One
All I wanted was a good cup of coffee. Was that too much to ask?
I wish I could say I held my head high and ordered something like I knew what the hell I was talking about. But I didn’t. I ordered the first item off their “Specialty Drinks” menu, thinking it should be good.
It’s not.
There’s not a hint of vanilla, caramel, or even good coffee.
It tastes like what I would imagine the water in the cup next to the good coffee would taste like.
It tastes like it wants to be something special, but they went too far into the Pacific Northwest we-all-drink-only-organic-self-harvested-coffee-beans-that-were-blessed-by-the-hipster-gods-themselves.
So, now I am not only exhausted, disheveled, and heartbroken. I’m also sad.
Which sounds like I already would be by saying I’m heartbroken. But lack-of-good-caffeine-sad is one of the worst kinds.
Luckily, I can still rectify this. It might be the only thing I can fix today but dammit, that’s going to have to be good enough.
So, I dump the sad, already weak paper cup into the closest trashcan. I’m already a foot away when I hear it hit something else and the faintest sound of the splashing liquid reaches my ears. And it feels cathartic. Like I finally threw away something worth getting rid of.
Don’t get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with organic coffee or small businesses popping up their own coffee stands.
It just wasn’t for me.
I can smell the classic roasted beans and warm caramel the moment I open the door and already feel my soul relaxing.
Why did I even bother with that other place? I ask myself. Oh yeah, because my therapist told me I should try something new.
“Liz, start with something simple, like a cup of coffee.” Her words echoed in my mind.
I laughed. More like I let out a hard huff of air.
“I know, I know. Coffee is something sacred to you. But it’s something you get every morning. Therefore, making it an easy idea to adopt. If you don’t like it, you can change it. And that is what you need. To know that you can control a situation after it gets bad too.”
I push her comment out of my mind and step up to Sean, the barista I saw almost every morning.
“Hey Lizzo.” He smiles down at me with that classically warm smile he gives everyone.
I roll my eyes at his nickname. “Hey Puffy.” I tease back. Puff Daddy, P. Diddy, Puffy—just a few of the nicknames I toss at Sean every time he calls me Lizzo. Sometimes, he calls me Queen Elizabeth—despite the fact that my name is not actually Elizabeth.
I used to correct people all the time but somewhere along the line, I gave up.
“You can control the after effects, Elizabeth.”
Penny, my therapist loved to say that line. In her eyes, it was her way of reminding me that I could correct her—correct everyone. In my eyes, it just didn’t seem worth it.
“What’ll you have today? The usual?” Sean asked me, drawing me back to reality.
“Yeah, but make sure it’s stable. I just tried that shit down the street, and I need to get this charcoal out of my mouth pronto.” I scrunched my nose and stuck my tongue out as I pulled out my wallet.
“What the hell, Liz. Why would you cheat on us? And with them of all places.” He gave me a hurt puppy dog expression as he made his way to the espresso machine. I watched his eyes trail down the line of syrups before glancing back at me.
It had become a thing that my “usual” was him making whatever he wanted to—within reason. He knew my limits and it felt like he understood that I was too scared to veer too far off the beaten path.
I turned away, giving him a chance to surprise me and trying to think of how to explain it. No one knew I was in therapy, especially not the guy who only knew how I liked my coffee and that my name was not Elizabeth. Finally, I just shrugged. “I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, I guess.”
“Well, you learned your lesson.” Sean gave me a warm smile again, but only let it spread halfway as he held out the 24-ounce piping hot cup of coffee.
This cup was black and made of a thicker paper material.
Something that could withstand the heat of the nearly boiling lava inside.
And instantly, the smell was already a thousand times better.
I let my eyes fall shut as I brought it to my nose and took a deep whiff before taking a very ginger sip.
I got mostly the whipped cream but also a hint of something… cherry?
“So?” Sean asked, arms crossed.
“Is that cherry?” I tilted my head and took another gentle sip. The whipped cream was already melting into the coffee—my favorite part.
“Yep, dark chocolate mocha with cherry and a small dash of vanilla.” The smile was taking over his entire face now.
“Good job.” I offered before turning on my heel and heading for the door.
“Save yourself the trip and just start here tomorrow, Lizzo.” He called out to me.
“That’s for damn sure.” I mumbled, already out of his hearing.
I finally made my way the rest of the way to salon I rented my chair at. When I stepped in, I saw that Ariel and Tyla were busy with customers. By the looks of it, neither of the people in their seats were regulars.
They each started earlier in the mornings than I did.
Monica, the owner of the fourth chair in our small salon, only worked about three days a week.
And she only ever took on regulars—never any walk ins.
Ariel and Tyla typically got most of the walk-in clients since they started at eight in the morning—who the hell gets their hair cut that early?
I never started before ten. I wasn’t a morning person in the least. And while most of my clients were regulars, I had my fair share of walk-ins too.
And despite the plastered smile on my face, I wasn’t exactly thrilled when it would happen.
My regulars knew me. Well, knew me well enough to not force me into small talk. Sure, we’d conversate. But if we were talking about the weather, it was because it was actually affecting us.
Living in Seattle meant we were all used to the rain that started in fall and didn’t stop until nearly summer. Thankfully, we were out of the rain season. Unfortunately, that meant we were approaching summer—with no central AC.
“Hey, Liz!” Ariel called out, barely able to see over her client’s head. Ariel barely cracked five feet but had curves for days. Her hair was fire-engine red. Yes, she purposely embodied Ariel from The Little Mermaid.
“Hey.” I called back, trying to muster as much of the caffeine-induced energy as I could.
“How many appointments do you have today?”
“Six regulars and one person who wants to be a regular.” I recited from memory. I always knew my schedule.
Just like anything else in my life, I needed that structure. I needed to know exactly how my day was supposed to go. At least then, I was in control of something. It made it easier for me to handle the things that weren’t planned.
“Busy day.” Tyla interjected.
Tyla could have been a supermodel. In fact, she did modeling on the side sometimes.
She was the classic beauty. Long, blonde hair that always seemed perfect without any work.
She rarely wore more than just a swipe of mascara and some tinted lip gloss.
And she staggered over both of us at five-foot-eleven.
Between the two of them, I was average. Not a bad place to be.
But didn’t make me stand out—which was mostly fine with me.
I wore my make-up every day, letting that be one way that I showcased a bit of my personality.
I also had a tendency to dye my hair or cut it often.
It was my way of appeasing the mental breakdown gods.
Both of which also helped take some of the attention off my “plus-size-body”.
I wasn’t ashamed of myself, per say. I just didn’t ever want to focus too much on my body. It was easier this way and it was second nature at this point.