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A little over a week after Liem’s birthday and my night on the bridge with Vinh, I was sitting at a high top in the café much like the one I’d waited on for my date with Cody all those years ago.
So much had changed since then, including the café itself. It had been updated a couple of times over the years, which had upgraded it from an upscale but generic coffee shop and bakery to, as Cody would say, a whole vibe.
Handmade walnut furniture was scattered artfully around the space. Clear, skinny vintage vases filled with dried wildflowers were placed on surfaces high and low. Black stone mugs with matching accent pieces sat on all the tables.
But the best part? Plants. Plants everywhere—on tables, in every nook and cranny, hanging from the ceiling, and even in wrought-iron planter boxes by the dessert display case. I experienced true joy every time I sat amid Caffeina’s visual wonders, imagining my little “environment meter” rising to max capacity.
I really needed some of that atmospheric boost, so I shifted in my stool and took in all the greenery, my gaze catching on a new monster of a plant taking up space in the corner. I knew it was a fiddle-leaf fig, but what I didn’t know was how it had gotten so huge. I sat my cappuccino down on the high-top table I’d claimed and took a picture of the plant with my phone and sent it to Jeanne and then typed out a message.
This Jumanji-esque monster one of yours?
She replied instantly.
Jeanne
I had to use one of the resort vehicles to transport it early this morning, and it took 4 guys to unload it. It had gotten too tall for my house. Taller than my ceilings.
I can see that. You’re a wizard, Jeanne.
Go do something productive and don’t touch the fig. They’re temperamental.
Yes, ma’am.
She was protective of her plants and had sourced or grown all of them herself. I liked learning about them and working with them well enough, but I didn’t think I had a future as a master gardener.
I kept my back to the entrance and sipped my expertly made cappuccino. October on the Coast meant that most of the day still had temps in the 80s, and despite that, I preferred to drink a hot caffeinated beverage from now until spring. I savored the taste of the espresso and the creaminess of the frothed milk as I firmed my mental foundation, visualizing what needed reinforcement.
That’s what google said I should do when I’d searched “how to mentally prepare for a confrontation” this morning.
What I couldn’t banish was the grief and longing for the times when the company of those closest to me didn’t require that level of preparation.
I did have new inspiration to draw from, thanks to recent events. If I couldn’t be brave, I could at least try to be calm. Or even just appear so. I took a deep breath and invited peace to fill me, and not a moment too soon as a voice pierced the air.
“Are you… meditating?”
Not anymore, asshole. “Hi, AJ.”
“Alexander,” he corrected as he took the stool across from me.
I sipped my cappuccino and met his dark-blue stare, offering no response.
A perfect start. I wanted to pat myself on the back, but then my focus broadened, and I took in more than just the color of his eyes.
Everything about him was so frustratingly familiar except for the suit he wore. That was still unexpected. I managed to hold my ground and smother the urge to smooth over the tension even as I wondered how much time would need to pass until the amity of twenty-two years of proximity wore off.
Proximity wasn’t the same as friendship, but it had done a damn good job of masquerading as it. I’d also learned that familiarity wasn’t a direct path to love. It could only be used as a tool to dig a foundation.
And in the case of mine and AJ’s not-a-love story, it’d been as useful as a melon baller.
“You know why I asked you to meet me here?” he asked, sipping his tiny espresso.
If this were an episode of Dawson’s Creek, this would be the perfect time for AJ to deliver a gorgeous, poetic monologue about his personal demons and fear that had kept him from loving me.
His reasons would be perfectly imperfect, but most of all, understandable. Forgivable.
I, and the audience watching, would have been moved.
We would spend time repairing our relationship. He’d probably have a grand gesture planned for my next Lady Luck appearance.
