course. Sorry to have wasted your time-’ But Debbie held up a finger.
‘But time, I can give you.’ John stilled.
Debbie left to search for something in the back room, and was gone a very long time. John wasn’t entirely sure if he should stay or go. But then Debbie returned with a worn, brown leather jacket.
‘This belonged to my late husband,’ she explained. ‘Every day you wear it, you get to live that day twice.’ Not knowing what else to do, John took the jacket, stunned, and turned to leave the shop. But Debbie grabbed him by the wrist.
‘Be sure to make those days count,’ she said. ‘Don’t spend them wallowing in self-pity.’ And John felt suddenly naked in her shop, like Debbie could see right through to his very bones.
‘I speak from experience.’
John quickly learned that Debbie had been true to her word: Every day he wore the jacket, he would wake up the following morning and re-live that same day again. And he loved it.
Debbie’s warning haunted John, and so he made sure to smile more while wearing the coat. And although Sarah wasn’t always perfectly happy (which would be asking far too much of a person in her position), she was glad to see that John was surviving the news, somehow. And despite the hospital visits, and the naps, and the 3am visits to the toilet, the last year of Sarah’s life had been one of her favorites. Because she’d never felt closer to John, and never felt so at peace.
Over the course of the year, John took the jacket into Debbie’s shop for the occasional magical tune up...
A loose thread that caused him to only speak in Pig Latin.
A missing button that caused the hour
from 1 to 2 pm to disappear each day.
He and Debbie became good friends, despite the fact that they rarely spoke when John came to visit. [Debbie wasn’t particularly verbose, you see, and neither was John]. And so when Sarah passed away and John tried to return the coat to Debbie, Debbie was rightfully offended.
‘The days are too long as it is,’ John said. He looked weathered. His skin too tired to stay up on his cheekbones. Baggy eyes. His whole soul seemed to sag.
‘Just hold onto it,' she said. And not knowing what else to do, John obliged.
It had been a year since John had first tried to return the jacket, and Debbie would still not take it back from him. It became a routine of theirs: John going into her shop, pushing the jacket at Debbie. Debbie pushing it back. Week after week. Until one day, after John interrupted her conversation with a stout, angry little man... Debbie finally caved.
‘I will take it back next week, but only if you wear it every day for the next seven days.’
And the next day, John saw Emily. Wearing a silver shawl. Nose buried in a book at Sarah’s coffee shop.
And for the first time in a very long while, John smiled. And he wondered if the coat had anything to do with it.
Each day that week, John found himself wearing the coat in the hopes that he would see Emily again. He lived each day twice, changing his daily routine to optimize for any further meet-cutes. If he went to the coffee shop in the morning one day, he would re-live it and go in the afternoon the next. But he didn’t see her again until the very last day, when Sarah’s coffee shop burst into flames.
It took John a moment to register the other people in his company, equally shocked and speechless. But there stood Emily. Staring at the burning building with the blankest expression.
‘I just wanted a cup of coffee...' She said, to no one in particular. And then a cat meowed.
John never would have guessed that the stoned barista would have a soft spot for cats. For anything, really. But when the cat meowed, Barista Dude knew exactly what he had to do. And he ran into the burning building.
The ceiling burned above him, threatening to cave in and bury Barista Dude in the very coffee shop that he hated so much. But then he looked across the smoky room and saw the old ficus plant sitting in the corner, totally unscathed. And Barista Dude remembered all of the times that he had come in for the morning shift, and that very plant had always been there to greet him. He even said good morning to it, on occasion [when he was particularly high]. It was the friendly face [leaf?] that reminded him there’s always a reason to smile. Seeing it now calmed him, somehow.
And so when Barista Dude heard another meow, he ran into the back kitchen from where it came.
A fire truck arrived, and four firefighters quickly grabbed all of the things they would need to save Barista Dude. They would pull him out by his swish bangs and beanie if they had to. But just as they were about to run into the flames, Barista Dude emerged with a very dusty cat sitting in his arms. He looked down into his arms and beamed. He’d saved someone, or rather, something. Some cat.
And for the first time in his life, Barista Dude was quite proud.
That is, until the ungrateful little cat bit him and leapt out of his arms. And then someone yelled: ‘Hey! She's mine!’
They all turned around to see Judith pick up the cat in a hastily tied silk robe. With Albert, shortly behind. John noticed the smudged lipstick. The messy hair. Albert’s slippers on her feet. His eyes met Emily’s, and they shared a small grin before looking away. And it was this quiet sort of moment that reminded John how good it felt to fall in love. Now both Judith and Albert knew better than to ever act embarrassed, so despite their scantily clad attire, Albert lifted his chin and said, ‘you better not have hurt her, boy.’
‘Whatever,’ was all Barista Dude said back. But it was very much not whatever. It was the best day of his goddamn life, quite frankly. And so Barista Dude ran to catch up with the other firefighters and ask them how they got their jobs. And Albert put his arm around Judith, soothing her as they walked away, Judith muttering ‘but she’s so dirty now’ all the while.
‘I feel guilty for being happy about this,’ Sam whispered, so softly she thought no one could hear.
‘Don’t be,’ John said, ‘it was time.’ And somewhere deep down, he knew it was true. He knew Sam needed a fresh start, and she wasn’t going to get it in that coffee shop. But maybe he already had.
Emily wondered if she had overstayed her welcome, and if should leave this family to pick up the pieces of their broken cafe in private. But just as she was about to walk away, John stuck out his hand.
‘I’m John, by the way.’
‘I’m Emily.’