Chapter 16: The Underdog Gets Away
The gang arrived at 10:47 AM on November 23rd, already arguing about Thanksgiving logistics.
"I'm making everything from scratch," Monica announced, dumping her bag on the orange couch. "Turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, three kinds of pie—"
"That's insane," Chandler interrupted. "You know there are stores that sell pre-made food specifically for this purpose, right?"
"Pre-made is for people who don't care about quality."
"Pre-made is for people who don't want to spend eighteen hours in the kitchen."
I was restocking cups behind the counter, half-listening while tracking the morning rush. Thanksgiving Eve brought different energy—people hurrying to finish errands before the holiday, the city preparing to slow down for twenty-four hours.
Rachel was complaining about missing her family's Thanksgiving. "My mom always makes this amazing sweet potato casserole with the little marshmallows on top. And we'd watch the parade and eat until we couldn't move."
"You can do all that tomorrow," Joey said. "Monica's making turkey, we got a TV, and I personally plan to eat until I explode."
"It's not the same." Rachel's voice carried genuine sadness. "It's my first Thanksgiving away from home."
I almost said something. Almost offered sympathy or encouragement. Then I remembered: I was still just the coffee guy. Rachel had thanked me before, had noticed small kindnesses, but we weren't at the level where I could comment on her family feelings.
So I made her coffee with yellow and pink light combined—hope and warmth—and brought it to her table without explanation.
She accepted it absently, still talking about her mother's casserole.
The morning shift crawled by. Terry had given me Thanksgiving Day off—Central Perk would be closed, one of the few days all year—which meant I'd spend tomorrow in my studio apartment with a frozen dinner and whatever was on TV.
I'd thought about buying a small turkey. Cooking a real meal. Pretending the holiday mattered.
But who was I pretending for? Myself? That felt pathetic.
Around 2 PM, the door opened and Caroline Walsh entered with a man I didn't recognize. Expensive suit, confident walk, the bearing of someone who made important decisions before breakfast.
"Gunther," Caroline said, approaching the counter with a smile. "I want to introduce you to someone. This is Marcus Chen, colleague of mine at Merrill Lynch. Marcus, this is Gunther—he makes the best coffee in Manhattan."
Marcus offered his hand and I shook it. "Caroline's been raving about this place for weeks. Figured I should finally check it out."
"What can I get you?"
"Whatever you recommend."
I used Passive Glimpse while making his espresso, concentrating briefly.
The vision came sharp and clear: Marcus in a glass conference room, pointing at charts that showed growth trajectories. Multiple people listening intently, taking notes. The energy of power, influence, money flowing through boardrooms.
The tingle at the base of my skull confirmed the cost, but this was worth it. Marcus was higher up the food chain than Caroline—senior management, maybe VP level.
I made both of their drinks with pink light active, building that warm connection to the space.
They settled at a table near the window, discussing something about quarterly projections. I went back to serving other customers, but I'd made my investment.
Fifteen minutes later, Marcus approached the counter again.
"Caroline wasn't exaggerating," he said. "That was excellent. What's your secret?"
"Good beans, proper technique, attention to detail."
He studied me for a moment. "You ever think about expanding? This place could franchise easily. You've got the quality, the location, the atmosphere."
"It's not my place to expand. I just work here."
"Shame." He handed me his business card—thicker stock than Caroline's, more embossed. "If you ever want to discuss business opportunities, call me. I invest in promising ventures."
Two business cards in two months. The network was growing faster than I'd anticipated.
Caroline - 2:47 PM
Caroline Walsh watched Marcus hand the barista his card and smiled to herself.
She'd been right. Gunther wasn't just a good barista—he had something else. An instinct for reading people, for providing exactly what they needed. Marcus was notoriously hard to impress, but the coffee had done it.
More than that, Gunther had handled the conversation perfectly. No desperate eagerness, no false humility. Just quiet competence and a willingness to let opportunities develop naturally.
He's going to own this place someday, Caroline thought. And when he does, I want to be one of his investors.
She made a mental note to keep cultivating the relationship. People with Gunther's combination of skill and patience were rare. Worth investing in early.
The afternoon shift passed in a blur of orders and transactions. The gang left around 4 PM to prepare for Monica's Thanksgiving feast, still arguing about cooking methods and portion sizes.
By 6 PM, Central Perk was mostly empty. Just a few stragglers finishing drinks and a college student studying for exams.
Terry emerged from the office at closing time.
"You got plans tomorrow?" he asked while I counted the register.
"Not really. Quiet day at home."
"No family dinner?"
"No family in the city."
Terry nodded, understanding. "Well, enjoy the day off. You've earned it."
He left through the back door, and I finished the closing routine alone.
Lights off. Register counted. Surfaces wiped down. Everything ready for Friday's reopening.
I locked the front door at 9:30 PM and stepped into November cold.
The grocery store on my block was still open. I walked in, grabbed a pre-made turkey dinner for one, and brought it home to my studio apartment.
Tomorrow, the gang would have their chaotic Thanksgiving. Monica would cook too much food, they'd get locked out of the apartment, the dinner would be ruined, and they'd bond over disaster.
I'd seen it play out on TV a dozen times. Tomorrow, I'd experience it secondhand through their retelling on Friday.
And that was fine. Not every moment needed to be about them. Sometimes I just needed to exist in my own space, living my own life.
I put the frozen dinner in the tiny freezer and looked around my apartment. Small. Clean. Utterly lonely.
But it was mine. This life, this second chance, this opportunity to build something—all mine.
The network was growing. Five wealthy regulars now, plus Caroline and Marcus's explicit offers of business connections. The gang knew my name, sought me out for small kindnesses, had invited me to sit with them during the blackout.
Progress was slow. But it was real.
I fell asleep thinking about Thanksgiving—not the family holiday I'd never have, but the quiet day of rest I'd chosen.
Not every holiday had to be perfect. Sometimes survival was enough.
Note:
Please give good reviews and power stones itrings more people and more people means more chapters?
My Patreon is all about exploring 'What If' timelines, and you can get instant access to chapters far ahead of the public release.
Choose your journey:
Timeline Viewer ($6): Get 10 chapters of early access + 5 new chapters weekly.
Timeline Explorer ($9): Jump 15-20 chapters ahead of everyone.
Timeline Keeper ($15): Get Instant Access to chapters the moment I finish writing them. No more waiting.
Read the raw, unfiltered story as it unfolds. Your support makes this possible!
👉 Find it all at patreon.com/Whatif0