Coffee III
a modern love story — part three
She stood naked in front of the full length mirror on this brisk Sunday morning, going over every inch of herself — every curve, every dimple, every last bit of flesh. She was remarkably fresh faced considering how little she had slept.
A flash of an old feeling leapt to the surface of her thoughts as she reached for the vanilla oil: Am I enough?
She muttered under her breath, “don’t be stupid”, as she patted the sweet scent behind her knees, around her waist, under her breasts, inside her elbows and wrists, behind her ears — then, looking herself in the face, stated an emphatic, “you’re enough.”
She made herself a promise not to repeat the mistakes of the past — no holding back, ever — for any reason. If he would let her, she would give him everything this time — all of her — and she would take everything he had to give.
She slowly got dressed, her gaze never leaving the mirror — examining herself as she added each article — watching herself come together as if she was working something in clay. She checked the time on her phone and looked at the text again.
“Coffee. Tomorrow. You know the place. 2pm”
All nerves and anticipation, she headed downstairs and paced the length of the house — her heels making that telltale tapping sound on the hardwood.
It was nearly time to set out on the road that would lead her to him.
She needed to settle her nerves. Impervious to the effects of caffeine, she went to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee.
Smiling, she wondered if she’d ever again be able to separate the beverage from him in her mind. She waited for the machine to warm up, impatiently tapping her fingers on the counter. She stared out the window blankly, watching him rake leaves.
He looked up at her. She looked away.
The machine signaled its readiness with a gurgling exhale.
She dropped a champagne aluminum pod in — dulsao — intensity 4 — mellow.
Tffffffttt
She loved the sound of the vacuum-packed pod getting pierced just before brewing — it was orgasmic — one of her happy moments. Listening for it was part of the ritual. She leaned over the slowly filling cup, inhaling deeply, deliberately — the steam gently wafting up to her nostrils. She closed her eyes and slowly breathed in the aroma — hands on the counter, feeling the vibrations as the machine churned out one perfect cup.
While the milk was frothing, she wondered if anyone had ever had sex in the restroom at their favourite coffee house and laughed out loud at her silliness. She giggled, thinking about the indie music, the dark walls, the dingy lighting and the logistics of sink vs. toilet. Toilet is out, she thought — people dribbled and sometimes there was toilet paper stuck to the floor.
She laughed — sink, definitely — with apologies to the patrons.
She poured the milk over the espresso, smiling so much she could barely take a sip.
She held the warm cup in her hands and imagined what it would be like to be held by him again. When she closed her eyes she could feel the warmth of him against her. As she set the cup down, her thoughts shifted. She took a moment to breathe and stop the tears from coming — no crying, she thought.
She looked at herself in the mirror that hung adjacent.
It had been years since they’d last laid eyes on each other. She wondered how different she’d seem to him — how different he’d be to her.
She frowned and looked away, hand shaking as she raised the cup to her lips. It doesn’t matter, she thought. It only mattered that she would see him — that she would feel the lightening again.
She was elated and terrified as she put her coat on, her fingers nervously fumbling with the buttons. She tied a short fuchsia scarf around her neck and tucked the ends into the collar. The colour popped against the grey coat and set off her green eyes.
One last look in the mirror. She smiled. She felt ready.
The back door swung open loudly as she grabbed her keys and walked out the front.
Out on the road, her thoughts whirled as wildly as the leaves being kicked up in the wake of the car as she sped through. She turned the volume up as Hannah Georgas’ sultry voice belted out What You Do To Me.
The taste of you never goes away
It just gets stronger more each day
She gripped the steering wheel tightly with her left hand — her right resting on the shifter, ready.
Like a shipwreck my heart is sinkin’
My heart is sinkin’
And you are my sea
Her head swirled with memory after memory — smiling about the time he tried to teach her how to skate at the cottage — wincing at how he wouldn’t speak to her all the way home. One moment after another, she flipped through the catalogue of their time together.
Like the mountains
You are my distance
You are my distance
And I am your peak
So many regrets. So many lost years. She’d made mistakes. She paid a steep price. She felt like she had finally figured it all out — like she’d taken a wrong turn along the way and had just pinpointed the place on the map that she wandered off road.
She still couldn’t skate.
She hoped it wasn’t too late.
In the blink of a lifetime of memories, she was suddenly there. There was an empty spot out front — the exact place he’d embraced her — the last place she’d seen him. She kept driving and found a spot a block away.
She looked in the rearview mirror at where she was headed and took a deep breath before grabbing her bag and getting out of the car.
