Coffee and Quarrels

“Kloshbet!”

There was a light rapping on the wood door, then silence.

“Kloshbet!”

Vincent knocked louder. This time, the door opened. A tired-looking teenage girl looked up at him, brushed a lock of brown hair out of her eyes, and stifled a yawn.

“What?”

“I need help with the coffee maker again,” Vincent sighed, already knowing from his daughter’s tone of voice that it would be difficult to convince her to help.

“I’m too tired,” she mumbled, starting to close the door. Vincent stuck his foot in to prevent it from closing.

“We promised to run the shop for the week while the owners are out. You don’t want to go back on a promise, do you?” he asked.

Kloshbet paused in consideration, then sighed and opened the door. “Fine. But I hope this doesn’t take too long. I want to go back to sleep.”

“I thought you had a theatre thing tonight,” the adoptive dad noted as the pair descended from their apartment into a spacious room filled with the scent of freshly-brewed coffee.

“I do,” Kloshbet affirmed. “That’s why I want to go back to sleep. I can’t use up all my energy this early in the day.”

Vincent couldn’t help but crack a smile at that. “First of all, it’s noon. And second of all, you won’t have any coffee to help keep you awake until you help me fix the coffee maker.”

The teenager couldn’t argue with that, so she followed wordlessly into the kitchen (well, it was more of a kitchenette) and walked over to the large machine, eyeing it up and down.

“What’s wrong with it?” she asked. Before her father could answer, a hideous screeching came from the front room. Kloshbet groaned.

“SCREEEEEEEEEE!” screamed a small yellow bird, flying into the kitchenette and landing on top of the troublesome machine. It pecked at one button angrily. “Skrit SCREEEE skrit skirt squak SCREET—”

The angry squawking was cut off by Kloshbet, who shoed the bird away from the machine with aggressive hand motions, nearly knocking her out of the air.

“I can’t understand anything you’re saying,” she grumbled.

“Th-the coffee maker just won’t start,” Vincent sighed, twiddling his thumbs and looking over at Biby with concern.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Kloshbet replied.

“Thank you.” Vincent rubbed his temples and walked back out to the front room of the coffeehouse, with a very angry yellow ball of feathers following suit.

The front room was a warm mix of browns and pastel yellows, with natural wooden walls and brown couches that had faded a bit over the years. Soft light shone in through a few carefully cleaned windows, and woven yellow rugs matched a single solid line of paint that ran along the walls like a ribbon wrapping the room up as a present.

“Squawk!” Biby protested indignantly as she landed on a lamp in the corner, the only light source other than the windows. It was turned off during the day to save electricity, but at night it cast a cozy glow in the little room.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Vincent sighed. “I don’t know why Kloshbet insists on being so… er… headstrong around you.” He paused, then adjusted his shirt collar nervously. “Do you want me to get you something to eat?”

Biby made a sound of approval and started trying to straighten the lampshade— a difficult feat considering her tiny size. Vincent headed behind the glass counter that sat at the far end of the room near the stairs, and browsed through the pastries he had restocked an hour earlier.

“We have strawberry and raspberry thumbprints, apple turnovers, a lot of biscuits that won’t do us any good if Kloshbet doesn’t fix the coffee machine… Ah.” Spotting the bird’s usual choice of pastry, he took out a rolled-up piece of bread in the shape of a cone using a brown napkin. “Plain croissant and a Sprite?”

“Cheep!” Biby nodded (which pretty much made her entire body bob) as she landed the oversized lamp shade, which she carried in her feet, back in its proper place.

Kloshbet fetched the soda from a minifridge under the counter that was dedicated solely to the drinks and microwavable lunches of those who worked at the Catfe. Years of use had turned the white appliance a tanner shade that matched the rest of the room’s ambiance.

“Here you go,” he said, opening the Sprite and walking over to one of the little tables by by the couches. He set the breakfast down and walked back to retrieve his own pastry (an apple turnover), too nervous to sit with Biby while she pecked at her food. He frowned and thought to himself while the two ate in silence. As much as he loved Kloshbet, he was growing increasingly worried that she’d seriously hurt Biby one of these days, and he’d never forgive himself if he let that happen. Despite her appearance— and Vincent knew better than anyone how deceiving appearances could be— Biby was incredibly smart, and her business skills were basically keeping the Catfe from going under. If she got hurt…

Suddenly, Vincent was jerked out of his thoughts by a loud grinding noise coming from the kitchen behind him, followed by the shout of a teenage girl.

“I fixed it!” Kloshbet called, a little louder than necessary considering the kitchen was only a few feet away from the front room.

“Thank you,” Vincent replied, walking in to check on the coffee maker. Kloshbet flicked the machine off and made a dramatic sweeping motion towards it.

“It’s all yours,” she said. “Now I’m going back upstairs to sleep. And if I can’t do that, I’m watching Youtube.”

“Wait,” Vincent said quietly, putting a hand on her shoulder to stop her from leaving. She looked back.

“What else do you need?” Her voice was as lethargic as ever.

Vincent took a deep breath and sighed. “Could you be a little more careful around Biby?” he asked. Kloshbet blinked at him. “I don’t know why you’re so aggressive around her, but it makes me worried.”

Kloshbet took a moment, then— to Vincent’s surprise— bowed her head slightly. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I’ll explain later, but I’ll try. For now, I just want to eat.”

“Oh? Y-yes, okay,” Vincent replied, a bit surprised she’d agreed so quickly. “I’ll get you a pastry to take upstairs and you can take some time to wake up before coming back down.”

Kloshbet managed a faint smile. “Thanks, Dad.”

Vincent smiled and patted his daughter’s shoulder. Just then, a tiny bell alerted him that a customer had walked through the door. Wordlessly, he headed back to the front to greet them.

Mornings at the Catfe weren’t always easy.

But he wouldn’t have them any other way.