Coffee IV
By: Marika Bianca
Tags: Serial Fiction, Love, Fiction, Relationships, Short Story

She stepped out of the car and began to walk down the street to their chosen meeting place. A cool breeze sent a shudder through her as she held her coat together tightly at her neck. She fretted about her hair flying about after having taken so much care to make it just so.

She was a half hour early which should have been enough to get there first — he had a knack for always arriving exactly on time. As she walked along the front window towards the door, she recognized him immediately, sitting by the window — looking at his phone.

Her heart jumped into her throat.

He’d gotten there first.

There would be no going to the restroom to fix her hair. No time to centre herself. No time to breathe. She wanted to run away but her feet carried her steadily to the door instead — there was no turning back.

She opened the door and he looked up.

Lightening.

He smiled a big smile and stood up as she walked over, trying to read him: Was that pain on his face? He seems apologetic — Oh God, she thought — he’s going to break me.

‘why didn’t you grab that spot out front?’ he mused with a knowing smile.

She smiled, half shrugging, knowing she’d been caught out.

‘hi,’ he continued, smiling gently, moving to give her a hug.

‘hi,’ she answered breathlessly against his chest, giddily registering his firm arms around her. Time stood still while she breathed in as much of him as she could in the split second they were locked together. He smelled earthy and sweet, like candied chestnuts at Christmas. His face was in her hair — she imagined him taking in vanilla before they came apart.

‘you’re early,’ he joked, stepping back.

‘you’re earlier,’ she answered playfully, smiling — and for a moment it was as if they had never been apart.

They sat down and looked carefully at one another in silence.

She knew he must be seeing the same things she did — the differences. It was still him, maybe the slightest bit weathered, but him — the dark hair she longed to bury her fingers in, the dark eyes that fixed on her like stormy seas. He wore dark wash jeans and a blue plaid button down shirt with the top two buttons left undone and the unbuttoned sleeves pushed up to his elbows, exposing prominent veins under the taut skin of his forearms — she smiled remembering that he always felt hot.

She caught herself biting her lip as she noted a bead of sweat across the top of his forehead.

Looking at him made her eyes burn. After having not laid eyes on him for so long, she’d be damned if she was going to look away.

Her eyes wandered to the exposed skin at the top of his chest, moving to his neck as he swallowed, and finally to his lips before meeting his eyes again. She suddenly realized she was holding her breath.

She had anticipated it would be hard to see him again in this way — with boundaries.

She was right.

The cafe bustled around them with the sounds of chattering people, gurgling espresso machines and whirring coffee grinders. The air was filled with the scent of coffee beans and gingerbread. Sunlight streamed through the windows. The trees that lined the street outside waved dramatically in the wind, shedding leaves and projecting a fall pantomime on the barn wood floor that creaked underfoot as she nervously shifted her weight in her chair.

She took a moment to acknowledge the fact she was actually sitting here across from him after wanting it so desperately for so long. He was here — with her.

After what felt like forever to her, he exhaled slowly and offered, ‘you haven’t changed,’ flashing the big grin that made her crazy and never breaking his gaze — a gaze she met, feeling the lightening fully and the oxygen rapidly diminishing.

‘you’re still you,’ her mouth curling into a smile, not caring that he was lying.

After another round of silence that made no indication of ending, she took a deep breath and forced herself to ask the inevitable, ‘so why the text?’ with a nervous smile.

‘you told me to,’ he answered, still smiling.

‘I did,’ she nodded, pausing, holding his gaze — then added, ‘that’s true.’

She took a deep breath, feeling like she was walking through a minefield. He was making her work and she knew she deserved it. They continued to look at each other in silence as she searched for what to say next.

She smiled and added, ‘did you need a friend?’

They broke into laughter and she was transported back to a time when they’d shared so many moments just like that one in that very space.

He got up to get their beverages — cappuccino for her, double espresso for him.

She looked around the room as she waited.

It was crowded — there wasn’t a single table available.

A service dog lounged on the floor nearby, squinting in his own personal sliver of sunlight. A toddler fingered a row of granola bars and the little bags of nuts and veggie chips that lined a large basket near the cash. The walls were lined with big black and white prints made by a local photographer. A couple sat adjacent — the woman leaning back, slumped in her chair — the man leaning forward towards her, across the table, his body tense and erect — his hand inches from hers until she moves hers to her lap. Under the table, their boots almost touch.

Her attention returned to him, back quickly with drinks in hand.

He sat down and looked at her quietly.

After a moment, he took a deep breath and put that pained, apologetic smile back on and she felt like the air had been sucked out of the room completely.

He started, ‘it wasn’t fair that I didn’t answer you…after the letter…,’ then continued, ‘that wasn’t right…I wasn’t…it’s just…’, he paused, looking lost, ‘it was a lot.’

He looked at her like she was something with sharp edges — something that would hurt him. Something he shouldn’t touch.

She felt a dull ache settle onto her chest, making each successive breath feel more and more impossible.

She thought back to the letter and all that she’d confided. How she’d gone over every detail of their past, explaining what had been invisible to him — what had been happening behind the scenes, the fear, the panic, the motivations behind the machinations that played her like a marionette, that made her push him away — that made her run.

Everything had seemed so clear when she’d written him six months earlier. She hadn’t known where he’d be in his life when she first reached out. She had hoped beyond hope that she was finding her courage and clarity now for a reason — that the timing was serendipity.

Instead she’d been brushed off, then met with a reference to his mother in law, wife and boys, then a refusal to meet, then a softening with the suggestion of writing a letter to say her peace — and then silence.

Then the text.

She looked at him sitting across from her, his brows furrowed, eyes searching.

Her heart ached for him.

She wanted to tell him it was okay. She wanted to hold him as desperately as she wanted to be held by him. She wanted to tell him she knew he didn’t owe her anything.

She wanted to tell him she knew it was her fault.

‘I know’, she whispered attempting to smile — then more quietly, ‘it’s okay…’, her voice failing her.

She felt the swift heat of a flush come over and instantly, the tears threatened to well up.

She knew she must be glassy-eyed at the very least.

‘I forgot how green your eyes get’, he said.

She was on the edge of losing control — thoughts of, great my eyes are bloodshot interspersed with don’t cry — don’t cry — don’t cry, repeated over and over in her mind.

The entire cafe and all its activity shrunk away.

She gathered herself.

‘tell me everything,’ she said, making her best effort at a genuine smile.

She tried to balance the tightrope of breathing while not looking away and still hearing what he was saying as he filled in the time that they’d been apart.

He talked about his work, getting married and his kids — each happy story a jagged blade thrust into her. He had walked to their meeting, having bought a house in this, their favourite neighbourhood — the one with the good schools and the cute shops — and their special coffee shop.

Even though she already knew it all, to hear him speak of it — the family he created without her — hurt more than she could have imagined. Despite his best efforts to soften all he was relaying, to see the unmistakable pride on his face and hear the love in his voice when he spoke of them was too much for her to bare.

She felt an immeasurable sense of loss — something she’d carried since the day they parted — a feeling that had only grown stronger with each passing day without him.

Seeing him now, in front of her, quickened that loss in a way she wasn’t prepared for.

She felt like she was drowning and life suddenly struck her as very unfair.

Nothing made sense.

She listened to him speak, taking in all of it — nodding and smiling where she could manage it — mostly trying not to cry and wondering if she’d ever feel happy again. She didn’t have much to add to the conversation — she’d said it all in her letter.

She didn’t want to wake up tomorrow.

Her gaze landed on the ring on his finger — a symbol that made her sick. She’d stopped wearing hers a long time ago. Exhausted, she couldn’t feign a smile any longer.

‘listen,’ he pleaded, reading the obvious on her face, ‘please don’t feel bad…you shouldn’t feel that way.’

Don’t feel bad …she thought…don’t feel like I threw my chance at happiness away and it’s sitting across the table from me right now.

She felt sick.

‘I want you to be happy and always be happy,’ he continued.

I will never be happy again, she thought, never, fighting back tears.

She remained silent, feeling like she might spontaneously combust — keeping still while rapidly coming undone inside — her last vestiges of hope sinking and slowly slipping under the surface of this new reality.

One tear escaped.

She silently cursed the Universe for thrusting this last indignity upon her.

He looked at her, concerned — the apologetic smile replaced by worry and unmistakable hurt. He made a move to take her hand, hesitated and rested it beside hers on the table instead.

She was like a stranger to him, she thought — something taboo.

She felt like her heart would stop.

Her mind raced as he looked at her. No one saw her like he did.

He seemed wounded and she thought she saw it for a moment — that look he used to give her — he was wide open. No one showed vulnerability like he showed her, even after being met with a closed door time after time. He had loved with everything and she had been closed off. He had run up against the walls she continually put up but never gave up. His heart was made of gold and hers was wrapped in barbed wire.

She had never been able to tell him why — until the letter — when it was too late.

She let another silent tear fall. And another.

People were looking at them now, locked together in an intimate moment in a very public space.

He looked uncomfortable. She looked fragile — like she might come apart.

Without saying anything he stood up to put his coat on and made a motion towards the door — she stood mechanically, dazed and vaguely registered him helping her put her coat on.

She started towards the door, leaving her scarf on the back of her chair. He picked it up and followed her — quickly reaching ahead to push the door open as they both exited.

Outside, he put his hand on her back as they walked without speaking, past the space they last kissed to where she had parked at the end of the street.

Upon arriving at her car she turned to face him.

She couldn’t breathe. She wanted to speak, but couldn’t—knowing that if she spoke, she’d lose it completely.

He tied her scarf around her neck and looked at her with concern — calculating how to proceed.

‘why…’, she startled herself with the sound of her own voice and couldn’t continue. She wanted to know why he’d summoned her — why, after all this time. She stared at him plaintively, her chest heaving as she desperately tried to maintain composure.

He looked at her, his breath slow — his hands still holding onto the ends of her scarf — unsure — weighing whether or not to speak.

‘the letter’, he began, ‘what you said…everything…’, he paused — she’d stopped breathing now, her eyes locked to his as he continued, ‘why…why didn’t you tell me…before…why did you wait so long…why didn’t you tell me?’

He stopped, finally letting go of her scarf — his eyes were glassy now, his brow knitted in a perplexed furrow.

She gathered her breath in a concerted effort to get her voice out, ‘I’m…sorry,’ she muttered through broken speech — there was no point in trying to keep it together now — she continued, ‘you’ll never know how much…you’ll…”, she stopped — the tears flowing freely now, stifling her voice.

‘…I’m sorry’, she repeated, her voice just a whisper.

He looked at her with a pained expression before turning away and looking down the street, breathing heavily. He looked back at her, bewildered, with a look that seemed to ask, what do you want from me?

She wanted to level his life.

And she wanted him to want her to level it.

He looked at her like she was an approaching storm and he’d missed his chance to run for cover.

He looked lost.

She had never wanted to touch someone as badly as she did in that moment. She wanted to reach through the wall between them and bury her face in his coat, feel his arms around her. Make him feel safe — and feel safe in return.

She knew she was poison to him.

To be with her would mean the end of the life he had worked so hard to build — the life he’d rightly earned — the life she knew he deserved.

She could try to sway him.

Instead, she put her hands in her pockets and said with a resigned smile and shrug, ‘I have to go’.

He looked at her, guarded.

After a moment he nodded, swallowing hard while looking at the ground — putting a reluctant hand on her shoulder and giving it a squeeze as if to say goodbye.

She blinked through her tears and smiled at him as she pulled her car keys from her pocket. He looked away again for a moment before turning back, kissed her gently on the forehead and opened the car door for her.

‘bye’, she whispered, barely able to get the word out past the massive lump in her throat as she got into the car.

He remained silent as he shut the door behind her.

She smiled and waved through the glass — turning quickly to look straight ahead as she started the car. She watched him walk away in her periphery.

The stereo engaged with the engine.

She used music to focus her feelings and the past six months had been filled with an endless parade of sad songs. After avoiding them for so long she was determined to sit with her feelings no matter how uncomfortable — no matter how desperate it made her feel. She always listened at full volume with the walls rattling and the bass punching her in the gut — as if her heart depended on the beat to push the blood through her veins.

She needed to feel. She needed to let the poison.

She advanced quickly through the playlist to find the right one: Banners, Ghosts.

Holding her breath, she waited as long as she could before letting her head fall into her hands and sobbing uncontrollably as the music blared.

I hear voices, awoken from my sleep

I’m haunted by the thoughts, I creep —

if the earth quakes now, buildings fall —

I’m pulling pictures off from our walls

till you say here, here I am

She felt that most bilious of emotions, regret, rising up in her throat, choking her breath and settling on her chest like a megaton weight. Her grief was exquisite and unfathomable — it crashed down on her in unceasing waves until she felt like she’d drown.

Overwhelmed, she shut the engine off to silence the music and, finding a tissue in the console, tried her best to clean herself up as the tears continued to fall.

She closed her eyes tightly, trying to get hold of herself — knowing she’d be reckless if she tried to drive in this state. She didn’t need another speeding ticket — but on second thought, an ill-advised drive near the bluffs sounded like a good idea.

focus….breathe…breath in…breathe out…breathe in…breathe…

RAP…rap…rap…RAP…RAP…RAP..

She opened her eyes, jarred back to reality by the sound of loud knocking on the passenger side window. Looking over in disbelief, she saw him looking through the window, motioning for her to open the door.

Him.

Dazedly, she unlocked the door and he quickly got in.

She looked at him, completely stunned as he turned to face her — her reddened eyes blazing green, her flushed cheeks, tear-stained and marked by mascara.

Without hesitation, he leaned in, took her face in his hands and kissed her — softly at first and then with such ferocity the racing of her heart made her dizzy. Eyes closed, her lips received his and she was home. His hands slid down her shoulders and around her back, pulling her to him with an intensity that said he could never pull her close enough — her arms finding their way under his coat and around his body, taking in the warmth of him — both of them moving to answer the savage need that consumed them.

She opened her eyes to find him looking back at her and they remained like that for a beat until he rested his forehead against hers and the rest of the world didn’t exist.

Words weren’t needed.

She brought her hand up to trace the side of his face, to run her fingers through his hair — to finally touch him like she had longed to for so long.

He put his hand over hers and looked at her with the desire she remembered — knocking the breath out of her once more.

He remembers, she thought, her eyes locked to his — and in that moment she realized that that’s what she had wanted more than anything — to know that he remembered.

Everything seemed clear again.

‘take me somewhere,’ she said breathlessly.