CoffeeBeanShop

Home for the Christmas

by Hazel Larkin (bio at end of story)

"Will you have a cup of tea, Michael?" his mother asked.

"I'd prefer coffee," he answered. "If there's any going."

"Emmm, there's some instant in a jar from when you were last home." Mick weighed his options.

"I'll have tea so."

As he added a drop of milk, he could see from the corner of his eye, his mother working up to broaching the next subject.

"Is she very black, Michael?" Mrs. Farrell asked. "Or is she more a sort of a..." she paused significantly before uttering the phrase she'd learnt from Mrs. Dunphy at the meat counter in Londis the week before. "...Café-au-lait?"

"Mam!" Mick was scandalised. "You can't be saying things like that. It's not politically correct!"

"What's this about politics?" His mother was genuinely confused. "I thought you said she works in a bank?"

"She does," Mick answered, not even bothering to try to enlighten his mother on the difference between working on a counter in A.I.B. and being Vice-President of Corporate Banking in a large Asian bank on Wall Street. "But politically correct means..." Mick groped for a way to describe the term. "...Polite. And it's not polite to compare someone's skin colour to a cup of coffee."

"Well," humphed Mrs. Farrell. "I certainly didn't mean to give offence. "And," she continued as an afterthought, "I wouldn't mind if someone said I had the complexion of milky tea."

Mick said a silent prayer that his patience would last the fortnight as he put the kettle on.

"Why are you doing that?" his mother asked, surprised. "Sure there's still plenty of tea in the pot."

"I think I'll have some of that coffee after all."

"affeine's very bad for you." Mrs. Farrell pursed her lips.

u"Sre everything's bad for you," Mick said good-humouredly. "And anyway, there's caffeine in tea as well."

The front door closed and his father appeared in the kitchen. "Da." Mick greeted his father with an incline of his head. "Michael." His father returned the greeting before turning to his wife. "Is there tay wet?"

"There is, Seánie."

"Good." He sat down. "There's a wind out there that'd go through ye."

"Da, I wonder if I could borrow the car for about half an hour?" Mick asked. "Only I thought I'd go down the town."

"What is it you want, and I'll get it for you meself when I'm down," his mother said.

"I thought I'd get a caftiere and some ground coffee. Grace likes her coffee," Michael replied. "Ah, the Gorgeous Grace, pity the two of you couldn't get seats on the same flight," his father said with his pipe clenched between his teeth as he lit it. "But at least we'll finally get to meet her." Pipe lit, Seánie extracted it and smiled at his son. "Time you were getting married." Mick didn't rise to the bait, but he smiled inwardly as the thought of his family's faces on Christmas day when he and Grace announced their engagement.

"Take the car whenever you want, son. The keys are hanging up." Thanking his father and making sure there was nothing his mother wanted, Mick left the house, grateful for the release, and immediately guilty for feeling guilty. "Catholic guilt," he thought. Ironically, as he hadn't been to Mass since he left Ireland for New York in 1995 armed with a Greencard, courtesy of the Lottery.

"Ah would you look who it is!" The voice boomed from Mick's left as he perused the vacuum packed coffee on the shelves. Fearghal O'Reilly, an old classmate, was beaming at him as he plucked two packets of decaf off the shelf. "Home for the Christmas, Mick?"

"I am indeed."

"How's life in the Big Apple?"

"Not so bad. How's yerself?"

"Ah! Draggin' the divil, thank God. Elaine's expecting again. Hence the decaf." It seemed important to Fearghal to explain it away ­ as if Real Men didn't drink decaf.

"Congratulations!" Mick was genuinely pleased. "This must be what, the third?" He'd hazarded a guess at the number, but knew by the broad grin that spread across Fearghal's ruddy face that he was right. "Aren't you good to remember? We're hoping for a girl this time, but sure you take what you get. Em, I find this is the best myself," he picked up a packet of coffee and handed it to Mick. "Robust, but not too strong." He stopped embarrassed and self-conscious. "Jaze, I sound like one of them eejitty wine connoisseurs in the paper."

Mick smiled at him. "Not at all, Fearghal. Thanks for the advice." He threw three packets into his basket. Fearghal eyed the contents. "Far from caftieres and ground coffee we were reared, haw?"

"Indeed," Mick agreed. "But there's only tea and instant in my mother's and Grace likes her coffee."

"Grace? Is that the girlfriend?"

Mick nodded.

"And she's coming to spend Christmas in your mother's? Fair play to her. I suppose she's a yank?"

"Yeah, she's from New Jersey."

"God that's great. Listen, I'd better go on. Will you be down the Inn tonight?" Fearghal started to move off.

"I will," Mick replied, the Abbeydara Inn had once been his local and it was a tradition to go to the pub on Christmas Eve, not least because they were all closed on Christmas Day.

"Bring Grace," Fearghal called out as he disappeared into the next aisle.

At the airport, Mick's heart soared when he caught sight of her. Elegant, poised and beautiful she stood out from the crowd and Mick told himself again how lucky he was. Remembering his mother's probing questions, Mick frowned. Café-au-lait indeed! Where did she pick up expressions like that?

~~~

"I'm so glad you're not Muslim," Mrs. Farrell said as she handed round a plate of scones. Seeing the look on Mick's face she continued hurriedly. "Not that Muslims wouldn't be welcome in our house ­ of course they would. It's just that you can't get Halal meat in Abbeydara. That's what they call Muslim Kosher, isn't it? Halal?"

"Yes, Mam," Mick reassured her, wondering how she knew.

"I suppose you young people will be away down the pub tonight?" Seánie Farrell asked.

"Ah, I'm sure we will. I saw Fearghal O'Reilly today and said I'd meet him for a few scoops."

"Mr. Farrell, why don't you and Mrs. Farrell join us?" Grace asked.

"Ah, will you call me Seánie, like the rest of the world?"

"Call me Patsy, please." The Farrells spoke together. Grace smiled graciously at them.

"Anyway, you don't want us cramping your style," Seánie continued. "No thanks, Girl, I think we old people will stay in out of the cold."

~~~

"Your parents are lovely people, Mick," Grace told him as they walked to the Inn. "And they'll make wonderful grandparents for our little one whenever he or she comes along."

"Ah sure why not have a few?" Mick said lightly. "We'll get started and have one soon."

"Is eight months soon enough for you?" Grace asked softly.

It took a moment for the penny to drop.

"Do you mean? Are you? Jesus, Grace!!" Feeling as though his heart was going to burst, Mick picked her up and hugged her tight. "Good job we're getting married, so!" he joked shakily, as his brimming eyes mirrored her own.

They spent a great night in the pub, with Mick using 'jetlag' to explain away Grace's mineral waters. When they got home, Mick's parents were in the front room, watching telly.

"Sit down and I'll put the kettle on."

"Now, Ma, don't trouble yourself, I'll do it."

"Sure 'tis no trouble at all, Michael, will you sit down." When she reappeared, she was carrying a tray laden with cups and saucers and a plate of mincepies hot from the microwave, a pot of tea and the caftiere filled with coffee. "For yourself and Grace," she explained as she poured. "I hope it's okay, I've never used one of these yokes before."

"It's fine, Ma," Mick reassured her.

"Patsy, it's delicious," Grace smiled after the first mouthful.

Grace was having Mick's sister's room while she was staying. As Mick kissed her goodnight outside the door, he patted her stomach. "So, Ms. Roberts, you're brewing me a demi café-au-lait, then are you?"

"Michael!" Grace tired to be indignant, but a giggle escaped her. "That's hardly politically correct!"

© Hazel Larkin. All Rights Reserved.

Finalist - Home for the Christmas by Hazel Larkin

No bio available.

Editor's Note: "Home for the Christmas" was chosen for several great reasons. First, it was an engaging read. We had a gut feeling the woman knew Irish! Plus, the story was on the edge, with a great fare-thee-well in the handling of it all. Conversation was handled well, and the ending was very satisfying.

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