The Sign at the Long Table

At 2:17 on a Tuesday afternoon, Lin Xiao pushed open the glass door of the Starbucks, her right hand still clutching her phone. The screen showed the sixth round of revisions the client had just sent. She walked automatically toward the long table against the back-left wall, but stopped two meters away.

A small acrylic sign stood on the table, white with green text. The font was not large, but it sat very straight: “Please leave seats for customers who have ordered. Thank you for understanding.”

Lin Xiao glanced at her own hand. No cup. She had come to wait for someone. The other person had said three o’clock. She was forty minutes early and had planned to grab a seat first, then order together when the other arrived. Now she stood in the middle of the aisle. To her left was the empty long table. To her right was the sofa area where three people were already sitting. The strap of her bag cut into her shoulder.

She retreated to a high stool by the ordering counter and sat down without ordering anything. Xiao Chen, behind the bar, was wiping cups. His eyes flicked toward her, then toward the sign. His hand slowed for half a beat.

At 2:24, Lao Zhou came in.

Lao Zhou was a familiar face in the area, a real-estate agent in his mid-forties. Every afternoon he showed up on time, carrying a thermos with chipped paint and a single-strap bag, heading straight for the innermost seat at the long table. Today he wore a dark blue polo shirt, the collar washed soft and stretched. As he passed the sign, he glanced down, reached out, and moved it five centimeters to the side. Then he sat down, unscrewed his thermos, took out his phone, and started scrolling short videos. The sound was on speaker. Not loud, but audible.

Xiao Chen poked his head out from behind the bar. His lips moved, but no sound came out. Last week the store manager had told him off once: “Don’t get into conflicts with customers. Especially don’t hard-remove anyone.” The cloth in his hand twisted once, then loosened.

Lin Xiao sat on the high stool, her phone screen lit, but she wasn’t looking at it. Lao Zhou moved the sign with practiced ease, the way someone might move a soy sauce bottle out of the way. Last month she had sat at that long table herself. That day she had ordered an oat latte, taken two sips, set it down, and then revised her proposal for two hours. The cup had not moved again. No one had said anything to her that day.

At 2:41, Zhang Jie pushed a stroller in.

Zhang Jie lived in the neighboring apartment compound and occasionally came in with her child. She looked at the seats first. Seeing an empty spot at the long table, she pushed the stroller toward it. Halfway there, she saw the sign. She stopped, looked down at the child in the stroller, then up at the ordering counter. Four people were in line. She stood there for about three seconds, thinking, then turned the stroller around and headed for the door. As she passed Lin Xiao, Lin Xiao heard her whisper to the child: “Mommy will take you downstairs to ride the kiddie car.”

The glass door opened and closed. Zhang Jie’s stroller disappeared into the mall corridor. This time Xiao Chen lowered his head. The wiping cloth rubbed back and forth on the same cup seven or eight times.

At 3:02, the person Lin Xiao was waiting for arrived. A man in a gray suit pushed the door open and waved to her. Lin Xiao got down from the high stool, and they walked together to the counter. She ordered an Americano. The man ordered a flat white. As Xiao Chen entered the order, he glanced at her and said, “Just a moment, it’ll be ready soon.”

Lin Xiao carried her coffee toward the long table, passing behind Lao Zhou. Lao Zhou was still scrolling short videos, his thermos lid open, a half-smoked pack of Hongtashan cigarettes beside it. The long table could seat eight. Only he was sitting there.

Lin Xiao sat at the other end of the long table, the gray-suited man across from her. They talked about the proposal, voices low. The sound of Lao Zhou’s videos drifted over from the other end: a livestream about bargaining techniques for secondhand apartments.

At 3:40, Xiao Chen began clearing the nearby tables. When he wiped near Lao Zhou, his cloth circled Lao Zhou’s thermos once, but in the end did not touch the cup. Lao Zhou looked up. Xiao Chen said, “Sir, may I help you clear any trash?” Lao Zhou said no need. Xiao Chen said okay. Then he walked away.

At 4:10, Lin Xiao had finished her coffee and the proposal discussion. The gray-suited man left first. She stayed to pack up her computer. At the other end of the long table, Lao Zhou was still there, his thermos empty, his phone plugged into a power bank, the speaker now playing a short video about international affairs.

Lin Xiao put her computer in her bag, zipped it, and stood up. As she passed the sign, she glanced down. The sign still stood where Lao Zhou had moved it, five centimeters from the table edge, text facing outward, visible to everyone who came in.

She pushed the door open and went out. The mall corridor was heavily air-conditioned. Before the glass door closed behind her, she heard Xiao Chen talking quietly to another barista. He was saying, “The manager said next week we’re making a bigger one.”

Lin Xiao walked two steps, then turned back for another look. Through the glass, Lao Zhou was screwing the thermos lid tight and stuffing it into the side pocket of his single-strap bag. Then he took out a cigarette pack, pulled out one cigarette, didn’t light it, put it between his lips, and kept looking at his phone.

The sign still stood there. The words were still the same.

The next day at 2:30 in the afternoon, Lin Xiao came again. This time she ordered first and only walked to the long table after getting her cup. Lao Zhou was already there. The sign had been moved to the middle of the table. Three people sat on each side, and all of them had cups.

She found a seat near the edge and opened her computer. At the next table, a girl was on a video call with a friend, her voice a little loud. She was saying, “I’m telling you, it’s so hard to get a seat at this Starbucks.” Lin Xiao lowered her head and revised the proposal. By the third page, she heard Xiao Chen saying to a young man who had just walked in, “Sir, for these seats, you may need to order something.”

The young man said, “I’m looking for someone first. I’ll order when I find them.”

Xiao Chen said, “Okay, okay.”

The young man walked in, reached the long table, and patted Lao Zhou on the shoulder. Lao Zhou looked up and took out one earbud. The young man said, “Dad, why are you here again? Mom told you to come home for lunch.”

Lao Zhou said, “What’s the rush? Let me finish this round.”

The young man pulled out a chair and sat down, took out his phone, and started scrolling too.

Xiao Chen stood behind the bar. The wiping cloth in his hand was finally put down. He picked up a mug, placed it under the coffee machine, and pressed the brew button.

Lin Xiao looked at her computer screen. The cursor blinked after the words “Sixth Revision.” She picked up her cup and took a sip. Oat latte, hot. A pickup code was stuck to the side: A037.

At the other end of the long table, Lao Zhou took the cigarette out of his mouth, tucked it behind his ear, and said to his son, “What’s your mom cooking today?”

His son said, “Braised pork.”

Lao Zhou said, “Then let’s go.”

The two stood up. Lao Zhou stuffed the thermos into his bag and, with the same gesture as yesterday, pushed the sign five centimeters to the side. Then father and son walked out one after the other.

The sign stood in the middle of the table. Three cups on each side, most of them still more than half full.

Xiao Chen came over carrying the freshly brewed Americano and set it beside Lin Xiao’s hand. “Your coffee is ready.”

Lin Xiao said, “I didn’t order a second cup.”

Xiao Chen said, “The gentleman who just left ordered it for you. He said he took your seat yesterday while you were waiting for someone. He said to say sorry.”

Lin Xiao paused, then glanced toward the door. Lao Zhou and his son’s backs were just disappearing around the corner of the corridor.

She carried the Americano to the middle of the long table and set it beside the sign. The words on the sign faced the coffee. Steam rose from the cup. The Starbucks siren logo was printed on the side: twin tails, wearing a crown.

Xiao Chen went back behind the bar, hung the wiping cloth on the edge of the sink, and picked up the next cup for the next order.

Lin Xiao opened her computer and continued revising the seventh version.