Katie nodded, then asked, “Can I get you something?”
Frederick was already staring up at the chalkboard menu above Katie’s head, with an intensity one might use to translate ancient hieroglyphics. The menu listed nearly two dozen drinks in chalk pastel lettering, written in Katie’s flowery handwriting.
“We Are Bountiful,” Frederick read, as slowly and awkwardly as though the words were in a language he did not speak. “We Are . . . Soul Searching.” He turned to look at me, bewildered. “I thought you said this establishment served coffee.”
“It’s kind of a whole thing, the way we name things here.” Katie rolled her eyes. “The owner attended a wellness seminar in Marin County a few years ago. When she came back all the drinks had to have inspiring names.”
“They’re the same drinks you’d get anywhere, though,” I clarified. “So don’t let the names throw you.”
“The same drinks I’d get anywhere,” Frederick repeated.
“Right,” I said. “So just let me know if you want a translation.”
He seemed to consider that, and then turned to Katie. “I would like to purchase coffee.” He said the words slowly, carefully—and loudly. Like a stereotype of a stupid American trying to make himself understood in a different country to people who don’t speak English.
“Coffee?” Katie asked.
“Coffee,” Frederick confirmed, looking extremely pleased with himself. And then, as an afterthought, he added, “Please.”
Katie looked at him patiently. We got people in there all the time who were conscientious objectors to our owners’ naming system. She knew how to handle this.
“What kind of coffee?” she asked.
A beat. “Coffee,” Frederick replied.
“But what kind?” With a practiced motion, Katie pointed to the menu above her head. “We Are Sparkling is our light roast, We Are Exuberant is our dark roast, and We Are Vivacious is—”
At some point, more customers must have shown up, because a line of people had formed behind us. Frederick paid them no mind as he turned to me. “These names are ridiculous.”
“You still have to order something.”
“I never drink coffee, Cassie,” he reminded me, looking so affronted I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep a giggle from escaping. “Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.”
“Just pick one,” I advised. “If you’re not going to drink it, it doesn’t matter what you order. Right?” I leaned in closer so the people behind us wouldn’t hear me and whispered, “It’s good practice for blending in.”
He tilted his head as he considered that. “You’re right.” He turned back to Katie. “I will have one—” He paused, looking up at the pastel lettering above her head, and grimaced. “I will have one We Are Vivacious.”
“One We Are Vivacious.” Katie pushed a button on the register. And then, with the patience she usually reserved for customers over the age of seventy-five—which, given the circumstances, was more appropriate than Katie realized—she asked, “What size would you like? Our We Are Vivacious comes in Moon, Supernova, and Galaxy sizes.”
This seemed to be Frederick’s limit.
“I recognize each of the words you just said as belonging to the English language,” he said, looking dazed. “When taken all together, however, none of what you just said makes any sense whatsoever.”
“Frederick—”
“A liquid expands to conform to the size and shape of the container it is placed in. Coffee does not have a size.”
Frederick’s voice was getting louder. The line behind us was now five customers deep. I turned around and noticed that some of them were whispering to one another and staring at him.
I needed to intervene.
“What she means, Frederick, is what size mug of coffee do you want to order?” I pointed at the menu display hanging over Katie’s head. At the bottom were little chalk-drawn cartoons of small, medium, and large coffee cups—or, Moon, Supernova, and Galaxy—and their corresponding prices. I’d drawn the mugs for that display menu my first week there. That had been fun. “The drinks here come in different-sized mugs depending on how much people want to drink. Each size has a corresponding space-related name.”
Understanding dawned across his handsome face. “I see.” He glanced at Katie. “You should have said as much from the beginning.”
For the first time, Katie’s patience was showing visible cracks. She glanced at me and murmured, “You know this guy?”
“Sort of,” I admitted sheepishly. “Frederick, what size mug do you want Katie to get for you?”
He seemed to ponder the question very seriously. “What do normal people purchase here? That is the size I would like.”
“He’ll have a large We Are Vivacious,” I blurted out before Katie had a chance to answer. This conversation needed to end as soon as possible. “Sorry—I mean, he’ll have a Galaxy-sized We Are Vivacious. I’ll have a Moon-sized We Are Empowered, with extra foam.”
I dug into my wallet to pull out my credit card, but Frederick put his hand on my arm.
“I will pay for the drinks,” he said, his tone brooking no opposition. Out of nowhere, he pulled out a neon-purple bag that looked a lot like the fanny pack my grandpa used to wear on our family vacations to Disney World. He unzipped its front pouch, and a motley assortment of coins—dozens, hundreds of them—spilled out of it and all over the counter in front of us.
I stared down at the pile in complete bafflement. There must have been at least fifteen different currencies on the counter. Some sort of looked like gold doubloons. Were those actually a thing?
Katie, to her credit, didn’t even bat an eye. “Sorry. We’re cashless.” She pointed to the credit card reader in front of us.
Frederick stared first at it, then at her, with an utterly blank expression. “What is that?”
“I’ll pay for the drinks,” I said, hurriedly. Frederick allowed me to elbow him out of the way, still staring at the credit card reader in abject confusion.
“But—”
“You can pay me back later,” I said, inserting my credit card in the machine. “With your gold doubloons.”
* * *
Frederick glanced at me over the rim of his We Are Vivacious. He sniffed its contents with obvious distaste.
“I remember loving coffee,” he mused, setting it back down on the table. It was still full, and still steaming hot. “Now it just smells like dirt water to me.”