Coffee

Susan’s mother stared at her blankly. She took a sip of her tea, her gaze unwavering.

“I’m not about to call you a liar, dear, and I’m sure that most if not all of what is in that mug came out of the coffee pot, but that’s one of my good Bailey’s mugs. I keep them in the liquor cabinet for a reason.”

“You keep most of them in the liquor cabinet. This one was in with the rest of the mugs in the cupboard.” The older woman continued her stare unabated. She sipped her tea again. Susan sighed, and slid the mug to her. “Feel free to test. I’ll be getting myself a fresh mug.” She didn’t wait until Susan was out of the room to sip - and nod once. No booze. Of course. She realized that her mouth was running as she got to the kitchen, but didn’t bother to shut it off. The grumbling was mostly under her breath, and she didn’t really vent much, if at all. Her usual reaction was to simply shut down or to rage atop her lungs in as eloquent and forceful a manner as she could. Grumbling was novel in a way. As she added creamer to the cup, her mother entered the kitchen.

“You must forgive my suspicion, dear. You are at that age, and you’ve been through more than most people your age.”

“I’m aware.” Susan’s tone was carefully neutral.

“But with that said, I can’t condone certain… coping mechanisms. If you do feel the need to-”

“I don’t.” There was a long moment of silence in the room, before Susan snatched her keys from the rack and headed for her car. She needed some air. There were things not said. ‘My coping mechanisms are not your own’ was the primary one.

Susan was, however, thinking it. Very loudly.

Story by Mod Zee.