Claire Morgan And Her Damn Coffee Cup

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In the cup that Claire Morgan was drinking out of was hot black coffee. On the outside of the cup it read WORLDS BEST MOM and Clarie could not stop thinking about whether the waiter chose the cup specifically for her. She was a regular. She knew her waiters name (Michael or Richard).  Holding her egg and cheese croissant, the bacon twisted it’s way onto the outer portion of the sandwich, and taking her first bite—it fell. ‘He’s seen me in here with a couple guys,’ she thought—wiping her chin. ‘Is he making a joke of my promiscuity. That’s my business. I’m twenty four. I’m not a Mom.’

“Claire, good to see you.”
“Good to see you.”
“Where you been?”
“Working. Busy at work; people getting laid off.”
“Yeah, it’s terrible. I’m just happy to have a job.”
“Yeah. Richard?”
“Michael.”
“Michael, sorry.”
“That’s, ok.”
“Why this cup?”
“What cup?”
Pause
“You don’t even know what I’m talking about.”
“Sorry.”
“I had it in my mind that you picked this cup for me, every time I come in. I guess you have a lot of these cups.”
“‘World’s Best Mom’ cups? No, that’s the only one.”
“I get it every time I come.”
“Oh.”
“I come a lot.”
“Ah.”
“I stopped coming here because you kept giving me this cup.”
“Do you get it when you’re being waited on by someone else?”
“No.”
“Only me?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, that’s weird.”
“It is.”
Pause
“You’ll never be a Mom.”
“That is none of your business.”
“You’re not getting any younger.”
“You’re a loser and a waiter.”
“You don’t need these guys.”
“I can get you fired.”
“I’m only telling you this cause I care.”
“Could we order, please?”

Michael the waiter traded one last glance with Claire Morgan and rounded the four top with his notepad and pencil. Claire lifted her mug to her mouth and gulped—burning her tongue. She put down her cup with cold purpose, closed both her eyes, and pretended it didn’t hurt. Moving her hair away from her face, she glanced toward her home-delivered copy of the Times. She’d be reading this later with a cigarette, and there would be no need to worry about second hand smoke. There would be no daycare to visit. No diapers to pick up. No parent/teacher conference to make room for in her schedule. She could be as leisurely as she liked. There was nothing stopping her. She would never have a child and no one would make her feel bad about it.

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