Mint

I love writing short stories, mostly because you don’t have to worry about continuity, character development, or making sure a bunch of plot threads cook properly. You get an idea, you throw it down on paper, edit it a bit, and viola! You have an entire little world, start to finish.

Mint came from a prompt on Reddit about an unobservant person unknowingly working for the mob. I think Mint’s just a kind and gentle soul who doesn’t understand what people are capable of, and that makes her all the more lovable. I know it’s a cliche, but Mint is one of the only characters I can say kinda wrote herself. She wasn’t rude, but she had a very distinct idea of how she should be portrayed.

I’ll let you be the judge on how I did.

Mint wasn't the brightest of bulbs, but she shined enough to keep her from being replaced. Her official title was Guest Relations and Support, but she never let it go to her head. It wasn't much of a feat, though. Not much got to her head, beside cannoli and the earrings her employer bought her.

She smiled sweetly at the balding, middle-aged man sitting on the plastic-covered sofa, her eyes almost disappearing with the effort.

"Coffee while you wait, Mr. Higgins?" she said, extending the tray in her hand.

The man didn't look at her, but shook his head. "N-no, thank you, sweetheart," he said, New York accent thick with trepidation.

Mint frowned. She didn't understand. There'd never been any point where Mr. Vincetti made her feel afraid, the big sweetie pie, and yet, all of these men she brought into the sitting room acted like the carpet cover was going to pop open and send them into a dungeon.

"Well, how about a nice cup of tea, then?"

"No, thank you, miss, I'm fine."

Mint shook her finger playfully at Mr. Higgins. "Now, now, you wouldn't want me to lose my job because I didn't take care of a guest, would you?"

Mr. Higgins looked up at her with a mix of shock and pity. Mint felt her heart swell with a bit more faith in humanity. Here was this obviously nervous man waiting to talk to Mr. Vincetti, but he was so thoughtful that he took her little joke seriously.

"T-tea, then, miss, thank you."

"Coming right up, Mr. Higgins," she said, still balancing the tray of coffee with the poise and intelligence of a Roman statue. She looked back over her shoulder. "And Mr. Higgins, I promise I was just being a kidder, my job's safe. Mr. Vincetti adores me and he treats me right. You don't need to fuss, kind soul that you are, I'm sorry if I upset you!"

Mr. Higgins glanced over, gave a few tiny rapid-fire nods with a tiny flash of a smile, then went back to looking at his reflection in the cover on the coffee table.

Mint frowned again, straining her limited emotional set that made her such a hit with her boss. Mr. Higgins was uncomfortable, and all the cushions kept squeaking. That was probably what was upsetting him. Still holding onto the tray, she leaned into the kitchen and found her sitting spot, replete with several cushions. Usually, it was her sacred little spot to have a quick snack during the rush of Mr. Vincetti's family gatherings, but she could spare a bit to service a guest properly.

Mr. Higgins looked up to see her extending a small lumbar support pillow, the words FAMILY IS FOREVER cross-stitched into the front.

"Here you go, Mr. Higgins. Much better than that synthetic lot you have behind you. Won't crinkle as much when you lean back."

After a short pause, the guest took the pillow with shaking hands. "Thank you again, miss. I won't forget this for the rest of my life."

Waving her free hand, Mint fluttered her eyelashes in full acceptance of this man's obvious flattery. "Oh, pish-posh, it's nothing, Mr. Higgins. Now, let me go see about your tea."

--

She'd forgotten to put the kettle on. She fumed in time with the steadily-building whistle. This was her job, she was supposed to be on top of little things like this. Now she might have to interrupt Mr. Vincetti's meeting, which he *never* liked. He didn't say a cross word to Mint, mind, but Mint liked to think she could read people pretty well, and she knew when Mr. Vincetti was upset. However, she also knew what kind of a man he was, a man of principles, of honor, and very insistent on people keeping their promises. That was one of the reasons she came to work for him in the first place. Too many employers out there without a moral code.

She was just pouring the chamomile to help poor Mr. Higgin's nerves when she heard the "phewp, phewp". Scowling, she packaged up the tea and bustled toward the sitting room. That darned bird Mr. Vincetti's employees told her about must have gotten in the window again. Strange that it did that in the middle of winter, though.

Mint shook her head and soldiered on. Must be some kind of blue jay or other kind of bird that can handle the cold.

She opened the door with her back, then turned about to see Mr. Vincetti standing there. While he was a bit older and pudgier, Mint had to admit he had a certain aura about him that commanded respect. It was attractive, but alas, Mint had resolved long ago not to pursue coworkers romantically. That was what lost her the overseas job with Mr. Sasaki in Tokyo a few years back. She shrugged. One big city was as good as another, she supposed.

"Mint, my dear, what are you doing here?" Mr. Vincetti said, adjusting the back of his belt again. She'd have to talk to his tailor about that. He was always having to haul them up. Might have lost enough weight where he needed to think about taking them in.

"I was just bringing Mr. Higgins some tea, but..." She looked at the matching drag marks coming away from the couch and out the side door. "Well, never mind, looks like someone brought in the drink cart while I was out. Where did Mr. Higgins head off to?"

Mr. Vincetti's smile reminded her of her father's, always so happy to explain something to her. "Oh, Mr. Higgins remembered he had a swimming event he had to get to at the Hudson."

"In the middle of winter, Mr. Vincetti?"

He nodded sagely. "Of course. He's one of those...whattaya call it..." He snapped his thick fingers. "Polar bears, that's it!"

"Like Pete Alonso?"

Her boss laughed, a deep, booming sound. "No, but much like the Mets' chances with Petey in free agency, I don't think we'll see Mr. Higgins around here anymore."

Disappointed that the nervous little man didn't get his tea, Mint felt a pout start to form around her lips. This was her job and she hadn't gotten the kettle on in time.

Sensing her frustration, Mr. Vincetti laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Now, now, Minty, you did good. I heard you from the other room being extremely hospitable. Let me give you something to do to get your mind off it."

He handed her the little pillow, which had some large red droplets scattered across the word family.

Dropping his voice to a near-whisper, he said, "Can you get the stains out of this one before you put it back? That's why we cover the sitting room with all that plastic, to prevent little accidents like this one. I love that you took the initiative to make him comfy, but we gotta use the pillows in here, okay, dear?"

Mint, beaming with every single lumen her dimness could summon, nodded emphatically. She was just happy to be useful. She started toward the laundry room, but then paused. "Oh, did you get the bird out, Mr. Vincetti?"

He looked confused momentarily. "I'm sorry, Minty? The bird?"

"The little one that gets in her from time to time? I heard it in here making its little phewp, phewp noise."

Clarity dawn on Mr. Vincetti's face as he reached toward the back of his belt again. "Oh, yes, right, the bird. Yeah. We got it. Shouldn't sing around here anymore."

Mint gave a definitive nod and strode back to the laundry room. She hadn't seen any orders for spaghetti today, but she knew how to take care of a sauce stain like a pro.

Because it was her job.