Setting

Kaffeine

The coffee shop was cramped with people sitting and chatting and others pushing by to order and leave. It was warm and smelled of roasted coffee beans, as a coffee shop should. Tucked back from the initial bustle by the door, a couple sat with empty cups.

“Are you hungry?” the woman asked.

“Maybe in about an hour,” her boyfriend said, shrugging, playing with his empty cup.

“Well then, where do you want to go?”

“I don’t care. You pick.”

“I picked last time. It’s your turn.” The woman crossed her arms and leaned back in her seat.

“Well, are you hungry?” The boyfriend leaned forward on his elbows.

“Maybe in a bit.”

“Then you aren’t yet. We’ll pick when we’re hungry.”

“By then we’ll be too hungry to pick!” She stuck her neck out as she spoke.

He sat up straighter. “What? No. By then we’ll know what we’re hungry for.”

“That’s what you always say, but then we end up arguing because we’re hungry and irritable.”

He laughed one short loud laugh, a sort of “HA”. “No, you’re too hungry and irritable. And then I pick something, and you don’t want it. So you may as well pick now.”

“But I picked last time!” The woman whined, sinking into her seat.

“Fine, then we’ll get pizza.”

“Okay.”

The woman looked around at the other people sipping coffee and eating little baked goods. Some were working on their computer, some meeting up with friends, some with their significant others.

“You’re making a face,” her boyfriend said, leaning again on his elbows.

“No, it’s your turn to pick. I’m fine with pizza.” She shrugged.

“If I order it and you don’t eat it, you’ll have wasted money. What do you want instead?”

“Pizza’s fine.”

“Okay.”

He returned to playing with his empty cup.

“Well maybe if we order bread sticks with it.”

“Fine.” He swirled is his cup with his finger.

“And a salad.”

“Alright then.” The cup swirled back and forth from the middle of the table to the edge.

“Maybe I’ll just get a meatball sub.”

“Then you won’t eat the pizza.” He stopped for a moment.

“Well, you can order a smaller pizza, and I’ll just have a piece.”

“Fine.” He swirled the cup again, closer to the edge.

“But then maybe I will be full.”

The cup swirled off the table, nearly crashing on the tile. The boyfriend lunged from his seat and caught the lip of it halfway to the ground. He put the cup firmly in the middle of the table and looked around. No one had noticed.

“Do you want to go to an Italian place?”

“That does sound nice.” The woman smiled.

“Fine.” The boyfriend rolled his eyes.

“What?”

“You’re impossible.” He stood up, motioning her to follow.