Cerulean Found

Chapter 24 - Coffee Break

Before leaving for our trip to explore Rumba, Josh and I decide to stop in the kitchen for a quick snack. As I am rummaging through the pantry, it dawns on me that I haven't had my coffee fix for the day.

"Are you thirsty? I can make you some Cuban coffee. I make it pretty good, but my Abbo... he makes the best!"

"I've never had Cuban coffee before," he states.

"Are you serious?" I ask.

"Totally," he says with a smile.

"Then you have to try it! Do you want me to make some? Say yes, please say yes!" I say.

"How can I refuse?" He smiles at me.

"Perfect!" I say.

"Okay so what is Cuban Coffee exactly?" he asks.

"It is pure espresso but sweetened with raw sugar as it is brewed. So so so good," I explain, as I hand him a couple of granola bars.

"Can't wait to try it," he states.

"Make yourself at home. You can sit on the couch, turn the TV on, do whatever. It'll only take me a few minutes," I explain.

I get to work grinding the espresso beans and Josh walks around the living room studying all of the framed family photos Gram has displayed around the room.

I take the freshly ground beans and pour them into the espresso maker. I add the proper amount of water, add sugar to the glass pot, turn the machine on and wait. A few moments later, the living room and kitchen are filled with the sweet aroma of espresso. The scent is like a drug to me. It instantly makes me feel on top of the world. So many of my most cherished childhood memories involve Cuban coffee and this very scent. I didn't grow up drinking coffee, I actually only started to consume the caffeinated drink in recent years, but even so, Cuban coffee was always around. Holidays, birthdays, whenever someone would visit, sometimes in the afternoon for no other reason than just because... it was there. Always a welcomed treat to be made by aboo or my dad, even though his isn't as good.

As I mix the freshly brewed pot of espresso, I look up and notice Josh standing in front of a photo of my mom. It is my favorite photograph of her. A large color image of just her laughing under a massive maple tree, with her once long auburn colored curls blowing wild in the wind. I know what he is thinking, and what he will ask. I hate to talk about it, even with my friends and brothers. I am hopeful that I can casually draw him away from his current thoughts with the beverage I have just prepared.

I place the glass pot and two tiny espresso cups onto a tray and walk over to the couch, in hopes of luring Josh away from the photo and whatever he is thinking.

"Coffee's done," I say cheerily as I sit on the large white sofa and begin to pour the coffee. Josh turns around and sits next to me. I hand him his tiny little cup filled with the hot black liquid and brown frothy foam.

"I don't know how it tastes, but at least it smells good," he states.

"To your first time drinking Café Cubano," I proclaim, as I lift my cup up to his. "To first times," he adds, as his cup lightly clanks mine. I hold my breath as he takes a sip.

"What do you think?" I ask nervously. I know that, as far as Cuban coffee goes, you either love it or you hate it, there is no middle ground.

"It's really good," he says with a grin. He takes another sip and I'm relieved.

"I knew you'd like it. Wait until you try Abbo's. Oh my gosh, so good! Can't believe he's never made it for you before," I say.

We drink the rest of our coffee in silence. When Josh finishes, he puts his cup down on the coffee table and stares down at his hands. He seems nervous and I am almost certain I know why. He is thinking about the photo of my mom.