Another Cup?

“I got you a coffee”, you say.

It's 18 months later

And I take the disposable cup

From your outstretched hand;

My first concession.

But then you were always good at drawing me out, weren't you?

*

I lift the lid and take a nervous peek at the swirling liquid.

You drink your coffee

Hot. Strong. Dark.

The rich aroma

Awakens me. Entices me.

Just like you used to do.

*

I lift my eyes to see you watching me.

I wonder if you are sizing me up

Or if this is what patience looks like?

I lean back in my chair and blow gently.

It's a test but I am

Cautious of this scalding liquid.

But then we've been here before, haven't we?

*

You wait for me to take a sip.

“Relax” you'd say. But you don't.

And I realize you're nervous too.

This isn't just a coffee, is it?

I raise the cup and hesitate

Remembering that I take milk now.

And sugar too.

You disapprove of course

But I take it anyway and

Watch for the imperceptible crease of a frown.

I heap it in - it's a little overboard if I'm honest.

*

The first sip is

Warm. Sweet. Heady.

I feel myself sigh and sink back into the hard, wooden frame

letting go, just a little.

I cradle my cup

And see you smile genuinely, I think.

You can forget a person's smile in 18 months.

We talk and sip in turn,

The cup, half full

Feels lighter now.

*

A kick of caffeine spurs me on

and I grasp the familiar mug, tightly

Until I am taking large absentminded gulps.

A giggle escapes my lips and

You look pleased with yourself.

And that is when I pause,

The cup near empty.

We both know what comes next, don’t we?

*

I drain the mug and pull a face

As the swirling mess of

Gritty bitter granules and sweet sugar crystals

Hits the back of my throat.

*

It's 18 months later and this isn't just a coffee, is it?

“Another cup?"