The Coffee Wars

The tape was running low, but neither of us were too upset about it. My wife and I had been wrapping presents for what felt like thirty-seven years, and now the pile of gifts just about swallowed the tree. It was a seven footer, fake, but we made up for it with cinnamon spice candles and scented pinecones. The Christmas spirits danced in the room with the twinkling, warm yellow lights. All in all, we were in a pretty good mood, despite the unyielding encroach of our fatigue.

We were missing something, though. Coffee.

As I pulled the last sliver of scotch tape off the little plastic roll, Amber, one of our nine year old twins, pranced into this epicenter of holiday hustle. No worries, these weren’t her presents. She leaned against the couch behind my wife.

“Can you make me a cup of coffee?” I asked her.

“Nope.”

“What?” I played along, fully confident she would in fact make me a cup at the end of this conversation.

“That’s because she’s going to make me some coffee, isn’t that right?” My wife swooped in.

“That’s right!” Amber said. She hugged her mother then skipped off to the Keurig.

A dastardly move, to be sure. It was classic boys vs girls out of nowhere, a civil war in my own home: Stonewall Amber and General Mom Beauregard vs Ulysses Dad Grant. Welcome to the Battle of Shiloh.

Minutes later, Amber returned and handed one cup of fresh, delicious, hot, perfect coffee to her mother. Then she sat on the couch and did her best to hold in her giggles. The devil's own day, indeed.

Lick ‘em tomorrow, though.

Amber folded her arms, doing her best to keep a straight face, yet a mischievous glint sparkled in her eye. Also she kept giggling a little. I met her attempt at a stoic facade with one of my own; practiced, perfected. I was an oak.

After a time I cleared my throat in an exaggerated display of mock impatience. “Uh-hum.”

My wife turned over her shoulder and motioned for Amber to come closer. She whispered something in her ear. A crack in their ranks? Or was the birth of some conspiracy afoot?

Amber stood and skipped away, calling back, almost singing, “Ok I’ll make you a cup of coffee now.”

Finally out of tape and reluctant to move the small stack of gifts over to the larger pile by the tree, I embraced break time. The anticipatory hope of that sweet, sweet elixir carried me through my harrowing, personal drought.

I stretched my legs out between the scraps of multi-colored wrapping paper, gift tags and shiny bows, and leaned back against the side of the love seat. “I’m tired, how many more do we have?”

“We’re almost halfway done.” My wife brought her cup up to her mouth, felt the heat and lowered it.

“What? Why do we even know this many people?”

“And I still need to buy for your mom and now Juanita says she’s bringing David. And we only have today and tomorrow. I really don’t want to be up all night this year.”

As I let my head fall back on to the cushion, Amber came into the room carrying the orange and white mug she’d given me for my birthday a few months before. It was a bit smaller than a normal cup and said “Super Dad” on the side. She had an odd look on her face and walked slowly. I put that all together to mean she was being extra careful not to spill any on the carpet, so I sat up and reached for the cup, quickly. “Thank you, thank you.” I said, lowering it.

Something was off.

First, Sophia, the older of the twins, was on Amber's heels. Second, the cup didn’t feel hot.

On the other hand, I had only used this cup maybe once before and thought perhaps it could just be a little thicker than the others. Also it was well past time for lunch, and Sophia might have simply come to see what we were going to eat. I side-eyed my wife, who was finishing up wrapping another present. She was oblivious to the whole thing.

I held the spoon to the side and brought the cup up to my lips, eager for the first drink. Excited.

But still, something seemed off. I stirred the coffee and a few black flakes floated to its surface.

Coffee grounds? A Keurig will do that sometimes. There were so few, maybe three total. Five? That might always happen. I was looking too close. Still...

“Amber, take a drink of this.” I said, out of the blue.

“Ok.” Amber accepted without hesitation. Still standing, she took the cup from me, raised it up to her face, grabbed the spoon and sipped.

Did she really drink it?

Sophia had walked around and stood behind me. I looked at her as Amber handed me the cup. “Sophia, do you want some?”

“Oh yes!” She said, seemingly more excited than I had been to drink it. Being nine years old, stealing sips of coffee was still quite a treat for the girls. We rarely gave them anything more than those seven dollar coffee flavored milkshakes, and even then only a handful of times in their lives.

Sophia took the spoon out and looked like she drank from the cup. Sort of…

Did she do the same thing?

From my angle, I could not be sure if either one of them drank. To that point in their lives I did not think them capable of a multistep prank like this. Although, just a week prior, they had been baking cookies or brownies and Amber was washing out the large metal mixing bowl. When I came near and teased her about taking too long she acted like she was going to throw the bowl full of water on me.

“You'll do nothin’!” I had bucked up at her.

I was wrong. Amber dumped a tidal wave – a tsunami – of soapy dish water all over me and all over the kitchen, then she skipped away laughing, leaving me to clean it up. The kid definitely had what it took to put something in my sweet, precious coffee, but to then attempt to fool me by pretending to drink it? Et tu Sophia?

I took the cup back and gazed into the creamy brown liquid, almost sure it was safe to drink.

Almost.

“Amber, sit down.”

She did.

“Did you do something to this?”

“Nope.”

I removed the spoon and extended the cup toward her. “Take a drink.”

Amber grabbed the cup and took a pretty good size drink, plain as day. Immediately, she pulled back and scrunched her face. “That’s really hot!” She shook her head and puckered her lips.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I thought you put something in it. I’m sorry. Are you ok?” I took the cup back and stared into its mysterious depths, searching for an answer that wouldn't come; that couldn't come.

“Drink it.” Amber said. The simple words carried the echoes of our war...

Were we at war?

I had no clue. I was in a blender. I was on the high dive, a stage, alone under the brightest spotlight. The audience was waiting on me.

I froze.

My wife leaned over and took the cup. “They didn’t do anything to it,” she said and took a drink. “OH MY GOD WHAT DID YOU PUT IN THAT!”

“Oh no!” Sophia shouted.

I fell back against the loveseat, laughing. “I knew it!”

Amber struggled to speak between her laughter, “Why did… Why did you drink it?”

“Wait… Amber, you drank it too!” I could hardly breathe.

“WHAT WAS IN THAT?”

“We put... orange juice, sugar... salt and pepper... and... and what’s that stuff you use?”

“Lowry’s?” I answered.

Amber nodded.

“And you really drank it!” I teased.

“I thought you would drink it after!”

“I almost did!”

Amber crawled over and hugged her mom. Sophia curled up next to my wife on the other side and I continued to laugh at the whole thing.

“And it's cold!” my wife said, making a face.

“I thought you told her to do it,” I said as I finally calmed down.

“No, I told her to be nice and make you some coffee.”

“I’m sorry, mom!”

“Why did you do that to me?” my wife said, feigning insult.

“I wanted him to drink it! I didn’t know you would!”

“Dad, you have to drink it now.” Sophia said.

“No way!”

“That is so disgusting,” my wife held the cup out to me, “try some.”

“No!” Another fit of laughter started.

“You have to!” All three shouted.

“Okay, hold on, hold on, Sophia. They drank it. I'll try it if you try it first.”

“I did try it!”

“You faked it!”

She smiled and blushed, sheepishly.

“Don’t do it, Sophia.” Amber warned.

My wife held the cup to Sophia. Slowly, with an eye on me, Sophia took a sip from the spoon, then gagged like she was going to throw up. “Oh that is so gross!”

“Now you drink it!” Amber shouted.

I pointed at Sophia and Amber. “Nope.”

“You have to!”

“No no no. You two came in here and tried to trick me, you gave it your best shot, but you failed. Everyone drank it but me. I win! I'm the best, always will be, the once and future king, the man, the myth, the legend. That's checkmate for the boys!” I threw my hands up, basking in the utter conquest of my enemies, still fully aware that these were my beloved wife and daughters. But the perfection of the mountain top that was my victory, and the wash of relief brought by this indisputable proof that I would never fall prey to any assassin's treacherous plot, was almost as sweet as a fresh, untampered-with cup of coffee.

Little did I know, the war had only just begun…


WC 1672