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Remember the other week I went on that beach run, but all I really wanted was that iced latte? Well, something amazing happened. After I got home from my church retreat, I texted my friend who owned the espresso machine she brought on the trip. (Coincidentally, she also had gone on that run with me!) 

I asked her what brand the machine was and where I could find it. Her response? 

“Well, I’m moving in a couple of weeks. Do you want it? I’ll give it to you.”

Um, for FREE? Yes, absolutely, I will take your espresso machine and adopt her into a loving home. At work that day, I texted my mom and told her I had scored a free espresso machine that makes (this is where I do my jazz hands) iced lattes. 

“Oh, Lord,” she said. “And where will I put it??”

“I’ll make a space for her when I get home. It needs to feel welcomed and loved and comforted in its new kitchen” (insert heart emoji). “I’m naming her Tabitha.”

“OMG,” she responded.
“She and Francis are going to get along so well,” I said, referring to my French Press. 

“Dear Lord,” Mom said.

I explained when I came home that day, “No, it’ll be good. An iced latte anytime I want it!” 

Not to mention the money I’ll save. The local baristas know me by name when I walk into coffee shops now! 

A week later, my friend dropped Tabitha off with me, and I drove home, lugging her into the house. My dad got the door for me on my way in. 

“Isn’t she pretty?” I said. Then I walked into the kitchen and saw Mom. “Isn’t she so pretty?”

I set her up in her new home by the Bunn and Keurig, at which point Mom said, “We didn’t have to clean off all that space after all! She’s not that big. You made me do all that work for nothing.”

“No, look!” is said, placing Francis beside Tabitha to fill the space, admiring how the two coffee makers had the same copper-colored features. 

“She’s pretty, Macy,” Mom said, just to appease me. But then––THEN––I made my first iced latte the next afternoon after work. 

Ever so gracefully (as Tabitha encompasses an elegant charm that no Bunn could ever muster), Tabitha poured my first shot of espresso, and I topped it off with vanilla syrup and whole milk. Dad watched the whole process, mostly because I asked him to stop working and come admire Tabby in action. I took my first sip, nodded, and, exactly as I had predicted, said, “Yeah. This is going to be a problem.” 

Okay, sure, some people like classic cars or collecting guns. Maybe knitting is your thing. Whatever it is, mine is pretty books and top-tier coffee. It could be worse! 

Now, when I make a latte, pat Tabitha on her nozzle for being a good girl, and walk away, my mom rolls her eyes. 

“My word,” she says almost every time. “You have an obsession.”

I unapologetically pop my straw in my freshly brewed iced coffee. 

“We’re lucky to have someone like Tabitha in our lives now.”