If Starbucks had delivery, I’d be the first to sign up. As of late, I was working from home on a small project and I was getting tired of running out to get coffee every few hours even if the weather was always a perfect balance of bright and breezy like today.
“Oh!” I yelped in surprise as my hand bumped into someone else’s while reaching for the door of Starbucks.
I looked up into warm hazel eyes and a bright but apologetic smile, “Sorry, my fault.”
I wasn’t going to lie, working in computer programming could deprive a woman of her daily dose of eye candy. I felt like I had just overdosed. For a moment, I just stared stupidly like a deer caught in headlights.
“May I?” he asked, gesturing to the door handle, which my hand was still not sure whether to take or not.
“U-uh, yeah! Of course!” I snapped out of it. “S-sorry…” I mumbled as I backed up and retracted my hand.
He pulled open the door and waited, surprisingly. “After you.”
I swallowed the drool that was probably making its way down my chin and muttered a quick thanks before trotting inside and lining up. I was very aware that he was right behind me, craning his neck to read the menu. I tried to focus on my surroundings in order to compose myself, like the rich smell of coffee beans in the air or the gentle caress of a few shy sunbeams on my arm.
“A regular?” he asked and I turned around to look at him in confusion. He chuckled. “Seeing as you didn’t even bother to look at the menu.”
What am I? A high school girl? The boy laughed and I’m already fumbling for words. “Uh, yeah,” was all I could manage coherently.
“A programmer definitely needs their daily dose of caffeine, that’s for sure. I’m surprised I haven’t seen you around more often,” he said with a dimpled smile.
Of course he had dimples. He probably had a four-point-O GPA and a six-pack too.
And a girlfriend, a snarky voice in the back of my mind sneered. I snapped back to attention, “Wait, how do you know I’m a programmer?” I demanded with narrowed eyes.
He raised an amused eyebrow at me and jerked his chin at my torso. I looked down and was about to shout back something in defense of my non-existent curves but quickly realized that he was most likely referring to my ‘what part of 01100010 01101001 01101110 01100001 01110010 01111001 didn’t you understand?’ shirt that I was currently wearing. “Oh,” came my very intelligent answer.
Before I had a chance to redeem myself, the barista decided that now was a good time to interrupt. “Miss? May I take your order?”
“U-uh, yeah. A Vanilla Latte, please. Grande.” I stepped aside to wait for my order after fumbling with my change.
“Vanilla Latte. Venti, please.” My heart raced in giddy excitement. It was such a ridiculous coincidence that I was suspicious he was just playing with me.
Oh, no, Nikki. You don’t have time for this. Get your drink and get back to work! The know-it-all in my head was nagging again.
As much as I wanted to disagree and linger to steal a few more glances at this Adonis that I had chanced upon, I knew that I was on a tight schedule. My drink arrived on the counter at the same time as his. So, as gracefully as I could, I grabbed it and sped towards the door, not sparing a single glance backwards.
“Hey, wait!” I heard him call out before I had gotten too far, thanks to my lack of athleticism. The boy caught up to me, drink in hand and his charming smile still gracing his features. “Care to have coffee together?” he gestured with the drink in his hand.
I was stunned into silence. He wanted to have coffee with me? I almost laughed, but something about his smile stopped me. He looked earnest, genuine, almost like a puppy. My resolve wasn’t hard to crush. I didn’t mind cheesy or cliché or unconventional. I only realized now that I was too lonely to care.
The boy’s face betrayed some nervousness, “So…what do you say?”
I looked up into anxious hazel eyes and saw enough hope in there for the both of us.
- - - - -
He was a gentleman. I was always glad that I had been lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time. He proved to be the perfect mix of playful and serious for me, although sometimes his excitement was a little overwhelming to me. But it was expected of a puppy, which – evidently – I found myself comparing to him on an almost regular basis.
Of course, he was a hundred times better than any puppy I knew. When I came home from work particularly tired and upset, he was already waiting with two drinks in his hands. “Hope you like Vanilla Latte,” he joked as I appreciatively curled up against him.
We spent many afternoons off of work as such, wrapped in the warm comfort of each other’s arms and a steaming Vanilla Latte, hidden away in the cozy little paradise we called home.
One night in particular, he was really in need of a Vanilla Latte but unfortunately, twenty-four-hour Starbucks locations were unheard of. We had returned home from my parents’ place in the suburbs and he was quite shaken by the experience. My dad had probably made his limits clear with him while I was in the bathroom.
His anxious hazel eyes found mine in a wordless plea and I knew what he needed. An hour later I emerged from the kitchen carrying two mugs of the first Vanilla Lattes I had ever made.
He took a sip and he sighed with content.
“Is it good?” I asked tentatively, “What’s it taste like?”
He smiled, “It tastes like… us.”
I was quite surprised to hear this, “Us?”
He leaned his head on my shoulder, “Sweet… consistent… and… a bit tangy.”
“Tangy?”
“Not everything in life is sweet,” he remarked quietly as he drank again.
I curiously took a sip too but spat it out almost immediately, “Ugh! How can you drink this?! It’s gross! Why didn’t you just say so?” I exclaimed.
He nuzzled into me, “It’s ‘cause we’re still working on it. Practice makes perfect, right?”
Not long after that incident, it was into my anxious eyes he was looking with barely containable excitement.
As he lowered himself to one knee, his hazel eyes spoke ten times as loudly as his lips did. “Nikki, will you marry me?” he asked as he revealed the sparkling promise of banishing loneliness forever in his hands.
Whatever my father had said to him during our last visit went out the door after they saw the ring. I had a feeling that they had just been bluffing last time. A Vanilla Latte celebration was in order, and that was exactly what we did as soon as we got home.
Only a few months later we had to go back to my parents’ to announce the occurrence of the first signs of a bump. They were happy but I knew they were surprised by how soon the news came.
“The kids these days are quite eager, aren’t they?” I had caught my father muttering to my mother.
Unfortunately, for months on end, we had to collectively abstain from our usual Vanilla Latte traditions but we could’ve cared less in anticipation of our little bundle of joy.
“Vanessa,” he said with a wide smile on his face and a glistening film of moisture in his eyes.
I almost laughed out loud at his choice of name but I was much too exhausted and numb at this point to accomplish such a task. “Our own little Vanilla Latte,” I sighed with content.
Vanessa proved to be a Vanilla Latte that was boiling over. Instantly, we found ourselves drowning beneath the diapers, bills, crying and work.
“I just managed to get her to sleep with that amazing lullaby player my parents gave us,” I announced as I dropped into the forgiving catch of the couch and crawled into his awaiting arms.
“Tired?” he hummed in my ear.
“Never. Anything for our Vanilla Latte,” I replied lovingly.
“Then…” he leaned away to look me in the eyes, “Care to have some coffee together?” he asked with a playfully arched eyebrow.
I narrowed my eyes at him, “By coffee do you mean Vanilla Latte?” I asked with feigned wariness.
“I do.” And that was the end of that particular conversation.
This time around, I picked the name even though the Vanilla-themed names he’d conjure up in the middle of the night still had me laughing like a maniac. “Eric! Here comes the airplane!” I cooed.
He shoved a mug in front of me, “One Vanilla Latte! I’ll drop Vanessa off on my way!” he said in one breath as he raced out the door.
I smiled, “Thanks…” I said, even though Eric was the only one who could bear witness to this pointless gesture and currently, he was more concerned with spitting his breakfast out on the abused, hardwood floor.
Life together continued to be a mess of work, kids, more bills, and of course, Vanilla Lattes. Though everyday was a race, it was fun and lively. As soon as Eric left for California, we were suddenly aware of the quiet that had grown between us.
He smiled and his eyes crinkled, letting on a hint of wrinkles, “Feel like catching up over a couple of Vanilla Lattes?"
Arm in arm, we walked to the nearest Starbucks.
“Hey, Mom! Hey, Dad!” Vanessa cried as she scuttled inside, throwing her arms around both of us.
“Hi, Mom, Dad.” The man behind Vanessa also hugged us tightly, it was her husband.
We greeted them happily, “Eric’s already waiting at the table. Did you guys run into traffic or something?” I asked.
“Oh, you wouldn’t believe, Mom.” Vanessa beckoned to her husband, “Come on, honey, just put it on the couch, we’ll get to it later,” he gladly followed her into the dining room for our annual Christmas dinner.
“Open the present we got you guys!” Vanessa urged eagerly when we sat down in the living room after dinner, “I bet you can’t guess what it is!” she said cheekily.
We shredded the wrappings together and saw none other than our beloved, “Vanilla Latte,” I laughed, “Of course!”
I brewed some immediately.
We drank Vanilla Lattes together until it was almost all we knew. It was something that we never grew out of. It was what always kept us connected, always together, always… us.
I loved him, even in all our old-aged glory with more wrinkles and white hairs that we cared to count and I could tell, by the way his eyes still captured mine just like the day he first asked me to have a Vanilla Latte with him, that he felt the same.
I left him, just for a moment, to fill our cups once again with Vanilla Latte.
It was unusually quiet so I offered some prompt, “Feel like catching up over a couple of Vanilla Lattes?” I held out the steaming cup towards him.
It went soaring. The hot contents spilled everywhere.
“Who are you?! And why are you giving me a Vanilla Latte?! I hate vanilla!” he screamed.
I looked into his weathered hazel eyes and knew that I was once again, alone, despite all his promises and our life together shattered.
- - - - -
I shook my head, slowly at first, then more vigorously, “No. I can’t have a coffee with you,” I said as I stared at the cold, tiled floor of Starbucks. The light and pleasant ambiance of the coffee shop was long gone.
The boy looked surprised and a bit hurt, “O-oh…”
I took one last look into his, now sad, hazel eyes and rushed out of the shop with as much grace and poise as I could manage.
Every part of my brain was telling me how stupid and unreasonable I was being, but I didn’t care. It was too soon. I hadn’t moved on yet.
- - - - -
I offered the mug, still piping hot, to my grandmother. I got her our shared favourite, Vanilla Latte.
“Who are you?! I don’t know you!” she screamed and the cup flew from my hand and exploded into a hundred pieces to my right. Everything from her favourite rug to the wooden floorboards was soaked.
I stared at her in horror. I had known no worse betrayal than this.
“Go away! I don’t know you!” her throat was hoarse from effort.
I wasn’t ready to give up yet, “Grandma, it’s me! It’s Nikki! Nikki!” I yelled back with a shaky voice as I tried to approach her.
I rushed forward and grabbed her arm, willing her to look me in the eye. Maybe a miracle would occur, like they always did on TV, as long as I looked right into her eyes. But it was the most painful thing that I had ever done.
“I don’t know you! I don’t know you! Who’s Nikki?! I don’t know a Nikki!” she shrieked and when I searched her usually warm gaze, it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t warm, it wasn’t her. And I knew that to her, I was no longer.
- - - - -
I hated myself. I hated myself because I knew that it was wrong of me to be so bitter. It wasn’t my grandmother’s fault that she was a victim of Alzheimer’s. It wasn’t her fault that she couldn’t remember me or that she threw fits or had mood swings. It wasn’t her fault, yet I felt angry and betrayed. I was still afraid, despite the promise of statistics, that it would happen yet again. I couldn’t love my grandmother again and I knew that I wouldn’t be able to love anyone who could forget me like that, Alzheimer’s or not, lovers or not.
You will never be able to love in the future, if you don’t once again love the past, the genius in my mind said as she shook her head, evaluating me with a patronizing face.
But for once, she was wrong. Reconciling with my past wasn’t going to help me. My issue lay elsewhere and it had to do with how far I had gotten in my imaginings without even knowing the boy’s name. I sipped my still-hot Vanilla Latte and looked up at the vibrant blue sky, no wonder I was put as project planner.
A/N: "01100010 01101001 01101110 01100001 01110010 01111001" is binary code for “binary”.