Maite didn't understand how she had ended up in that seedy joint, surrounded by strange and desperate people. Her friend Patricia had begged her to go with her and sometimes Maite didn't know how to say no to her friend. So there they were sitting in the waiting room of one of the best witches in town, she was able to read your palm, your cards, your tobacco and the most important and innovative thing: your cup of coffee. The woman had a very good reputation in the field of mysticism, she had saved entire families with her predictions and wise advice; more or less that was what those who waited their turn next to her said.
Patricia was excited about all this, she was something like a mystery hunter. On the other hand, Maite did not believe in anything, an atheist by birth, she refused to be interested in anything absurd. It was the girls' turn, so they entered the witch's room. The moment Maite entered, she caught the attention of the colorful woman, for she knew how to recognize a skeptic at a glance.
The witch poured a cup of coffee for each of them and was ready to listen to them. While Patricia talked on and on, the woman kept her eyes on Maite, who was beginning to get uncomfortable. When the room fell silent, the witch took Maite's hand and said:
-I'm sorry for your loss my dear.
Those words broke Maite completely, the expression on her face changed and her eyes flooded with tears. Patricia was surprised, Maite never talked about her things, she was always hermetic and introverted. Maite drank her cup of coffee quickly, that statement of the witch had altered her nerves, but this attracted the mystical woman more, because at the bottom of the cup rested the coffee grounds, with disformed figures and dark landscapes that seemed to speak to her from the beyond.
The witch took Maite's cup and fixed her eyes on the bottom, after a few seconds she looked up and affirmed:
-It was about your father, eh? You hadn't seen him for several years. You were surprised by the news of his death.
Maite said nothing, but her face spoke for her. The witch continued looking at the bottom of the cup and throwing out her affirmations.
-It happened a few days ago and you didn't go to the wake, nor to the funeral. You still hold a grudge.
Tears began to roll down Maite's cheeks.
-Coffee never lies, honey - said the witch.
At that moment Maite stood up violently and looked at the witch with rage, as if she had something to reproach her. She turned around and was about to leave the room, but the witch's voice stopped her:
-Write to her, she will value it.
Maite crossed the door and left, she was shocked, she did not know how she got home, nor did she care about leaving Patricia alone in that place. She cried as she had never cried before, days before a distant cousin had called her to announce that her father had died, but how was it possible that that woman knew? She had not told anyone.
The witch's last sentence hammered in her head: Write to her, she will appreciate it. How could she know that too? Maite knew the witch was referring to her mother, she lived alone with the old man, surely she had had to deal single-handedly with the funeral arrangements, and now? what would she do without her partner, they had been married for about 40 years, she wasn't sure her mother could stand life without the old man.
Another whirlwind of ideas churned her head, for if that was her mother's situation now, she couldn't care less. She poured herself a cup of coffee as she thought, her parents had kicked her out of the house at 16, when they found out she was a lesbian. She was just a child when she was cast adrift and they didn't care about what she had to go through, why should she care now? But the truth was that, deep down, Maite did care.
She took her cell phone, after so many years she didn't have the number of her mother. But she remembered the home number perfectly. She dialed it from memory, as if it were part of her genetic code. As the phone rang in her ear, Maite couldn't stop thinking: the witch had been right about everything that had happened, her father's death, the family's disagreement, her mother's loneliness. But would she have the same wisdom when it came to seeing what had not yet happened? What guaranteed her that her mother would take kindly care of her?
She felt like hanging up when she heard a voice on the other end, it was her mother. The words didn't come out of Maite's mouth, but the silence gave her away.
-Daughter, is that you? - said her mother, sobbing.
Without realizing it, she was already talking to her mother, as if the years had not passed. In his mind he tried to hold on to his skepticism, something inside him told him that the witch had been lucky. She finished drinking her coffee and saw at the bottom of the cup the remains of the eraser, they seemed to smile at her, she felt stupid. But there she was, talking to her mother after 20 years, if it hadn't been for that premonitory cup of coffee, she would never have dared to make that call. She looked again at the bottom of the cup, it seemed to her again that the eraser had drawn a smile - a good omen - she thought.
He lovingly embraced that good feeling, because with his mother's voice on the other end of the phone he felt that maybe his life would begin to change, and why not? If, as the witch had said: Coffee never lies.
