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1
Meredith
My Keds tap on the blacktop as I approach my first ever… wait for it… MCDONALD’S!
Ta-da!
I’m not here for a cheeseburger. Oh no, I am not. I’m not here for greasy fries.Nu-uh.
I’m here forcoffee. Black, steamy,hotcoffee.
Coffee is hot, Meredith. It will burn you. No coffee.
“I’m not afraid of getting burned,” I say aloud as I open the door and enter—which only gets me a look from the man in front of me. I wait in line—like everyone else. Someone in front of me, someone behind me. My senses fill with salt and fried foods. And all the goodness that comes with a fast-food restaurant.
The fifteen-year-old in the red shirt with yellow arches over his heart gives me a pimple-faced grin. “Can I help you?”
“Yes,” I say, beaming back at him. “I’d like onehotcoffee, please.”
The kid lifts one bushy brow. “That’s it?”
“Yep. That’s it.” That’s all I want. I’m not getting more or less. I’m getting what I want.
“That’ll be a dollar and seven cents.”
I hand over my cash and rock on my Keds, anxious. Firsts are the best! I keep my eyes on the prize as that fifteen-year-old pours my coffee into a travel cup and tops it with a sippy lid.
“Here you go,” he says, handing it over.
I wrap both of my hands around the cup and relish the warmth that spreads through each of my fingers. I clamp down on my bottom lip and peer up at the kid. So far, this is pretty great. “Thanks,” I tell him—like a normal human. Not like a person who has never before stepped into a McDonald’s or tried a measly cup of coffee.
Suspense is eating me up. I can’t wait any longer. So before I even turn to leave, I sip, cautious. I don’t want to fry my mouth—but I am also not afraid of getting burned.I am not afraid!
Hot, dark, and…bitterwashes over my tongue.
I turn for the exit as the liquid sloshes in my mouth. But my body does not want to keep this foreign substance inside. No, it’s time to evict the bitter liquid that has invaded my mouth. I can’t help it, I can’t stop it. It’s like I have no control… I spew my one sip—my first sip—of coffee all over the man behind me.
Ugh. Coffee is icky.
I press the tips of my fingers to my lips as my eyes travel up, up, up to the face of the man I just spat all over. It’s a nice face. I mean, if he weren’t grimacing it would be areallynice face.
He’s holding his hands out to his sides and peering down at the brown splotch covering his stark white T-shirt.
I pull in a breath, taking in the brown on white. Somehow it resembles Peru. “I’m sorry! I’msosorry.” I stare at the brown blotchy Peru on the man’s chest—unable to accept what I’ve just done.
My eyes blur on Peru, as the coffee cup slips from my fingers and crashes to the tiled ground. Brown, hot liquid sloshes over the man’s tennis shoes and up one pant leg. I hop out of the way, just in time to keep my white Keds free of ick.Whew.
The man’s arms and hands flop to his sides and he lets out an audible groan.
“I am so sorry,” I say—again. I bend to pick the cup off the ground. “Napkins!” I clamp down on my lip and peer around me. There have to be napkins here. McDonald’s believes in napkins, right?
Like clockwork, a crewman dressed in red enters from behind the counter and begins mopping between me and the man I’ve just assaulted. The man combs a hand through his hair, then over the short stubble on his chin. His hair—the same color as the coffee I just spilled—plays around his ears, like maybe he needs a haircut, or maybe he wears it that way on purpose. I can’t tell which. He’s probably in his late twenties—and cute. Again, he could be striking if he’d stop scowling at me. But then, I did just spit coffee on him.
I muster my courage.I am Meredith Bess Porter and I am not afraid of getting burned—physically with coffee or mentally with a scolding. “Can I buy you breakfast?”
The man’s brows furrow. I can’t seem to take my eyes off them—dark and thick, like maybe a perfectly plump caterpillar crawled up onto his face and decided to stay there. This man has ridiculously fantastic eyebrows. I wonder if anyone has ever told him that. Have I ever told someone that? There’s always a first.
I open my mouth to offer the compliment when he finds his voice. “No. I can buy my own breakfast. You better take your coffee and head toclass.”
