Caffeine Chronicles

Julie marched into the coffee shop like a woman on a mission, even though her "mission" mostly involved caffeine and avoiding eye contact with anyone she knew. In her mind, mornings weren’t real until the first sip of coffee hit her bloodstream. She spotted Amy sitting at a corner table, already sipping a latte, and waved in that half-enthusiastic way people do when they’d rather be anywhere else but have already committed to being somewhere.

Amy greeted her with a flat tone that suggested she had been waiting for ten minutes too long: You’re late.

Julie plopped into the chair across from her, letting her bag hit the floor with a satisfying thud. Relax. It’s only five minutes.

It’s fifteen.

Okay, overachiever. Do you want a medal for punctuality?

Amy pointed to the clock on the wall, which Julie refused to look at on principle. I just think if you say nine, you mean nine.

Julie rolled her eyes. You know I don’t operate on linear time. I’m more of an abstract concept, like a Dali clock. Anyway, can we talk about something important? Like how my barista was aggressively cheerful this morning?

Amy ignored her, gesturing to Julie’s lack of coffee. Aren’t you going to order?

Not until I recover from the trauma of hearing someone say Have a blessed day before I’ve had caffeine. Julie shuddered dramatically.

Amy raised an eyebrow. You’re upset because someone was nice to you?

I’m upset because they said it like a threat. It wasn’t Have a blessed day. It was Have a blessed day. Like they know something I don’t, and now I’m cursed.

Or maybe they’re just cheerful.

No one is that cheerful before 9 a.m. It’s unnatural.

Amy sighed and took a sip of her latte. So, are you going to order, or are you just going to sit there complaining?

Complaining is free. Coffee is five dollars. I’m weighing my options.

Julie, go order.

Julie groaned, stood up, and dragged herself to the counter, muttering under her breath about overpriced lattes and the tyranny of chipper customer service.

When she returned with a large cup of black coffee, Amy was scrolling on her phone, her face lit by the cold glow of Instagram perfection. Julie sat down and took a victorious sip.

Okay, now I’m ready to tackle the day. Or at least this conversation. What’s the emergency?

Amy put her phone down, her expression shifting from neutral to somewhere between exasperation and mild panic. You remember my cousin Melissa?

The one who does yoga on paddleboards?

No, that’s Tara. Melissa is the one who got banned from that karaoke bar.

Ah, Melissa. The human tornado. What about her?

She’s coming to stay with me for two weeks.

Julie nearly choked on her coffee. Two weeks? That’s not a visit. That’s an invasion.

Tell me about it. She says it’s because she needs a break, but I know it’s because her roommate kicked her out.

Why did her roommate kick her out?

Something about unpaid rent and a questionable pyramid scheme involving artisanal dog treats.

Julie leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. Classic Melissa. So, what are you going to do?

What can I do? I can’t exactly say no.

Yes, you can. It’s easy. You just say it. Nnnnnno. See? Simple.

Amy glared at her. She’s family.

So is my Aunt Carol, but you don’t see me letting her sell Tupperware out of my living room.

Amy groaned, burying her face in her hands. I just need to survive the next two weeks without losing my mind.

Julie grinned. Good luck with that. Melissa has the energy of a caffeinated squirrel and the decision-making skills of a reality TV contestant.

Thanks, that’s super helpful.

Hey, I’m just setting realistic expectations.

Amy leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. I haven’t even told you the worst part.

There’s a worst part?

She’s bringing her parrot.

Julie’s eyes widened. Melissa has a parrot? Since when?

Since last month. His name is Rico, and he’s apparently very vocal.

How vocal are we talking? Like occasional squawks, or does he recite Shakespeare?

Amy stared at her, deadpan. He sings Lady Gaga.

Julie burst out laughing, nearly spilling her coffee. You’re joking.

I wish I were. He’s also learning to imitate Melissa’s voice, so now it’s like having two of her in one apartment.

This just keeps getting better.

Amy slumped back in her chair. You’re enjoying this way too much.

Of course I am. It’s like watching a sitcom, but with fewer commercial breaks.

Amy groaned again. Maybe I should book a hotel for the next two weeks and just let her have the apartment.

Or you could embrace the chaos. Lean into it. Become one with the tornado.

That sounds like terrible advice.

It is, but it’s also your only option.

They sat in silence for a moment, sipping their drinks as the coffee shop buzzed around them. Julie finally broke the quiet.

You know, this could actually be good for you.

Amy raised an eyebrow. How, exactly?

Melissa is like a human stress test. If you can survive her, you can survive anything.

That’s not comforting.

It should be. It’s like emotional boot camp.

Amy shook her head. You’re the worst.

No, I’m the best. And as your best friend, it’s my duty to remind you that you can always crash on my couch if things get too crazy.

Your couch is covered in cat hair.

You say that like it’s a bad thing.

It is a bad thing. I’m allergic.

Then I guess you’re stuck with Melissa and Rico.

Amy sighed, resigning herself to her fate. You know what? Fine. I’ll survive. But if I end up in jail because of Melissa’s antics, you’re bailing me out.

Deal. But only if you promise to get a video of Rico singing Bad Romance.

Amy couldn’t help but laugh, despite herself. You’re impossible.

And you’re predictable. Now, let’s talk about something more fun. Like how we’re going to survive brunch with your mom tomorrow.

Amy groaned again, and the conversation shifted gears, but the lingering specter of Melissa and her parrot loomed in the background like a chaotic storm waiting to strike.

Two weeks later, Julie received a frantic text from Amy that simply read: Rico knows how to say my PIN number. Help.

Julie laughed so hard she spilled her coffee, and then she started typing her response.