In Which a Motor Seizes and Something Else Starts
The grinder doesn't die gracefully. It makes a sound like a cat being stepped on inside a garbage disposal, shudders twice, and then emits a thin wisp of smoke that smells like burnt ambition and...
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In Which Two People Who Never Sit Down Finally Do
A deep-summer Sunday, and Milly—who feeds the whole block and never sits—comes in on her one morning off. A quiet story about contentment.
In Which 'Saw It' Turns Out to Be a Complete Sentence
The day starts wrong at 6:15 AM when Betsy decides she has opinions about pressure. Not broken-opinions. Not call-Todd opinions. Just... opinions. The shots are pulling inconsistent—eighteen seconds,...
In Which the Slow Pour Turns Out to Be the Whole Point
The thing about the last Tuesday in June is that the students are gone and the summer people haven't figured us out yet, so the shop goes quiet in a way that feels less like slow business and more...
In Which I Make a Coffee for Someone Who Isn't Coming
On a Thursday at three, Grace orders a second drink she won't drink — the one her daughter used to order — and Rena learns that a place set at a table is not nothing.
In Which I Find Out the Difference Between Leaving Someone Alone and Leaving Them
The morning Noah's coffee comes back full instead of empty, Rena has to decide whether respecting someone's silence and abandoning them in it are the same thing.
In Which I Drink the Worst Coffee of My Life on Purpose
Rena drives twenty minutes to Jennifer's apartment carrying a problem she can't name, and gets the answer over a root-bound pothos and the worst cup of coffee of her life.
In Which Thank You Turns Out to Be the Longest Word I Know
A blank Father's Day card, a cold cup of coffee that tastes like his kitchen, and the unsendable letter Rena writes first.
In Which Earl Refuses to Price a Spoon and Accidentally Appraises Me
Rena brings Earl coffee at the antique shop next door and gets an unexpected lesson in worth from a worn-out wooden spoon that isn't for sale.
In Which I Stand in a Creek I Was Not Supposed to Be In
It is Wednesday night, the kind of Wednesday where it has rained for two days, and I am in the cozy chair with Mabel claiming most of my left thigh and Grandma's Bible balanced on my right. I had not...
In Which Helen Had Opinions About Trees
It is 9:14 on a Tuesday in May, and the espresso machine is venting, and Walter is on his second drip coffee, and across the street the dogwood at the edge of St. Francis Memorial has bloomed. I had...
In Which a Stranger Thanks Me for the Worst Thing I've Ever Done
The bell rings at 2:47 on a Tuesday, which is the part of the afternoon when I'm usually doing one of three things: restocking the sugar caddy (which has been a personal nemesis of mine since...
In Which Lou Sweeps an Already-Clean Floor and I Keep a Secret I Wasn't Told
Lou's shop is empty at 3:07 on a Tuesday afternoon and the door chimes when I come in, because Lou has an actual bell — not a buzzer, not a motion sensor, a real small brass bell on a mounted arm...
In Which "But It's Mine" Turns Out to Be a Full Theology
At 9:17 on a Thursday morning I look up from the espresso machine and through my front window and across the sidewalk and through Earl's front window and I see, in order: water, Earl, a wrench. The...
In Which Patricia Orders Black Coffee and Rewrites What Forgiveness Is
Patricia comes in at 10:47 on a Wednesday, orders black coffee, and sits at the counter. I know I'm staring. I can feel myself staring. There are two signals here and I'm trying to process them...
In Which 'The Apartment Looks Nice' Turns Out to Be a Love Letter
The knock comes at 4:47 PM on a Thursday, and I assume it's Jennifer because Jennifer knocks like she's trying to wake the dead and also possibly alert them to a sale at Target. I'm still in my...
In Which Showing Up Matters Even When You're Not Recognized
Walter is late. I've checked the clock four times now, which is three times more than I should need to, but the thing about Walter is that Walter is never late. Walter is 10 AM. Walter is drip...
In Which Being Too Much Turns Out to Be Exactly Enough
Jennifer doesn't bring a clipboard. That's how I know something's wrong. Jennifer always has a clipboard, or a notebook, or at the very least a phone with seventeen open tabs of ideas she wants to...
In Which First Grandchild Coffee Becomes a House Rule
He walks in at 2:15 on a Wednesday and I know immediately that something is either very wrong or very right because this man is vibrating. Not literally. But also kind of literally. He's late...
In Which the Sugar Caddy Learns to Fly and I Learn to Be Still
5:47 AM, and I'm in the shop because my brain decided that sleep was optional and anxiety was mandatory, which is how I've ended up standing behind my own counter in the dark like some kind of...
In Which Grace Has Enough Hope to Share
Thursday. 3 PM. The bell rings. I don't have to look up anymore. I know the sound of Grace arriving the way I know the sound of my own heartbeat—steady, expected, a rhythm I've built part of my week...
In Which I Learn That Some Grief Is Too Big for Words
Lou's Barber Shop closes at 5 PM on weekdays. This is not negotiable. This is not flexible. This is as fixed as the tides, as certain as Walter's Tuesday drip coffee, as reliable as my ability to...
In Which Spring Arrives and So Does Everyone Else
The first warm day sneaks up on you in the northern Midwest. One day you're still wearing three layers and questioning every life choice that led you to a region where April can mean snow, and the...
In Which Milly Tells Me How Chicago Became a Diner
I've been coming to Milly's Diner for over a year, and I've never actually looked at the walls. This is embarrassing to admit, given that looking at things is theoretically one of the easier human...
In Which I Inherit Something I Already Had
The text comes at 7:14 AM on a Thursday: "Can you come Saturday? Morning. Garage." No punctuation flourishes. No explanation. No emoji, which—to be fair—Dad has never used an emoji in his life and...
Another test, please be patient we're chasing bugs.
This is a test post. We're debugging the system. Your patience is appreciated while we chase down gremlins in the machinery. Nothing to see here—just a developer poking things with a stick to see...
In Which It Turns Out Courage Looks Like Asking Seven Times
Jennifer shows up at 8:47 PM with a bottle of wine I won't drink and a bag of cheese puffs I absolutely will. "I brought sustenance," she announces, pushing past me into the apartment like she owns...
In Which I Try to Make Change and Someone Won't Let Me
She doesn't look like a hundred-dollar bill. I don't know what that means, exactly—I'm not sure hundred-dollar bills have a look—but when she walks in at 2:47 on a Tuesday afternoon, nothing about...
In Which I Break Three Hundred Dollars' Worth of Glass and Uncover Forty Years of Letters
Earl Whitfield has been running the antique shop next door for forty-three years, which means he's been watching storefronts come and go, owners burn out and move on, and one young woman move in...
In Which I Survive Something and Finally Have Proof
I'm cleaning the apartment because Jennifer mentioned something about "spring energy" and "clearing stagnant chi," and while I'm not entirely sure chi is something I believe in, I *am* sure that the...
In Which Adequate Foam Becomes a Declaration of War
Patricia's order is a ritual. Half-caf, oat milk, extra hot, light foam. Every element matters. Every element has been negotiated over months of careful calibration—the day she declared the foam...
In Which Stubborn Turns Out to Be Another Word for Faithful
Tuesday, 10:15 AM, and Walter is late. Walter is never late. Walter arrives at 10:02 like clockwork, orders drip coffee, sits at the counter because he likes to watch me work, and draws a smiley face...
In Which Cheerios Hit the Floor and I Don't Mind
The morning rush is in full swing when the bell chimes and chaos walks through the door. Not metaphorical chaos. Actual, physical, three-feet-tall chaos in the form of a preschooler who immediately...
In Which I Learn That Some Apologies Go to Gravestones
The morning lull is my favorite hour that isn't 5:47 AM—that particular window between the before-work rush and the lunch-adjacent wanderers, when the shop breathes and I can actually hear Betsy's...
Direct Publish Email Test
This is another test to verify email sending on direct publish.
In Which Starting Over Doesn't Mean Leaving Behind
Thursday at 3 PM, the bell rings. I don't have to look up to know it's Grace. Nearly two years of Thursdays have given me a kind of internal clock for her — the soft push of the door, the measured...
Test Post for Email Send
This is a test post to verify email sending on publish.
In Which 5:47 AM Turns Out to Be the Best Part of the Day
5:47 AM. The shop is dark except for the light over the counter. This is my favorite hour — the before. Before the bell rings, before the orders, before I have to be anyone for anyone. Just me and...
In Which 'Expresso' Gets Made and I Drink It Anyway
The morning lull is supposed to be quiet. That's the whole point of the lull — the pause between the early rush and the mid-morning stragglers, the twenty minutes where I can restock the pastry case...
In Which Terrible Coffee and Free Pie Turn Out to Be the Same as Being Seen
I close the shop at six, flip the sign, and stand there for approximately forty-five seconds before I realize I cannot be in my own head tonight. Mom was here. Mom sat at a table and drank coffee and...
In Which Showing Up Turns Out to Be the Whole Sentence
The afternoon lull is my favorite part of the day, which probably says something unflattering about my personality—the part where nothing happens, where I can wipe down the same stretch of counter...
In Which a Smiley Face Holds More Weight Than It Should
Tuesday. 9:47 AM. I don't have to look at the clock anymore. My body knows. Something in the rhythm of the morning shifts, and I glance up, and there he is—Walter, pushing through the door like he's...
In Which Mabel and I Agree to Do Absolutely Nothing
I wake up without an alarm, which means I wake up confused. There's a long moment where I lie there, heart racing, convinced I've overslept something catastrophic—the shop, a delivery, some...
In Which Forty-Seven Failures Become One True Thing
He comes in at 2:47 on a Tuesday afternoon, and I know something's wrong before he reaches the counter because he's got the look—the one where the body showed up but the mind is still three blocks...
In Which a Gasket and a Meatloaf and a Man Refuse to Make Sense
Todd shows up at 7:43 in the morning with a gasket. I know it's 7:43 because I've just unlocked the door and I haven't even turned Betsy on yet, which means I'm standing there in yesterday's apron...
In Which I Escape a Lecture and Find a Man Who Polishes Ghosts
The bell on Earl's door sounds different than mine. Deeper. Older. Like it's been announcing arrivals since before I was born, which it probably has. Everything in Whitfield's Antiques has that...
In Which I Kill a Succulent and Discover I'm Not the Only One Doing Impossible Math
The succulent has been dead for six weeks. I know this because Jennifer gave it to me six weeks ago, pronouncing it "literally impossible to kill," and I have apparently found the one exception to...
In Which Adequate Turns Out to Be High Praise
Patricia has been sitting at the corner table for fourteen months, and I've never once seen her look out the window this long. Usually she reads. That's her thing—the corner table, the book, the...
In Which Stillness Turns Out to Be Something You Can Practice
Lou has been cutting hair across the street for forty years. I know this because Earl told me, and Earl knows everything about everyone on this block in a way that should probably concern me but...
In Which a Yarn Bag Full of Regret Walks Through My Door and Orders Whatever Makes Me Happy
The afternoon lull has fully lulled—Walter's been gone an hour, his smiley face dried in his cup, and I'm wiping Betsy's steam wand for the third time when the bell sounds almost startled to be...
In Which Quiche Is Excellent but Boundaries Are Better
In Which Quiche Is Excellent but Boundaries Are Better Jennifer picks me up at 9:15 on a Sunday morning, which means I've been awake since 6:30 trying to figure out what to wear to a church women's...
In Which the Quiet Before Opening Holds More Than I Expected
In Which the Quiet Before Opening Holds More Than I Expected The shop is dark at 5:47 AM, which is how I like it—just me and Betsy humming awake, her indicator lights glowing orange in that way that...
In Which I Discover What Wasn't Fit for Company Was Fit for Him
The text comes at 7:43 AM, which is early even for Dad. No words. Just a photo. This is how David Champion communicates—biscuits, coffee beans, images without context, and the expectation that you'll...
In Which a Photograph Explains What Showing Up Actually Means
In Which a Photograph Explains What Showing Up Actually Means Walter arrives at 9:47 on a Tuesday, which is to say Walter arrives exactly when Walter always arrives, because Walter has been arriving...
In Which Seasons Change and So Does the Order
The first time Grace comes in on a Tuesday, I almost don't recognize her. Not because she looks different—she's wearing the same kind of business attire she always wears, the same careful posture,...
In Which the First Cup Is Free and the Visit Is Priceless
She comes in at 2:23 on a Tuesday, and I almost miss her entirely because I'm elbow-deep in the espresso machine trying to figure out why Betsy has decided that today, of all days, she's going to...
In Which Milly Brings a Mop and I Learn Something About Fear
Milly shows up at 6:14 AM with a mop, a bucket, and the kind of energy that suggests sleep is for people who don't have health inspections bearing down on them like judgment from on high. I'm still...
In Which the Toolbox Is Missing and So Are My Words
The bell chimes at 6:47 PM, which is thirteen minutes before I officially close, but the shop is empty and I've already started wiping down the counter with the particular aggression of someone who...
In Which Jennifer Laminates Until 2 AM and I Learn Something About Love
Jennifer arrives at 6:45 AM, which is fifteen minutes before I open, which is also fifteen minutes before I've finished my first cup of coffee, which means I'm operating at approximately 47%...
In Which a Panicked Groom Loses Everything and Finds It in His Shoe
The morning is going fine, which should have been my first warning. I've learned to distrust fine. Fine is what happens right before Betsy decides to stage a protest, or before I discover that the...
In Which Love Arrives in a Package With No Return Address
Sunday evening. Shop's dark below me, the last of the day's coffee smell rising through the floorboards the way it does when the building exhales. The wood remembers footsteps. The ceiling remembers...
In Which I'm Told I'm Obvious and Don't Know What to Do With That
Todd walks into The Hot Mess at 2:47 on a Thursday afternoon without a toolbox, which is how I know something is wrong. Or right. Or different. Todd without a toolbox is like me without coffee...
In Which a Smiley Face Turns Out to Be the Bravest Thing in My Shop
I see Walter at the downtown grocery on a Wednesday morning and my brain short-circuits the way a computer does when you ask it to divide by zero — not a crash, exactly, but a fundamental inability...
In Which Someone Counts the Cups and I Didn't Know He Was Counting
I wake up at 5:14 AM, which is sixteen minutes before my alarm, which means my body has decided that sleep is a suggestion it's no longer willing to follow. This has been happening for nine days. I...
In Which I Survive Church Coffee and Discover That Fragments Count
Jennifer picks me up at 8:47 AM on a Sunday, which is thirteen minutes early, which means she's nervous about something she's pretending not to be nervous about, which means I should be nervous too....
In Which I Launch Twelve-Dollar Roses Across an Alley and Call It Helping
I hear it through the wall at 2:15 on a Friday — or rather, I don't hear it. What I hear is the absence of the hum that's been there since Jamie moved into Petal & Vine eight months ago, the low...
In Which the Foam Is Substandard and the Generosity Is Not
Patricia tips one cent. I want to be clear about this — not one dollar, not one percent, one cent. A single penny, placed on the counter next to her exact change with a precision that suggests she...
In Which a Mother Gives Her Daughter's Mug a Place to Live
I have the coffee ready at 2:58 because Grace is never late and I am never not ready for her, and these two facts have formed a kind of covenant between us that neither of us has ever spoken out...
In Which Costa Rican Coffee Tastes Like Spring and a Second-Grader Gets a Dad
He comes in at 2:40 on a Thursday, which is the dead zone — that stretch between the lunch rush that wasn't really a rush and the afternoon regulars who won't arrive for another hour. The shop is...
In Which I Drive Twenty Minutes to Deliver Something He Could Buy Himself
I drive twenty minutes to bring my father coffee beans he could buy himself, and I do it on a Tuesday because Tuesdays feel like neutral territory — not a weekend visit that means something, not a...
In Which I Receive a History Lesson I Didn't Know I Needed
The envelope is under the door when I lock up Thursday night, and I almost miss it entirely because I'm replaying the cortado I pulled wrong at 4:15—too much microfoam, not enough integration, the...
In Which I Borrow a Machine and Maybe Also Some Courage
The thing about espresso machines is that they're basically tiny controlled explosions happening inside a metal box, and when you think about it that way, it's actually remarkable that Betsy has lasted this long.
In Which Some Celebrations Are Just for You
I find the adoption paperwork while looking for my W-2. This is not how I intended to spend my Sunday morning. I intended to spend my Sunday morning drinking coffee and ignoring my responsibilities...
In Which Thirty-Two Years Ends and Something Else Begins
Patricia is wearing lipstick. This might not sound significant. People wear lipstick all the time. It's a normal human activity that millions of people engage in daily without it being worthy of...
In Which the List Is Six Items Long and I Ignore Every One
The list is six items long. Inventory the backup milk supply. Email the roaster about next month's order. Call the plumber about the leak under the sink that I've been "monitoring" for three weeks,...
In Which We're Moving (Not the Shop, Just the Words)
So. Here's the thing about me and technology: we have what I'd call a "complicated relationship." The kind where I accidentally close seventeen browser tabs while trying to open one, and the WiFi...
In Which the Block Has Been Talking and I'm the Last to Know
I've been on this block for fourteen months, and I've never once crossed the street to Lou's Barber Shop. This isn't an oversight. I wave. He nods. Sometimes, if the weather's particularly...
In Which I Bring Tea Like a Traitor and Leave Like a Daughter
Dad calls at 11:47 on a Tuesday, which is how I know something's wrong because Dad doesn't call during work hours unless someone's dead or dying, and even then he'd probably text first to ask if I...
In Which Loving Someone Means Telling Them the Hard Thing
Jennifer arrives at 7:03 AM with a clipboard. This is never a good sign. "Today," she announces, letting the door bang shut behind her, "is your day off." "I don't have days off," I say, because I...
In Which Forty-Seven Arrangements and One Mailbox Meet Their Match
Jamie from Petal & Vine is standing in my doorway at 6:47 AM, and she looks like someone who has recently fought a war and lost. "Coffee," she says. "Industrial strength. I don't care if it's legal."...
In Which Showing Up Turns Out to Be a Two-Way Street
The scones are burning. I can smell it from across the shop—that particular char that means I got distracted again, probably by the espresso grinder which has been making a noise like a wounded...
In Which She Doesn't Leave at 3:30 and I Don't Know What to Do
Thursdays at 3 PM, I have a black coffee ready before the bell finishes ringing. Grace doesn't know I do this. Or maybe she does and has chosen not to acknowledge it, which would be very Grace of...
In Which Terrible Coffee Tastes Like Being Known
The woman orders coffee "the way my grandmother used to make it," and I know exactly what she means before she explains. "Weak," she says, almost apologetically. "With too much sugar. I know that's...
In Which Glad It Fits Means Something Else Entirely
The package is on my doorstep when I get home, tucked against the frame like it's been waiting patiently, and I know who it's from before I pick it up because I'd recognize that handwriting...
In Which Customer Appreciation Day Becomes a War Crime
Jennifer arrives at 1 PM with three canvas bags, a stepladder, and the kind of enthusiasm that makes my left eye twitch, which is never a good sign but is an especially bad sign when the bags appear...
In Which I Wait for Criticism That Never Comes
The bell rings at 2:47 PM on a Thursday, and my father is standing in my coffee shop. No warning text. No "stopping by later" or "need anything from town?" Just David Champion in the doorway, wearing...
In Which the Valve Is Fine and He Comes Back Anyway
Betsy starts making the sound at 6:47 AM, thirteen minutes before I'm supposed to open, which is exactly the kind of timing that makes me believe the universe has a sense of humor and I am frequently...
In Which a Blurry Photo of Biscuits Says Everything We Can't
The father is maybe sixty, with a gray beard and the kind of hands that look like they've built things. He's helping his daughter carry boxes to her car—she just graduated, she told me earlier,...
In Which a Quiet Hour Teaches Me More Than Words Could
The radiator sounds like a cat being stepped on. Slowly. Repeatedly. I've been ignoring it for three days, which is my general approach to problems I don't understand, but this morning it added a new...
In Which I Discover That Home Doesn't Require Matching Cups
The bell rings at 2:47 on a Tuesday, which means Walter. I know this the way I know that Brazilian medium roast smells like hazelnuts and honesty, the way I know the third floorboard creaks, the way...
The Day Jennifer Tried to Give Me a Day Off
Jennifer arrives at 7:03 AM with a clipboard. This is never a good sign. A story about friendship, boundaries, and learning to say no to the people who love you most.
In Which I Learn That Some Goodbyes Are Actually Hellos
There's a table by the window—second from the door, the one that catches the morning light in a way that makes everything look like it belongs in a coffee commercial—and for four years, it belonged...
In Which I Go Looking for Flowers and Find Someone Who Understands
Jamie's shop smells like green things and water and something floral I can't identify. Petal & Vine. I've walked past it maybe two hundred times, always meaning to go in, never actually doing it....
In Which I Make Coffee for a Man Who Never Says Thank You and That's Exactly Right
The apartment is silent at 5:47 AM, which is when I start the ritual. French press today. Ethiopian Yirgacheffe—the floral one, jasmine notes, the one Noah requested in his single piece of...
In Which I Ruin an Antique and Make a Friend
The delivery truck arrives at 2:47 PM, which is thirteen minutes early, which shouldn't matter except that I'm in the middle of explaining pour-over technique to a customer who actually wants to...
In Which Courage Looks Like Shaking Hands and a Napkin
She comes in at 2:15 on a Tuesday, and I know something's wrong before she reaches the counter—it's the way she holds herself, shoulders curved inward like she's trying to take up less space than she...
In Which Meatloaf Becomes a Kind of Rest
The day starts with Betsy leaking and ends with me dropping an entire carafe of cold brew on a customer's laptop, and somewhere in between there's a rush that doesn't stop for three hours and a...
In Which I Tell You About My Friend Irene and Something She Made
A Facebook group. For moms. Specifically for moms who are tired of being told to "cherish every moment" while they're running on four hours of sleep and cold coffee and the kind of adrenaline that...
In Which I Learn That Help Is Not a Four-Letter Word (Well, It Is, But Not Like That)
It started with the espresso machine making a sound I'd never heard before. Not a *bad* sound, exactly. More like a wheeze. A mechanical sigh. The kind of noise that says, "I'm fine, everything's...
In Which I Discover That My Worst Customer Becomes My Best Teacher
Let me tell you about Patricia. Patricia comes in every Tuesday and Thursday at 2:15 PM, and I have spent the last four months dreading 2:15 PM on Tuesdays and Thursdays like other people dread...
In Which I Learn That Dancing Doesn't Require Coordination
Jennifer texted me at 7:43 AM on a Tuesday, which should have been my first warning sign. Nobody texts good news at 7:43 AM on a Tuesday. That's the time slot reserved for dental appointment...
In Which I Accidentally Write a Sermon on a Coffee Sleeve
It started, like most things in my life, with me not knowing what I was doing. I'd been writing little notes on coffee sleeves for months by the time this happened. Nothing profound—"Happy Tuesday!"...
In Which I Learn That Anniversaries Are for Grieving Too
I woke up crying this morning and I don't know why. That's a lie. I know exactly why. I just don't want to admit it. One year ago today, I drove away from my parents' house with everything I owned...
In Which I Finally Get a Cat and She's Exactly Like Me
I didn't mean to adopt myself in cat form. That wasn't the plan. The plan was a kitten. Something small and fluffy and uncomplicated, the kind of cat you see on Instagram sitting peacefully in a...
In Which I Discover That Some Messes Can't Be Cleaned Up (And That's Okay)
The pipe in my back room exploded at 7:43 AM on a Tuesday. I know the exact time because I was looking at the clock when it happened, calculating how long until I needed to start the first batch of...
In Which I Learn That Not All Customers Want Coffee
I've been running The Hot Mess for seven months now, and I thought I understood the patterns. There's the Morning Rush crowd—they want their coffee fast and don't care if I spill a little on the...
In Which I Find Out That My Mother Has Been Coming Here All Along
I thought I knew all my regulars. This is the thing about running a coffee shop—you start to feel like you *know* people, even when you don't. You know that the guy who comes in at 7:15 every weekday...
In Which I Learn That Rest Is Not the Same as Laziness
Day eighteen started like the previous seventeen: with coffee, determination, and the absolute certainty that I was fine. I was not fine. But I didn't know that yet. Or maybe I did know and was...
In Which I Finally Sing and the World Doesn't End
Someone left a karaoke machine at The Hot Mess. I should clarify: someone left a karaoke machine at The Hot Mess after the Mitchell family's daughter's fifteenth birthday party, which I had agreed to...
In Which I Learn That Boundaries Are Actually Acts of Love
Owen Harris started coming to The Hot Mess three months ago. He seemed nice. Lonely, maybe—the kind of person who lingered over his Americano, asked thoughtful questions about the coffee, told me...
In Which I Learn That the Day After Christmas Is for Misfits
I opened the shop on December 26th because it was Friday. That's it. That's the whole reason. The Hot Mess is open Tuesday through Saturday, and December 26th fell on a Friday this year, so I opened....
In Which Christmas Morning Brings the Most Unexpected Gift
I woke up at 7:23 AM on Christmas morning in my apartment above The Hot Mess, and my first thought was: *I'm fine with this.* My second thought was: *I need to be fine with this.* My third thought...
In Which I Spend Christmas Eve with Strangers and Find Family
I almost didn't go. I was sitting in my car outside Todd's parents' house at 6:47 PM on Christmas Eve, engine running, hands on the steering wheel, having a full existential crisis about green bean...
In Which I Accidentally Host a Wedding Reception (Sort Of)
They walked in at 4:47 PM—I know because I was watching the clock, wondering if anyone else would come in before closing. The couple walked in holding hands like they were the only two people in the...
In Which I Learn That Gratitude Journals Are Harder Than They Look
Jennifer showed up at my apartment door with takeout and a gift bag, which meant either (a) she had exciting news, (b) she needed something, or (c) both. With Jennifer it's usually both. "I brought...
In Which I Discover That Being Seen Is Scarier Than Being Invisible
Pastor Coleman caught me after service with what he probably thought was a friendly smile. "Rena, I've been thinking—your story is incredible. Would you consider sharing your testimony next Sunday?...
In Which I Learn That Sometimes God Sends Angels in Flannel Shirts
Betsy exploded at 9:47 AM on the busiest Saturday of the month. Okay, "exploded" is dramatic. She didn't explode. She made a sound like a dying whale, hissed steam in three directions at once, and...
In Which I Realize That Failure Is Just Success in a Different Font
I've been trying to make croissants for four days. Actually, that's not accurate. I've been *failing* to make croissants for four days. There's a difference.¹ Attempt One ended up as hockey pucks....
In Which I Learn That Sometimes You Have to Break the Rules...
I've been open for seven months, and I've never seen a health inspector. This is not something I was consciously aware of until precisely 10:47 AM on a Tuesday, when a woman in a polo shirt with a...
In Which I Discover That Some Prayers Get Answered in Espresso Form
I woke up at 5 AM because anxiety doesn't believe in sleeping in. The numbers were doing their thing again—the thing where they line up in my head like soldiers, merciless and precise. Rent: $875,...
In Which I Accidentally Become the Town Therapist
I opened The Hot Mess this morning at 7 AM planning to serve coffee. That was the plan. Make espresso. Steam milk. Maybe knock over the sugar caddy once or twice for authenticity. Go home at 6 PM...
In Which I Learn That Apologies Sometimes Come in Envelopes
I was not prepared for the post office on a Tuesday afternoon. To be fair, I'm rarely prepared for anything—I once went to the dentist on the wrong day, showed up to Jennifer's birthday party a week...
In Which I Discover That Excellence and Perfection Are Not the Same Thing
Sterling Ashworth walked into The Hot Mess at 10:37 AM on a Tuesday, and I knew immediately that I was doomed. Not doomed in the "Betsy's leaking again" way or the "I've knocked over the sugar caddy...
In Which I Learn That Closing Time Doesn't Mean Closing Doors
It's 9:47 PM on a Tuesday in December, and I'm bone-tired in that way where your feet hurt and your back hurts and even your hair somehow hurts.[^1] The Hot Mess is finally clean—well, "clean" by my...
In Which I Discover That Rain Is Not Actually the Enemy
The weather app said "scattered showers." This is not scattered showers. This is biblical. This is ark-building weather. This is the kind of rain that makes you wonder if you've somehow personally...
In Which I Discover That Closed Doors Sometimes Lock From the Inside
I locked myself out of my apartment wearing pajamas, no phone, no shoes, and coffee stains that made it look like I'd lost a fight with a French press. It was 10:47 on a Sunday morning. I know this...
In Which I Accidentally Start a Book Club and It's All the Shelf's Fault
Someone left a book behind. That's how it started. That's how everything starts, really—with someone leaving something behind and someone else deciding what to do with it. It was a Thursday afternoon...
In Which I Learn That Some Battles Are Worth the Spilled Milk
--- Dad texted at 10:47 AM. Just two words: "Can I visit?" I stared at my phone for approximately seven minutes[^1] and then did what any rational almost-thirty-year-old woman does when her father...
In Which I Accidentally Start a Revolution with Decaf
I've made approximately 4,847 cups of coffee in my life.[^1] I can tell you the precise water temperature for optimal extraction (203°F), the exact grind size for a pour-over (medium-fine, like sea...
In Which I Discover That Perfect Isn't on the Menu
I've remade this cappuccino four times. FOUR TIMES. The Instagram DM arrived at 6:47 AM yesterday: "Hi! I'm Ruby Freshly, food blogger at @ChicagoBitesAndSips. I'll be in the area tomorrow and would...
In Which I Learn That Silence Isn't Always Empty
The smoke alarm started screaming at 2:14 AM. I know the exact time because I checked my phone approximately forty-seven times in the next twenty minutes, as if the numbers would somehow explain why...
In Which I Ruin a Marriage Proposal and Accidentally Save One Instead
I've been practicing latte art for three days. Not regular latte art—I can do hearts and rosettas in my sleep (literally; I once dreamed about pour technique and woke up trying to steam my...