Nata

"First hold the cup in the non-dominant hand, and the pitcher in the dominant one." Martina lifts the pitcher in her right over her white porcelain cup. "Think of it like learning the steps of the dance. You need to practice, so your hands have the muscle memory to know what to do when you actually have to pour."

Martina's movements are steady and calm. "Step one: high and slow. Focus on pouring a pencil-wide stream of water into the center of the cup. Pitcher about an inch away from the top of the cup and you're just pouring the same width of the stream, so as your pitcher gets more empty, you tilt it more forward, so your stream isn't stopping or starting or stuttering. Go in small circles. It's harder than it looks."

She gesticulates for us to try. I lift my pitcher and watch the stream, grateful for my steady hands. It is indeed harder than it looks, as my stream shifts between a tinkle and a plop.

"I've mastered that skill before I started kindergarten," Phillip says in a low voice behind me.

My stream sputters from the puff of his breath on my neck.

I stop pouring all together when the meaning of what he says penetrates my skull. Heat rises to my cheeks. "Ew. Gross."

Phillip wiggles his hips in a circular motion.

"Focus on your hands, Phillip," says Martina. "We are no longer in kindergarten and my hearing is better than you think."

We practice. Water spilling around us as Phillip continues his attempts to distract me from the task. My outfit has weird damp blotches. Maybe it's for the best we're not using milk.

"Step two. Low and fast. This is where latte art actually happens." Martina lowers the pitcher closer to the cup. "We use the foamy part of our milk to skate across the surface of the espresso like skipping a stone across water."

The pitcher in my hand refuses to cooperate as I fail to produce a faster and wider stream. I grind my teeth and refuse to acknowledge my shoes are now wet as well. I'll figure it out. Baristas do this every day. I'm a smart, educated woman. I can do what they do. I squeeze the handle of the pitcher tighter and try again. Half of my water ends up in the cup with a splash.

"Be more aggressive with it." Phillip does a pour almost as smoothly as Martina.

I fail again and overshoot, so my water splatters in a puddle around us.

"I'll get a mop." Martina leaves the bar.

I clench my jaw and try again, determined to master the stupid step.

Phillip settles his hand on my elbow. "Okay if I help?"

How can he be helping me? I'm the coffee expert here. "I'm fine. I can figure it out."

"You're taking this too seriously. It's supposed to be fun." He comes so close his chest almost touches my back and the hairs on my neck rise. "Let's do it together." His hands cover mine and my next pour of water into the cup is almost perfect. "Begin with your cup tilted, as it gets fuller you straighten the cup out, which is the difficult part. Get your spout close to the surface of the cup. Almost in the cup."

"How are you so good at this all of a sudden?" I grumble as I relax into him.

He repeats his suggestive hip motion. "I've been in control of my stream for almost forty years."

I bump my butt against his hip hoping he'd stop. "I really don't need to think about pee when I'm making coffee."

"When the skill fits." He shrugs, but his hip remains glued to mine.

"You're worse than kindergarteners." Martina returns with one other staff member, who rolls in a mop. "Ready for the last part?"

Still leaning against Phillip's chest I nod.

Martina demonstrates step three: the strike through and I don't suck at it. Phillip returns to his spot next to me. Although my attention is supposed to be on putting the three steps together, the competitive streak that was pushing me into another bout of stress doesn't reappear.

We spill more water, grateful the mop is there to stop us from slipping. I let go of my expectations of doing this perfectly and just enjoy the process. Enjoy Phillip's silly jokes, the brushes of his hip against mine, and his laughter that clears something inside my heart. Like a solid rain that removes the stains from the asphalt. I breathe easier.

Fun might not be a waste of time after all.

"Ready for the next step?" Martina takes out a jug of milk and a small plastic bottle.

"We're going to make the actual coffee?" I ask, excitement back into my voice.

"Not yet. But it's foam play time." Foam play? For someone calling us kindergartens, she sounds like a kindergarten teacher herself.

My gaze cements itself to her hands greedy for every detail.

She explains how to steam the milk, checking with our palms that the pitcher doesn't get too hot, and adds blue dye to one pitcher then pours it into our cups. "We don't want to waste the beans on you yet, but the white foam you pour over this blue milk base will show up just as well as in the coffee."

I try for the heart and come up with a limp crooked blob. The second one is at least in the oval shape realm. The third one is vaguely heart-shaped. "Look. This isn't bad, right?" I almost shout as I show it to Martina and Phillip.

"You're getting there. Practice makes progress. A couple more pours and I can switch you to the real deal."

I barely contain a squeal of excitement. "Show me yours." I ask Phillip. "I showed you mine."

He moves his shoulder in the way of me seeing his design. "You most definitely did."

The tone he uses makes me think about the nights I spent naked in his underneath him, not coffee. I squeeze past Phillip on the other side, and my eyes widen at three cups of blue milk with pretty perfect hearts drawn in white on them.

"Dang. What aren't you good at?" I'm actually jealous of this man's abilities.

"Chemistry. Biology. Most sciences really. Computational analysis. Running," he bends a finger with every statement of the things I excel at.

I clasp his fingers in mine.

Phillip lowers his forehead to mine. "But I might just be great with my hands." The suggestive intonation is over the top and accompanied by more eyebrow wiggles.

My chest rumbles, and laughter erupts out of my mouth. I watch Phillip's face freeze, then join in. I snort, and he tugs me into his chest, where we shudder into bursts of laughter. My shoulders shake, I'm laughing so hard. I get a stitch in my rib. I'm laughing so hard. Tears spring to my eyes, I'm laughing so hard. I run out of breath and gasp against Phillip's damp shirt. My hands leave blue fingerprints on his sleeve and his leave blue smudges on my shirt but who cares about some blue die when the real, painful blues of my heart leave me, even if that's just for this one fun day.

We graduate to real coffee and pull shots of espresso. We recreate the heart designs. We try the tulip design and see which one of us can make more tiers. We smile. The bar top is littered with cups of blue milk, cappuccinos, and failed attempts at both. We try each other's creations. We wince. We laugh at our failures.

"Hope you learned something and had fun." Martina sips her cappuccino secco. "Latte art doesn't taste like anything. It's just the final point on a beautifully crafted beverage. Shows you've created something as beautiful as it is delicious."

From now on, latte art will taste like fun to me.

I've had more fun than I should've. More fun than I can ever remember having. Ever. She must know this. I school my face into a serious mean. "So. Who won?"

Martina spins our two final but still imperfect latte foam hearts. "I declare a draw."

Phillip's hand cover mine. I wait for the disappointment of not winning settle over me, but I'm still content, brimming with delight.

I interlace my fingers with his. "Draw it is."

Phillip and I grin at each other. Definitely kindergarteners. I would've loved to have a friend like Phillip then. A fun friend.

Part of me feels guilty for having the fun. Like I'm breaking the rules by not concentrating on the grief of my situation. Although, who came up with the stupid rules? I've followed all the rules all the time and where did it get me? Fuck the rules.

I'm done being the safe version of myself. No more filing down of my edges and covering up my wishes because someone in the universe might be offended. If what I need to heal from last night is laugh, my ass off-I'll do that. If I need to cry-I'll do that too.

I'm done playing by the rules, even if I was the onewho created them

7.28.23

Author's Note

As promised, this was all fluff. Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed coming up with it.

I've never made latte art, but I watched several youtube videos and took the steps and insipiration from there. I fyou have actual knowledge of the process and see mistakes, plese, let me know and I'll corret them.

What are we thinking about Nata having fun?

Is Phillip's plan working?

Would you like more fluff or are you ready to get back to the plotline?

Thank you for reading. As always I love your votes and comments. The more the merrier.

Love,

GR