Page 15 of Finesse
As I stood in line for my too-much-sugar caffeinated drink, I fondly recall when my Daddy just had his coffee shop out of the garage. We would often have garage sales and Daddy always made coffee for the neighborhood. In turn, when our neighbors started to have their sales, they would ask Daddy if he would make coffee.
Word of mouth traveled about my Daddy’s coffee and next thing he knew, he had a little coffee stand outside of Sunday church. Then he would have one for the Black History Festival. He’d saved up enough money to buy a small rundown shop before moving onto a bigger one for more space.
The shop didn’t look like a typical coffee shop. It looked like someone’s kitchen and that was the intention. Cornflower blue walls; red, black, and green tables, and white dinnerware contrasted against the hardwood floors.
People would come everyone just for his coffee. It was strong, but it had that extra touch. It was a community full of everyone and no one came in with the politicking or this and that. People just wanted some good coffee with a nice slice of icebox pie to go with it. Hell yeah.
Instead of calling coffee by the usual names, Daddy has them nicknamed after his favorites – Jay-Z is the house blend, because it’s strong and everyone likes it. Kanye is a cappuccino because it has an unexpected kick to your system. Drake is chai tea, because it’s soft.
“Hey, Ms. Thang!” My daddy’s right-hand, Gabe Butler, greets me. He’s a tall Black man with a goatee and dreads. He looks a lot like the rapper, Future, and gets confused for him on a regular basis. “In here, getting some free stuff for a broke college student discount?”
“Anyway!” I stick out my tongue and Gabe laughs at me. “Let me get the Michael Jack special – the blended mocha with the whipped cream on top.”
“Don’t stop until you get enough,” Gabe replies with the pun. I love his puns. Corny and predictable but they always put a smile on my face. “Anything else?”
“And some of that icebox pie.” I glanced down to see if there’s still a slice. There’s plenty but I want to make sure I get mine.
“We always save a slice for baby girl now.” Gabe directs. I begin to pull out my card and he rejects it. “You know your money is no good here. But if you have some cash, tip the servers.”
I pull out the loose dollars I have and put them in the tip jar. “Thanks, Gabe.”
“Not a problem. Your coffee and pie will be ready in a minute.”
“And Daddy? Where’s he?” I ask.
“He’s in the back in a meeting.” Gabe shrugs. “He should be done soon, though.”
I make my way towards the back of the shop, near the bathrooms and I overhear my Daddy talking to someone. His voice is calm but his words are anything but.
“Listen, I know your offer is a good one. And I’m not going to lie and say it’s not one of the best offers I’ve had on this place. But it’s not for sale; neither the business nor the property. I built this shop from the ground up and I plan to give it to my daughter when she gets old enough.”
“Well,” a female voice answers, “that is very commendable of you. But the money I’m offering will guarantee a bright future for both you and your daughter.” The lady pauses. “You would be silly to not consider it.”
“The money you’re offering I could make in just a few years.” I hear the skepticism in my father’s voice. “Property here in East Atlanta is going up. By the time I purchase another property and get it ready for business, I would already be in the hole. I live a very comfortable lifestyle now and I’m not trying to give it up.”
“What if I double it?” The woman presses. “Two. Million. Dollars.”
My mouth gasps. Now Daddy wouldreallybe a plum fool to turn that down.
“The offer is no,” Daddy remains firm and I almost want to barge in the office to tell him to reconsider. “But thank you for the time.”
There’s a long pause and I hear shuffling. “Very well. I’ll be back with another offer, Lamont.” The door swings open and the woman exits the office. She turns to me and smiles.
She’s a petite Black woman with light skin and brown eyes. She’s wearing a tight black business suit with a short skirt and matching high heels. She’s all but 5’2, but the power she wields makes her seem much larger than that. “You must be Taylor, Lamont’s baby girl he fondly speaks of.” She turns and leaves.
What the hell was that about?
Daddy built his coffee shop from the ground up. He purchased the land, hired builders, and worked on the shop when it was just dirt and pavement in the area. Everyone told him he was crazy and he agreed, but he knew he was onto something special.
He took odd jobs like being a cook in a diner, doing yard work, security for the local mall, and even being a bouncer at the nightclubs to save up enough money to build his dream. The foundation, the color scheme, the paintings and photographs on the wall were all of my Daddy’s brilliant creations.
He traveled to Guatemala and Costa Rica to choose the best coffee beans. He studied with coffee sommeliers, tasting and smelling the finest coffee beans known to man. He went deep into the trenches and would be gone for weeks at a time, leaving me with grandparents and other relatives as he followed his dream.
Now my Daddy’s coffee shop is rated one of the best in all of Atlanta. He was featured on several cooking shows and made a special guest appearance onDiners, Drive-ins, and Dives.When visitors come all over the world, they always made a stop at Daddy’s shop, raving about how they heard it was the best coffee and never leave disappointed.
I walk into Daddy’s office and he’s quiet with his lips pursed like he just ate a lemon. He’s shaking his head and sighs. It’s the same headshake people have when someone says something so stupid, all you can do is shake your head.
I knock on the door and my Daddy wipes his face clear. Long gone is the frustration and replaced is happiness and love. “My baby girl.” He gets up and gives me a warm embrace and kiss. “Happy to see you always.”
