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CHARLIE’S DRINK SPECIAL: DAILY GRIND DRIP

The Colombian dark-roast hazelnut aroma jostled Charlie from early morning brain fog.

Nestled on a stool in the cramped storage room, she blew into her red-lipstick-stained rainbow mug and indulged in a grateful sip. The caffeine danced on her tongue before it left a trail of heat down her throat.

Coffee. Her true love.

She trailed a fingertip over the freshly inked butterfly on her inner wrist and flinched from the sharp burn. A few more days and her final freedom branding should heal. She drew a tiny heart on June 0th on her motivational quotes calendar, marking Sugar Mugs’s official six-month anniversary. Her dream of creating a safe space where kids, queers, and grandparents could all hang out was finally a reality.

For now.

A brown leaf from her bamboo plant on her bookshelf caught her attention. She moved to pluck it, then pried open the blinds to peek at the few regulars waiting on the sidewalk. Maybe today would be a good day.

Scratch that. Manifest. Focus.

Today would be a great day.

Over her shoulder, she called out, “Ready, Peaches?”

Ben stood up from the corner table. “I’m caffeinated, moisturized, and having a good hair day.” His inky-black hair was perfectly pomaded, as usual. He was always having a good hair day. He pointed double finger guns at her with an exaggerated wink. “Open.”

All morning a steady stream of customers filtered through Charlie’s neighborhood coffee shop. Each time the door opened, the unusual Seattle heat whooshed in carrying lavender scent from her outdoor plants. As her fingers tapped the order screen, stress evaporated.

“Really? Five pumps of regular vanilla and one pump of sugar-free?” Ben muttered a couple of hours later, his saltiness reaching max level. “What the hell’s the point?”

“You burnt out?” Crafting coffee drinks was physically intensive, but Ben normally held on for at least three hours before they rotated. She bumped him to the register and swapped places with him at the espresso machine.

“I’m hangry. And my abuelita sent a huge dish of arroz con gandules, and I can’t eat it.” He wiped his hands on the towel and rang up the next customer. He scribbled the order on the cup and pushed it towards her. “Cleansing sucks.”

“When did you start a cleanse?” she asked while pumping the espresso into the portafilter.

“This morning.” He turned his attention to the man who approached the till. “What can I get started for you?”

“Drip with room.”

Perfect. A proper order, highest profit margin. He was probably a purist at heart, just like her.

I’m so glad I opened this place.

“Excuse me!” The shrill voice erupted behind Charlie. “I said peppermint. Not vanilla.”

I should’ve never opened this place.

“Oops! Sorry ’bout that. Let me redo it for you.” She winced as she tossed the botched drink down the drain and mentally calculated the cost of her error.

An hour later, the rush slowed and Ben handed her a short Americano.

“A vendor dropped these baked samples off earlier.” He dug a banged-up white pastry box covered in masking tape from under the till. “Twenty bucks says they taste like hell.”

“I’m not even taking that bet right now.” She took a quick sip and relished in the welcome reprieve of the chaotic morning. “It’s like they didn’t even try.”

He ripped open the box and handed her a droopy, pink-cream-topped muffin. “Bottoms up, baby.” He bit into the muffin and faked a gag.

She poked at the crusty frosting, sniffed it, and took a tentative lick before sinking her teeth into it. “Eww. This tastes like feet.” She threw her dehydrated muffin in the compost bin. “Wait, I thought you were on a cleanse?”

“I’m already over it.” He clapped the crumbs from his fingers.

“Thank God,” she said. “When you keto’d last month, all you did was death-glare the doughnuts.”

“It takes a lot to maintain all this.” He rubbed his hands down his chiseled belly. “Hey, you ever hear from your dad last week?”

“Nope. I still only get a birthday call when he’s sober.” Or needs cash .

Being her bestie since junior high, Ben had witnessed it all. He nodded in solidarity.

“And nothing else from Jess?”

“Just that text I showed you.” Charlie wiped the steam wand with a wet towel. Her ex-wife refused to allow the scabbed-over wound of their broken marriage to fully heal, and never missed an opportunity to send well-wishes or trip selfies from God-knows-where.

Last week, Jess had messaged:

Happy Birthday, You! Hope you have an amazing day and splurge on a slice of Swedish lemon cake from your fave bakery in Queen Anne ;-)

For a split second after reading the text, a tiny lump grew in Charlie’s throat. But soon after, irritation took over.

“Do you have any idea how many regulars check you out? You should jump on that.” A few rogue coffee beans scattered across the counter as Ben poured them into the industrial grinder. “Maybe there’s actually light at the end of your celibate tunnel.”

“I’m not giving up a sale for booty.” She snapped a garbage liner in the air and stuffed it into the container.

“Whatever, princess.”

Charlie grabbed the sanitizing spray bottle from the cleaning station and wiped down the tables as Jess’s voice swirled in her head.

Babe—we’re talking about Spain! How can you pass this up?

Belize tickets are practically free this time of year.

Fiji, Charlie. Come on. You know you want to…

The bell over the door jingled, and the mail carrier marched toward the register.

“Eddie!”

“Afternoon, Charlie.” Eddie handed over a stack of mail to Ben.

She snatched it from Ben’s hands before he could look as her neck grew warm. “Did my invite to Macklemore’s birthday party arrive today?”

“Not today. It’ll happen.” Eddie adjusted the strap on his mailbag.

She pouted. “Five minutes alone with him and we’d be best friends.”

“Hey!” Ben snapped a towel in her direction.

“Next to Benji here, of course.” She grinned and held the mail to her chest like a shield.

“I believe in you.” Eddie nodded at Ben, who handed him a complimentary cup. “Did I tell you I used to deliver in his neighborhood in West Seattle?”

“What? Did you see him? Is he nice? Are you kidding?”

“Sure am,” he said with a chuckle, and slammed his iced coffee.

“Dang it. I thought you’d have an insider tip. Guess I’m back to square one, manifesting my dreams with crystals tonight.”

After Eddie left, Charlie flipped through the mail. “Ugh.”

Ben stopped stuffing the napkins. “Chucky? You good?”

“Yep, for sure.” She forced a smile and prayed that Ben’s spidey sense was off today. “I’m gonna run upstairs for a bit. You okay on your own for a while?”

“Seriously? Go. I got this.”

She bumped him on the hip, flashed an even worse fake smile than before, and raced up the stairs to her loft. Careful not to trip over the half dozen shoes and scattered packages inside the front door, she made her way to the shoddy desk tucked in the corner of the living room. She flung the two sweatshirts draped on the back of the chair to the couch and used her elbows to clear a space.

Her hands trembled before she slipped her finger under the envelope flap.

“Nope. Not today.” She stopped mid-tear and pressed her palm over the seal, like the insides contained a poisonous gas she could contain if she kept it closed.

Today, she couldn’t open the letter. Tomorrow she’d look. Or the next day. Or maybe this weekend she’d officially open them all. She yanked open the dresser drawer and stuffed the unopened envelope on top of the stack of mail containing the exact, bold red, two-letter words: Final Notice .