In my Head

“Tiger spiced double dark brownie cocoa for Margaret!”

Hearing it said out loud causes me to wince with embarrassment as the 20 something teenage barista slides the blue porcelain cup across the counter. He grins widely through his sheepish brown curls that are squished cutely under his yellow beanie. Why did I have to order such a stupid drink with such a long, stupid name? And why was it $7? And why on Earth did I give my real name? I could have at least shortened it to Meg, that’s way cooler than Margaret. I bet he has a cool one syllable name, like Chaz or Nic without the K. Nobody under 40 is named Margaret. I might as well be 40. 26 is the new 40, didn’t you hear? See, this is why I don’t go to swanky little coffee shops, because they remind me how old I’m getting. I should’ve just stayed home and had Swiss Miss, at least I would have gotten the marshmallows. 

“Enjoy!” He tucks his thumbs behind his apron straps. 

“You too.” I mutter, then cringe, then turn around and shuffle back to the table in the corner. I stiffly hold my cocoa at chest level so it doesn’t spill. Of course there’s a fucking Christmas Tree design in the milk. God, it was so disgustingly cute. Yet, I still wondered if this place was cool and trendy enough for Presley. She only goes to places she finds on top 10 lists, accompanied with perfectly aesthetic pictures on those travel blogs. But, our hometown doesn't even have a coffee shop, and the only list I know of is the county choice awards, featuring our single Mexican restaurant and the karaoke bar. So, I had to drive into the suburbs to find this spot. It was closer to the airport anyway, and Presley was only in for a couple of days. If I wanted to be penciled into her schedule, I had to make it convenient for her, of course. 

I slink into the chair and sip my cocoa, careful not to ruin the tree design. “Shit. That’s really good.” I think to myself begrudgingly. Of course it is. 

I check my phone and set it back down on the table face up. We were supposed to meet 12 minutes ago. I even sat in my car for 5 minutes, building up the courage to come in. And I took my time ordering, mostly because I hate coffee and couldn’t decide. Classic Presley. She’ll never text to tell you she’s running late either. Everyone just waits. The world runs on Presley' time anyway. 

As I look around nervously, I’m suddenly overly aware of the abstract art and movie posters on the walls. Maybe she was more of a “plants hanging everywhere” coffee shop girl. Or a “house with a couch and fireplace” kind of coffee shop girl. I notice a bead of sweat dripping down my back and go to take off my coat when the little bell above the door jingles, announcing her entrance. 

The world seems to move a la slow motion montage everytime Presley enters a room. I wish I was kidding. The way the windy snow blows in, her scarf flowing behind her, her hair perfectly smooth and laid across her shoulders even though there’s a literal blizzard outside. It was all infuriating. But I was just as guilty of staring as everyone else; she was beautiful. 

Her perfect plaid skirt and rosy blush and shiny lips made me second guess the jeans and flannel I was wearing, but it was too late to worry about that. She scurries over to me as soon as she sees me, her boots clanking loudly on the floor.

“Hiyeeee!!” She wrapps her arms around me tightly. The smell of warm vanilla sugar floods my whole body, like I had just walked into Bath and Body Works. “Oh my god I’ve missed you. So much.” She mumbles into my shoulder. 

Immediately, hearing her say that and feeling her hug me, all of my resentment melts away with the snow from our boots on the warm coffee shop floor. It’s like I was the Grinch and she was Cindy Lou.

That always happens. I don't know why, but I sometimes forget how much I love her and miss her when she's far away. It was easy for me to nitpick all of my annoyances when she wasn’t physically with me to remind me of her magic. And I always feel guilty afterwards too. Here I am, enshrouded with the utmost love and adoration from my best friend in the whole world, and literally 30 seconds ago I was bickering to myself about how she was too pretty and too trendy and always late. She pulls away and holds my cheeks in her gloved hands. 

“You look pretty. Hi. It’s been forever.” 

“Hi. You don’t have to lie.” I say cheekily.

“Oh hush. I need something warm. What’d you get?”

“Hot cocoa. Or, tiger spiced brownie something, I don’t know. The name is absolutely ridiculous, but it’s pretty good.”

“Oh geez. Well, I need caffeine. You think they have non-fat milk?” She takes off her fancy black gloves and tosses them onto the table. 

I snort. “Bitch, I don’t know, do I look like I drink non-fat?” 

“Bitch, regular milk makes me break out.” 

She shimmies out of her trench coat and goes to order her non-fat whatever, and I take my seat in the chair. I watch her at the counter, as she flips her hair before explaining her order with grand hand gestures. The barista says something and she tilts her head back and laughs. I admired her ability to connect with everyone around her, to command absolute attention and respect. It wasn’t fake either. Everyone genuinely liked her and wanted to listen to her. I wish people paid attention to me like that. 

When she returns to the table she has her beautiful fingers wrapped around a porcelain mug. “We settled on skim.” she says. I roll my eyes and laugh. 

“How are you? How’s Grammy?” I ask. 

“She’s doing okay, considering. She finished her last round of chemo on Thursday. That’s also why I wanted to come home, to check up on her. She’s exhausted. But she’s good.” She adds a soft smile, which I know more for her own reassurance than mine.

Grammy was Presley’s best friend and biggest support system. Her family was a total wreck, but you would never know. But, she always had Grammy. And so did I, when things got hard. We always said Grammy was everyone’s grandma; whoever needed her, she was there. 

Maybe she had been with Grammy earlier, maybe that was what took her so long. Now I felt like even more of an asshole for being so mean. It was only in my head, but still.

“God, I’m so sorry. That’s so hard. I know there’s not anything I can say.” I spin my mug around awkwardly.

“Nah it’s okay, She’ll be fine. She always is. What about you? How is it being back?” 

And so it begins. Or rather, begins again. I have to go through this list of defensive explanations of why I left New York at least every other week. To Presley, to my aunts and uncles, to my old high school Spanish teacher who stopped me at Walmart. Except Presley hadn’t heard it yet; we hadn’t spoken since I left. We didn’t leave things on the best terms, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to talk about it all yet. 

“Oh, you know, same old same old.” I shrug, suddenly aware of that pesky bead of sweat on my back again. 

“You don’t have to give me the friends and family discount on the story, Margie. It’s been months.” 

She was the only one who was allowed to call me that. And she was right. She stares at me, intense and tender at the same time, until I finally caved. 

“Fine. Uh, yeah. It’s excruciatingly painful. I hate having to see which high school couples have shuffled into different pairs. I hate seeing my mom get older. I hate that I’m getting older, and have nothing to show for it. I hate not being able to rush Broadway tickets with you.” I raise my mug. “But, I don’t hate having corporate health insurance.” We both sip our drinks. 

She winces at her coffee. “There ya go. You should go get your vag checked. And fix that crooked tooth.”

“Easy there, Freida.”

She laughs and sips her coffee again. She spits it back into the cup. I’ve never seen her do something so unladylike. “I’m so sorry, but this might be the worst latte I’ve ever had.” She sets it back down carefully on the table. 

“Here, you can have some of my cocoa.” I say as I devilishly slide the cup over to her. “Beware, it’s got the pimple juice.” 

She grimaces at it for a second, then shrugs. She sips it dramatically, shrugging her shoulders and humming with delight as if she’s in a hallmark Christmas movie.

“Mmmm. Wow. That’s so good.” She takes another sip. 

“I know. Don't hog it all!" I take the cup back and take a big gulp. She reaches for it again. 

“Hey, I wasn’t done!” She tries to take it, causing hot cocoa to dribble down my chin.

“Okay okay, fine, take the cocoa. But you’re buying the next one.” I wipe my chin and cross my arms on the table. And in no time, it feels like we’re in elementary school again, having a sleepover or eating together in the cafeteria, just like we used to. Nothing really ever changes that much. Not with Presley anyway.

She’s holding the mug triumphantly, looking at me with her left brow arched. “Fine.” She takes another sip and sets the mug down in the center of the table. She rubs her pointer finger along the handle. 

“Not to ruin the vibes, but… back to you…” she starts. I knew she wouldn’t let it go. We had to talk about the last time we saw each other, right before I left. Not that I was afraid, Presley and I were always open and real with each other. But we hadn’t spoken in almost 6 months, which for us was the longest we had gone since the second grade. 

“It’s been… Yeah.” I say softly. 

She leans back and blows air through her pursed lips. Then she looks at me with strong eye contact. She’s never been afraid to look anyone in the eyes, no matter how difficult the situation. I see the slightest hint of glassy tears forming. “Marge, I’m… I’m sorry for what I said to you, about you not having what it takes. It was completely unfair and you didn’t deserve it.” 

As much as I want to hold eye contact with her, I can’t bear to. I look away, at anything but her. My voice cracks.

“Eh, I did a little bit. I was being the worst. And you were right, kinda. I didn’t have what it takes, not to make it in New York anyway. In terms of grit, and the want, and the willingness to sacrifice everything in my life for it, in that sense, yeah I didn’t have what it takes. But I was too scared to say that.” I reply, looking at the mug on the table. This was the first time I was saying any of this out loud. “It took me way too long to admit that I wasn’t happy in New York. You were just… getting everything you wanted; gigs, Charlie, meeting new people, living your ‘best life’. And I was miserable and wanted everyone to know it.” 

“I had no idea how much you hated it. I wish you would’ve said something, maybe I could’ve tried to help. And it wasn’t about your talent, you know that right? You could’ve made it. I didn’t mean it” 

“Yeah well, I’m happier now. Sort of. I mean, I can write from home, I’m teaching music classes on the side, I get to spend more time with my family, which I always wanted anyways. Everything’s going to be okay, I think.” 

“You can always come back, you know.” She says, a tinge of hope present in her voice. She reaches for the mug of cocoa again. 

“You know, maybe. I hear there’s a Wicked open call next week. This could be my big break.” 

She nearly chokes on the cocoa. “Please. Can you imagine you and I as Elphie and Glinda?”

“Oh no, don’t get it twisted, I’m going for Fiyero. You can have Elphie.”

“Oh c’mon! We have to rework the script so that Elphie and Glinda live happily ever after! For feminism and stuff!” 

I laugh out loud. “Please! Wicked is already for the gays. The mean Insta gays at that, don’t try to take it from them. They’ll come after you and call you a hag.” 

She laughs one of her full cackles. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“I usually am. Except when it comes to this stuff, with you.” I pause for a moment. “I’m sorry too. I took out all the insecurity I was feeling and projected it on to you, when I should have been cheering you on. I think it’s great that you’re doing… ‘The Magic School Bus Reimagined in Concert’, as what again, the lizard?"

She chuckles and rolls her eyes. “Oh I can’t believe you would mock my most introspective work to date. That lizard has seen a lot, he has a story to tell!”

“Totally. I hear you. It’s great.” I say and we both laugh. 

“No, it’s ridiculous, I know. I’m just… trying to figure it out too. All I know, is I do want it. More than anything in the world.”

"And you deserve it. Every bit of it."

"Thanks Margie" she says after a moment. “But, are we okay? We’re good? I can’t stand to go another 6 months without talking to you.”

“Yeah. Of course we’re good. We always are.” I say, keeping eye contact this time. “Although, while we’re being honest, I have to tell you I was being really mean to you in my head earlier, for being late today.”

“Fair enough. I was being mean to you in my head for picking this place. Did you even check Yelp?” She shoots back quickly. 

“Do I look like someone who reads Yelp?” I go to pick up the mug, but it’s empty. “Ope, we’re out of cocoa.” 

“Don’t worry, I got the next one.” She scoots the chair back and stands. 

“Wait, Presley?” I say, still seated. 

“Yeah?” She looks down at me. 

“Could you wait until I go to the bathroom? I can’t stand to hear that awful drink called out loud again. I’ll die of embarrassment.” 

“You’re ridiculous. And my best friend. I’ll give you until I get to the counter to hide.” She leans down and kisses the top of my head, then turns and glides mischievously to the barista once again. I watch her walk to the counter and order, but I don’t get up to go to the bathroom. I’m too busy watching her captivate the barista’s attention once more. But then I see her look back, giggling and pointing to me and I can’t watch anymore. I’m checking my phone when I hear, louder than ever:

“Two Tiger spiced double dark brownie cocoas for Elphie and Glinda!” 

I look up in horror to see Presley walking towards the table, grinning widely and holding a mug in each hand. My face can’t help but shift to a smile at the sight. The room turns to slow motion once more, and suddenly here in this tacky coffee shop, I feel more magic than New York and Oz combined.