“You have a special pot for starters, and the coffee is ground superfine, like dust. Then you add the coffee straight to the water and slowly bring it all to a boil on the stovetop. Well, almost a boil.”
Removing the plunger, I pour the steaming, grounds-laden beverage into the two demitasse, and we watch as the bubbles rise to the surface along with the grounds.
“You repeat the process several times before it’s ready. Then when you pour it into the cup, you have to wait a few minutes for the grounds to settle to the bottom.”
“It sounds really strong.” Amy’s watching as I put a scoop of sugar in the thick liquid in the two small cups.
“It’s delicious.” I give her a wink, and put the carafe aside. “Now, let’s see how terrible this is.”
She lifts her cup and stares into it. “Do I drink the grounds?”
“Give it a few minutes,” I say, watching. “They should settle to the bottom.”
“Is this what you did with Patrick?” She’s watching now, and I glance up at her.
“He told you about that?”
“Oh, yes. He’s a believer.”
“It was totally bogus.”
“You saw a camel fighting with him, and the next week he was almost run off the road by a Michigan Transport truck.”
I can’t help it. I start giggling. “It was so random.”
“Still…” She places her hands around the small cup. “Is it time to drink it?”
“Yeah,” I say, picking up the tiny cup and taking a cautious sip. The warmth of the coffee flavor sends a little shiver across my shoulders. “Mm… I didn’t realize how much I missed that.”
“It’s not bad at all! A little debris…” She picks a ground off her tongue, and we both laugh.
In a few sips, the bulk of the liquid is gone. “Don’t drain the cup!” I hold out a hand, and she stops. “You wouldn’t drain the cup with real Turkish coffee either.”
“Okay.” She puts it down, and I do the same.
Going to the cabinet, I take out two regular-sized saucers and motion for her to follow me to the table. “This is the fun part.”
She follows me to the table, and I put the saucer over the top of her demitasse then flip it upside down. For a moment or two I hold my hands around the small cup and move it back and forth. I wave my fingers over it like a Svengali, and her eyes widen.
“Is that part of the process?” she whispers.
“No,” I whisper back. “I’m only teasing you.”
Then she starts to giggle, and I pick up her cup, looking at the blob of grounds sitting in a silly little pile. I study it and wait. My imagination usually comes up with something cryptic that I say out loud. It’s always unique for each person, and I’m convinced their belief in the process is what gives it power.
Finally, I’ve got something, and I sit back. “The only thing stopping you from flying is you.”
Her eyes widen and her jaw drops. She falls back in the chair staring at me like I just told her she was really the Queen of England.
“What?” I start to laugh. “Does that mean something to you?”
“Marcus asked me to marry him,” she whispers, leaning forward and grasping my hands tight. “It’s why I came here without him this weekend.”
Now my eyes widen, and my jaw drops. “But you love Marcus,” I whisper.
“I know,” she whispers back. “I want to say yes, but it scares the shit out of me.”
A huge smile splits my face. “That’s fantastic!” But just as fast I frown. “Still… how does what I said have anything to do with that?”