I walk into the coffee shop and breathe in deep， savoring that familiar aroma. The smell of coffee， with a hint of 1)hazelnut， vanilla， mocha， and just a touch of 2)cinnamon. There’s only one place in the world other than a coffee shop that smells like that—Grandmother’s house.

Grandmother didn’t just like her coffee， and it wouldn’t really 3)do her justice to say she loved her coffee. Grandmother was to coffee what a 4)sommelier is to wine. She knew the 5)intricacies of coffee， the different tastes and even the textures. And only the best would do for her. No instant coffee， or coffee bought at the grocery store. She had to have fresh coffee， from a respectable coffee shop. “The morning cup of coffee sets the tone for the whole day，” she used to say.

I used to go to Grandmother’s every Sunday morning. Her routine was always the same. She would kiss me once on each cheek， hang up my coat and lead me into the kitchen， slice a piece of banana bread right out of the oven (sometimes 6)cranberry)， and pour a cup of freshly 7)brewed coffee.

“Alexa，” she said to me one day. “Did you know that every person’s personality is like a flavor of coffee?”

“Really?” I said， amused at how Grandmother relished her coffee so much that she related everything to it.

“Yes，” she said. “You， my dear， are French vanilla. You are sweet， almost sickeningly so at times to the discerning coffee drinker.” I slightly 8)recoiled at Grandmother’s

assessment of me. You expect your grandmother to call you sweet， but never sickeningly sweet.

“Your father is 9)espresso，” she continued. “He comes on strong. There are many people who don’t like him， but others can’t live without that high feeling that he gives them. He has an addictive personality that many people can’t let go of.”

“Let me guess， Grandmother. You’re hazelnut.”

“Hazelnut? Why on earth would you say that?”

“Because I find your coffee talk a bit 10)nutty.”

I smiled at Grandmother， but I could tell she was not amused.

“Alexa dear， I am trying to teach you a lesson about life here. I do not need you 11)poking fun at me.”

A lesson about life? Is she kidding? “Grandmother， you can’t 12)dissect a person’s personality by comparing them to a cup of coffee. People are more complex than that. Everyone has 13)nuances，

personality 14)quirks， things that make them different. You just can’t go around saying， ‘She’s a dark roast， he’s an instant， he’s a mocha 15)almond.’”

Grandmother looked at me， almost a blank， dull stare. “Then you just don’t understand coffee，”

she snapped， clearing my plate and coffee cup from the table. “I guess not，” I sighed， exasperated at my hazelnut grandmother.

I went to Grandmother’s house many more times after that， and she always kept her same routine. It was a welcome routine， one that I enjoyed every week. Grandmother didn’t talk to me after that about the “coffee 16)catastrophe” as I called it， but eventually， she did start to make more ridiculous claims concerning her favorite drink.

“I knew your grandfather was the right man for me because we loved our coffee the same way，” she said. “Cream with just a touch of sugar.”

I rolled my eyes. “Grandmother， many people like it that way.”

“I disagree，” she said. “For most people， if they prefer cream， they like a lot of sugar， or at least a moderate amount. Those who drink it with just a touch of sugar usually put milk in it， or drink it black.”

“So what if Papa preferred his coffee black? Or with milk and 17)sweetener? Does that mean that you would have never married? That I wouldn’t be here today?”

“Oh don’t be silly，” Grandmother said. “I won’t think about your grandfather preferring his coffee any differently. I don’t know what would have become of us. But you， my dear Alexa，

belong to me. You would be here no matter what.”

The last time I saw Grandmother was a Sunday just like all the others. I sat down at the table with Grandmother and she looked at me with a very intense look in her eyes.

“Do you ever think about heaven?” she asked me.

I stared at Grandmother and stopped chewing for a moment.

“Well， do you?” she asked again.

“Umm， not really，” I said， growing increasingly uncomfortable with this line of conversation.

“Well， I’ve been thinking about it lately，” Grandmother said. “I mean， I am getting to that age where I realize that I don’t have much more time here on earth. And I’ve just been thinking lately about heaven—and what’s there and what’s not. And I just hope that when it’s my time to leave this world， the next one has everything that I love here.”

“And what’s that， Grandmother?”

“Good food， good people， and good coffee.”

I smiled at Grandmother’s simplicity and love for the good things in life. And I hoped that she would find exactly what she would be looking for in the next world.

Grandmother passed away later that week. They found her sitting in her favorite 18)rocker in the living room， half a cup of freshly brewed coffee by her side. And somehow， I knew that it was a sign that everything would be all right for Grandmother.

Now， years later， I’m frequently reminded of my Grandmother. The scent of freshly baked banana bread， or the way someone will kiss me on my cheek will bring a quick flashback of her. But my memories are always most vivid when I step foot into a coffee shop， the aroma of freshly roasted beans and brewed coffee livening my senses.

“What would you like?” the person at the counter asks me.

“A medium hazelnut，” I say. “Cream with just a touch of sugar.”

我走進(jìn)咖啡店，深深地吸了一口氣，又聞到了那股熟悉的芳香。那股咖啡的香味，夾雜著絲絲榛子、香草、摩卡和一丁點(diǎn)肉桂的氣息，除了咖啡店以外，在這個(gè)世界上只有一個(gè)地方彌漫著這樣的氣息——那就是在奶奶的家里。

奶奶不止是喜歡咖啡這么簡(jiǎn)單，說句公道話，咖啡是她的摯愛。咖啡對(duì)于奶奶而言，就如同美酒對(duì)于斟酒侍者一般重要。她對(duì)于咖啡的紛繁學(xué)問，其不同的口味，甚至其結(jié)構(gòu)特征都了如指掌。而她只喝最好的咖啡，既不要速溶的，也不喜歡從雜貨店買的。她一定要喝有名望的咖啡店出售的新鮮咖啡?！扒宄康囊槐Х葲Q定了一整天的基調(diào)?！彼＿@么說。

以前每個(gè)星期天的早上，我都會(huì)去奶奶家，而她也總會(huì)用同樣的程序來迎接我。她會(huì)在我的兩邊臉頰上各親一下，掛起我的外套，然后把我?guī)нM(jìn)廚房，切一片剛出爐的香蕉面包（有時(shí)候是蔓越橘口味的），并倒一杯新煮的咖啡給我。

“阿麗夏，”一天，她對(duì)我說，“你知道嗎，每個(gè)人的性格就像是一種口味的咖啡。”“是嗎？”我說。見到奶奶如此鐘愛她的咖啡，以致于將每一件事物都與之扯上關(guān)系，覺得挺逗的。

“是的，”她說?！澳悖矣H愛的，是法國(guó)香草味的。你很甜美，對(duì)于那些有品味的咖啡客來說，有時(shí)甜得都有些發(fā)膩了?！甭犃四棠虒?duì)我的評(píng)價(jià)后，我覺得有點(diǎn)不爽。你當(dāng)然會(huì)希望奶奶說你很甜美，但絕對(duì)不希望是甜得發(fā)膩。

“你爸爸是杯濃縮咖啡，”她接著說，“他能給人以強(qiáng)烈的印象。有很多人不喜歡他，但也有人離開了他帶來的那種興奮感就活不下去。他有一種讓許多人無(wú)法放手的致命的吸引力?！?/p>

“讓我猜猜，奶奶，那您就是榛子口味的?！?/p>

“榛子口味？你到底為什么會(huì)這么說？”

“因?yàn)槲野l(fā)現(xiàn)您的咖啡論挺狂熱的?！保p關(guān)語(yǔ)，nutty既指帶堅(jiān)果口味，也指對(duì)某事狂熱。）

我沖著奶奶笑了起來，不過我能看得出她并不覺得這很好笑?！坝H愛的阿麗夏，我是想在這里教你一個(gè)人生的道理，而不是讓你拿我開玩笑的?！?/p>

一個(gè)人生的道理？她在開玩笑吧？“奶奶，你不可以用一杯咖啡去分析一個(gè)人的性格。人要比咖啡復(fù)雜得多。每個(gè)人都有差別，性格癖好相異，方方面面各不相同。你不可能四處晃晃，然后說：‘她是杯深焙咖啡，他是杯速溶咖啡，他是杯摩卡杏仁咖啡……’”

奶奶用一種幾乎是茫然而沮喪的眼神看著我?！斑@么說，你根本就不懂咖啡，”她厲聲說，從桌上清走了我的盤子和咖啡杯?！拔蚁胧堑?，”我嘆了口氣，對(duì)我這個(gè)“榛子口味”的奶奶感到有些惱火。

在那之后，我又多次去過奶奶家，而她依然以同樣的程序來迎接我。我很喜歡這套程序，每個(gè)星期都要去享受一次。在那之后，奶奶再也沒有跟我談?wù)撨^我所稱的“咖啡大災(zāi)難”，不過最后，就她最喜愛的飲品，她還是開始發(fā)表了更加荒謬的言論。

“我知道你爺爺就是那個(gè)最適合我的人，因?yàn)槲覀兌枷矚g相同味道的咖啡，”她說，“奶油里加上一丁點(diǎn)糖。”

我轉(zhuǎn)了轉(zhuǎn)眼珠，說：“奶奶，很多人都喜歡那種口味。”

“我不同意，”她說，“對(duì)于大多數(shù)人來說，如果他們喜歡奶油，他們就喜歡加很多糖，或至少是中等量的糖。而那些喝咖啡時(shí)只加一丁點(diǎn)糖的人，通常會(huì)加入牛奶，或者干脆就喝黑咖啡?！?/p>

“那么，如果爺爺更喜歡喝黑咖啡呢？或者是牛奶加甜味料呢？那是不是說你就不嫁給他了？那么今天就沒有我在這里了？”

“噢，別傻了，”奶奶說，“我從來沒想過你爺爺會(huì)喜歡什么不一樣的咖啡。我不知道我們之間會(huì)有什么不同的結(jié)果，但是你，我親愛的阿麗夏，是屬于我的。無(wú)論怎么樣你都會(huì)在這里的?！?/p>

我最后一次見到奶奶也是在一個(gè)星期天，和其他星期天沒什么區(qū)別。我和奶奶一起坐在桌邊，她看著我，眼中閃爍著一種熱情的光芒。

“你有沒有想過天堂是個(gè)什么樣子的？”她問我。

我凝視著奶奶，暫時(shí)停止了咀嚼。

“嗯，你想過了么？”她又問了一遍。

“唔……沒怎么想過，”我說，對(duì)于這種類型的對(duì)話感到越來越不舒服。

“嗯，我最近一直在想這個(gè)問題，”奶奶說，“我的意思是，我也快到那個(gè)年紀(jì)了，所以我意識(shí)到我在這個(gè)世上的時(shí)間已經(jīng)不多了。最近我一直在思考天堂是個(gè)什么樣子的——那里有什么，沒有什么。而我只希望當(dāng)我離開這個(gè)世界的時(shí)候，另一個(gè)世界里也有我在這邊所深愛的一切?！?/p>

“那是些什么，奶奶？”

“好吃的食物，好相處的人，還有上好的咖啡。”

我對(duì)奶奶的純樸，以及對(duì)生命中美好事物的熱愛報(bào)以微笑，也希望她真能在另一個(gè)世界找到她所想要的一切。

奶奶在那周末去世了。他們發(fā)現(xiàn)她坐在客廳里她最喜歡的搖椅上，身旁還有半杯新煮的咖啡。不知道為什么，我明白這是一個(gè)征兆，表明了奶奶會(huì)一切都好。

現(xiàn)在，多年過去了，我不時(shí)還會(huì)想起奶奶。新出爐的香蕉面包的香氣，或某人親吻我臉頰的方式，都會(huì)讓我腦海中突然閃現(xiàn)出她的身影。不過每當(dāng)我邁進(jìn)一間咖啡館時(shí)，我的記憶總是特別鮮明，那新烤的咖啡豆和新煮咖啡的香氣總能讓我的感覺活躍起來。

“您想要點(diǎn)什么？”柜臺(tái)上的人問我。

“一杯中杯的榛子咖啡，”我說，“加奶油和一丁點(diǎn)糖?！?/p>