Perfect Blend: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page B

money on it being precisely the correct pressure. Apparently, tamping eliminated any “voids in the coffee bed.” Amy had learned that there was a debate among baristas about whether to tap the side of the portafilter between tamps. Some believed it had the beneficial effect of dislodging a few coffee grains that may have gotten stuck to the sides. Brian, on the other hand, believed tapping could break the seal between the coffee and the portafilter. He was an impassioned nontapper and made no apology for it.
    Ever since Amy had known Brian, he’d been a man of enthusiasms and passions. While other students were merely “in to” Karl Marx, Brian became totally immersed. Late into the night, Pink Floyd blasting from his room, he read and reread Das Kapital and The Communist Manifesto . He could quote lengthy sections with the zeal of a Bible-bashing evangelist. “‘Capital,’” he would proclaim to his housemates, who were usually sprawled out in the living room watching daytime soaps, “‘is dead labor, which, vampirelike, lives only by sucking living labor, and lives the more the more labor it sucks.’ It’s so simple. I can’t believe I never saw it before.” When he failed to get his friends’ attention beyond “Shuddup, Quincy ’s just getting to a good bit,” he would stomp off, muttering, “Lackeys of the bourgeoisie,” as he went.
    In the third year, the didgeridoo arrived. Brian had spent the previous summer backpacking in Australia and claimed that the three-foot-long wind instrument made from the hollowed-out wood of a eucalyptus tree had been conferred upon him by an aged, leather-skinned Aboriginal wise man whose family had used it for generations to summon up the healing spirit of the Light Dreaming Man. It wasn’t until years later that Brian confessed to having bought it at the airport gift shop.
    Not only was he overcome with the desire to play the instrument, he wanted to play it like an Aboriginal. Among other things, this meant perfecting “circular breathing,” which enabled him to make a continuous sound without giving any indication of having taken a breath. Brian went to great lengths to find books on didgeridoo playing and spent his last year at university, when he should have been studying for his finals, honing his skills. The low blasts could be heard from the street. Passersby must have thought somebody was keeping a farting hippopotamus in the house. Brian always ignored his housemates’ pleas to pipe down. They got back at him by regularly going into Brian’s room when he was out and confiscating the didgeridoo. On his return, he would be reduced to hunting for it under beds and on top of kitchen units like a truculent five-year-old who’d been punished for vrooming his toy cars too loudly.
    “My shrink says I have intimacy issues,” Brian continued now, alluding to his decision to dump Maddy. He reached for another pastry. Amy attempted to slap his hand, but he dodged her and grabbed a prune Danish. “She reckons that my parents dying when I was so young means that I’m reluctant to get close to women in case they abandon me. Instead of hanging around to see what happens, I find an excuse to end it before they leave me.”
    “But your gran brought you up after you lost your mum and dad. She never abandoned you.”
    “No, not until she died last year.” He took a bite of the Danish and started chewing. “As an adult it’s really hard telling people that you’re pissed off with your poor, sick old gran for dying, but I was furious with her.”
    Amy nodded. “I can understand that,” she said gently. “So that would explain why your problem with women began so recently.” She paused. “Okay, how about this for an idea? Now that you know what’s causing you to end relationships before they even start, maybe you should try going on a few more dates with Maddy and see if you can get over these feelings.”
    Brian swallowed. “That’s what my shrink