Tea & Time Machines

Jerry ran his hands through his greasy hair, staring at the industrial-size coffee machines that were his whole life now. "Another day in paradise," he muttered to Chelsea, his bright-eyed barista, who seemed perpetually peppy and not one bit fazed by the lack of foot traffic in their hole-in-the-wall cafe. "Want a pick-me-up?" Chelsea chirped, holding up a freshly brewed cup. "Nah. Need to save all my pick-me-ups for something worthwhile." Jerry shifted through the lost and found box, expecting the usual—a misplaced umbrella, a rogue glove—but this time, something gleamed metallic. "What's this?" Chelsea asked, squinting at the seemingly innocuous kettle Jerry pulled out. "Last I checked, kettles don't normally glow, right?" "I dunno," Jerry shrugged, feeling the slight pulse it seemed to emit. "It's just a kettle." He never was much one for tea. "It's cool-looking," Chelsea observed. "I mean... if Alice can go through mirrors, maybe we could...ow!" In her curious handling of the kettle, Chelsea pressed something she hadn't intended. Everything blurred, simmered, then popped like a soap bubble. They were no longer in the deserted coffee shop. Instead, they stood under a baleful orange sky with a monolithic skyscraper looming over them, resembling more skeletal scaffolding than building. On top of it all, a levitating billboard bearing the words, "Future Holdings: Making Tomorrow Today." Chelsea blinked. "What just happened?" Jerry needed a moment longer to process the reality. "Either I'm having some kind of breakdown, or we just teleported into the set of a dystopian movie." Chelsea giggled, although tinged with a nervous edge. "You might be onto something." She peeked inside the clear windows of the skyscraper to see busy souls shuttling about, uniformed in drab suits. "Future Holdings," read Jerry, deadpan. "What’s not ominous about that?" Before they could make much sense of their surroundings, the kettle twitched again in Chelsea's hands, like a machine eager to do its job. THOOM. Another blink from Reality. This time, Gerry and Chelsea stood in a tidy cobblestone courtyard with children playing hopscotch. Perplexed, they watched airships drift overhead like bloated metal balloons. "Wh-where are we now?" Gerry asked, dazed. Chelsea tilted her head, regarding the kettle like Sherlock at a crime scene. "It jumps us around in time, I think." "Obviously." Jerry chuckled, although his voice was taut. "Who knew all it took was a science fiction kettle to make me care again about the world?" This kettle seemed to have whims of its own, and eventually, it placed them one last time. "That’s a coffee shop, Jerry," said Chelsea, looking at them standing behind a much-renowned future cafe. "A variation on ours." "A better one." Jerry's eyes widened. Future Holdings was, slowly but surely, acquiring this time-hopping talisman in the future. Chelsea clutched Jerry's hand in excitement. "We can fix this! We can change the future!" Jerry hesitated. "Maybe it's not our place? Yet we know, right?" And somehow, words flowed as they dreamt up new plans over hot cups of coffee. They barreled into a world full of leaps—backward to learn secrets, forwards to prevent disasters. Every jump brought them closer together, made Jerry rethink his life like some schlup who had forgotten to pay attention. Future Holdings wanted control. They sent agents across timelines, realizing the duo’s intentions. A cat-and-mouse chase played over the tapestry of time. But in the end, it was the oddities they had collected—the knowledge of long-lost coffee brews, ancient alliances—all of which led Jerry and Chelsea face-to-face with a Future Holdings board. "You can't dominate the narrative of time," Jerry simply said. A truth he hoped resonated. "It doesn’t need control. It needs care." The thing was, controlling time never ended well for anyone. These time executives knew it, too, maybe in corners of their clockwork hearts. The words sank in. Their tide receded. A week later, back in familiar territory, Jerry and Chelsea stood before their cozy cafe. "So, what’ll it be, Jerry?" Chelsea said, cradling the kettle that now only glimmered in gratitude. Jerry took a deep breath, for once the future didn't seem so daunting. "Let’s start from the ground up—how about a fresh brew and a promise to try facing it differently?" Chelsea laughed softly. "A promise over coffee? You've got yourself a deal."