CONTESSA DOESN’T UNDERSTAND REGULARS

The man at the counter had been sitting in the same spot for exactly forty-two minutes and seventeen seconds.

In that time, he had done the following:

– Ordered a black coffee.

– Drank precisely half of it.

– Grunted in response to Maggie’s greeting.

– Stared at the same page of his newspaper without turning it.

– Said nothing else.

Contessa studied him from behind the counter. He was older, dressed in a worn flannel and jeans, with the general air of someone who had been part of the town for a long time. No one spoke to him except Maggie, yet when he walked in, a few customers had given him nods of acknowledgment. A silent ritual.

He was an anomaly.

Maggie passed by, nudging her elbow as she refilled the sugar dispenser. “Quit staring.”

“I am analyzing.”

“Yeah, well, analyze quieter.”

Contessa turned back to the man. “Who is he?”

Maggie gave her a look. “That’s Earl.”

“That does not answer my question.”

Maggie sighed. “He’s a regular. Comes in every day, orders the same thing, doesn’t say much. That’s just Earl.”

Regular. The word implied consistency. Predictability. Contessa understood that concept well. But something didn’t add up.

“If he does not engage in conversation, why do people acknowledge him?”

Maggie shrugged. “Because he’s Earl.”

Contessa considered this. “That is not a logical answer.”

“That’s small-town life, hon.”

Contessa frowned. “Do regulars serve a purpose?”

“They’re just there. Like furniture, but with opinions.”

Earl grunted from his seat. “I can hear you, y’know.”

Maggie smirked. “Then maybe you should weigh in, Earl. She’s tryna figure you out.”

Earl finally turned the page of his newspaper. “Good luck with that.”

Contessa narrowed her eyes slightly. A challenge.

She picked up the coffee pot and walked over. “Would you like a refill?”

Earl looked at his cup, still half full. He considered. Then, after a long moment, he slid it forward.

She refilled it.

Earl nodded once. “Appreciate it.”

Contessa nodded back. “You are welcome.”

Maggie gave her a look that was both amused and exasperated. “Well, would ya look at that. You made a friend.”

Contessa glanced at Earl. He had already returned to his paper.

“I do not think that is accurate.”

“Sure it is,” Maggie said. “You just don’t get it yet.”