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Charity
For me, coffee is more than just a drink. Instead, it’s a lifestyle, an aesthetic, and a culture. Nothing gets me going like the smell of freshly ground joe. I’ve been a nut about coffee ever since my mom let me have my first sip of the thick brew at the age of nine, so of course, I spend all my paychecks on accessories for my espresso machine.
The thing is a behemoth, and frankly, my pride and joy. It’s top of the line and I adore the shiny metal, not to mention all the levers that go this way and that. Pretty soon, the savory, sweet aroma of an Arabica dark roast fills my nostrils and I inhale deeply before foaming some milk and then adding it to my drink with an artistic flourish. A maple leaf today? No, I think I’ll do a rose. I’ve been practicing my latte art and must admit that my skills are improving.
But it makes sense because I’m a part-time barista at the Cherry Tree Coffee Co. They hired me on the spot after I waxed rhapsodical about the difference between Arabica and Robusta, not to mention the different types of milk available to connoisseurs these days. I myself prefer to skip the milk most days (today not included, obviously), but lots of people are into oat and soy because of the added texture and flavor.
But right now, I’m not at the coffee shop. Instead, I’m home and I have a ton of studying to do. It’s my last year at Cherry Falls High School, and I’m having a good time. Lots of my friends are slacking off, but it’s just not me. Honestly, I like school, and even if I’m not the best student, I still don’t want to be the kid who barely scrapes by with C’s her last semester because she just doesn’t care.
Balancing my backpack and my coffee, I head up to my room and then toss my bag on the mattress before closing the door. I reach into my desk drawer for a hidden stash of Oreos and then pop one into my mouth. Mmm, so good! Studying sucks, but at least a sugary snack makes it better.
Quickly, I flip open my history book. Where were we again? Dang this blows because if there’s one thing I hate more than gym, it’s history. The first and last names of all of our presidents, not to mentions the locations and outcomes of every historical battle? I just don’t have the brain space to retain all this. Who does? I can barely remember what I ate for breakfast most days, yet my teachers expect me to remember what year George Washington established the two-party system. Yeah, no. It’s not going to happen.
Heaving a sigh, I shut my history textbook and throw myself on my bed. The hinges squeak beneath me and I pull on my headphones as KALEO’s gorgeous sound thrums into my head. This band from Iceland is hot. Not only that, but they play good blues, which I never would have guessed given that they’re not from the American South.
Yet the music can’t rid me of my mopey mood. Midterms are coming and I’ve got eight tests in the coming two weeks. Will I survive? I don’t know. It seems positively inhumane, to be honest.
But as the upbeat rhythm of “No Good” fades away to the next track, I hear my mother’s voice through my closed door. Oh weird. Rosanne sounds oddly off today, and her voice is a-kilter. I flip my music off for a moment to listen more closely, my ears straining. Then, there’s the low growl of a man’s voice and I realize Rosanne’s having a conversation with her boyfriend, Mason, in the living room.
Curiosity getting the better of me, I pull off my headphones, creep out of bed, and press my ear against the door. I was right: my mom and Mason are discussing something in serious tones. But what could it be? I still can’t quite make out their words, so I open the door a crack and listen even harder.
“You know I hate to do this,” my mother says in an apologetic tone, “but I don’t know if I can keep this up. I love you, but I don’t know if we have that spark anymore. Don’t you agree, Mason?”
My mouth drops open because honestly, my mom’s lucky to be dating Mason Caldwell. He’s a gorgeous firefighter here in Cherry Falls and there are tons of women who’d love to be with him. Yet, he chose Rosanne Denver to date, and they’ve been in a relationship for maybe a year now. Even more, he’s five years younger than my mom, but doesn’t seem to mind the age difference.
Yet, here’s my mom giving him the cliché “it’s not you, it’s me” speech. In my eighteen years of life, I’ve heard my mom give that speech dozens of times because Rose has been divorced from my dad since I was a baby and has had about a million boyfriends along the way. Still, I can’t believe she’s breaking up with Mason Caldwell. Wow, Hell really is freezing over.
