Ink & Interruptions

            The door of the shop swung open, causing a high-pitched bell to ring out into a room filled with the deep, robust smell of coffee and sweet fragrances coming from the row of pastries lining the counter. Several heads popped up from their conversations, computers, and phones, assessing the new arrival. The woman approached the counter and ordered, pitching her voice an octave lower as to not disturb any of the other guests that were scattered throughout the small, intimate space. She passed cash to the barista and then made her way down the counter to the waiting area. Three names later, the woman took her order from the counter and turned, her eyes scanning the space for an opening.

            She found a small table with two chairs position across from each other in the back corner of the shop. As she nestled into her chair, the bell sounded again, and a man entered. His hair was black with small hints of grey creeping up the sides. His suit was freshly pressed, the lines from the iron still crisp down the length of his legs. The woman’s eyes tracked the man as he moved from the cashier to the end of the counter; her grip around her mug tightening as he finally moved across the room towards her table. She pulled her loose, brown hair behind her ears as he settled into the chair across from her. Neither of them said anything as their eyes met and lingered, seemingly searching for an answer to a question never asked. After several moments, the man broke the gaze and glanced around the room, his head swiveling from the door to each table as he slowly worked his way back to the woman’s eyes.

             “Hey,” the man said, his voice low.  

             “Hi,” she said, matching his volume as her hand drifted into the middle of the table. 

             “It’s busy today.”

She nodded and her mouth opened slightly as if to reply, but her head jerked towards the door as the bell sounded again. The woman watched the couple who drifted in, clutching each other’s hands as they made their way to the counter. Her gaze lingered as the young girl giggled nervously into the boy’s shoulder as he ordered.

             “Relax,” the man said, placing his hand on top of hers.

             “They looked happy,” she said, her gaze falling to their layered hands.

             “Yeah, I suppose they did.” 

            Several moments passed– the only sound between the two were the clacking of keyboard keys, muffled voices, and the occasional sneeze from a woman clutching a mug of hot liquid breathing deeply as the steam drifted up towards her face.

            “I hope the weather holds,” he said, leaning slightly past the woman to glance out the window.

The cloudless sky was a stark blue, but further off looming grey clouds filled the horizon with the promise of rain.

            She spun at the waist to look out the window behind her. “I’m sure it will. Last week was the same, and nothing happened,” she said, smiling as she turned back to face him.

            “Hmm,” the man said nodding, “I hate driving in the rain. Can’t pull off the glasses look.” He lifted his eyebrows twice, “Wouldn’t want to jeopardize the reputation my good looks have gotten me.”

            A laugh burst from the woman, causing several heads to turn in their direction. Like a string had been pulled taut beneath her chin, she looked back down at her coffee, waiting for the strangers’ gazes to fall away.

            “I don’t think they sell the Crystal Ball brand here,” he said, inclining his head to catch the woman’s eyes.

            “Is that right?” she asked, lifting her gaze.

            “Even if they did, you couldn’t afford it.”

            “You would know, wouldn’t you?”  

            The man grinned as he lifted his mug to his lips, taking a long drink before setting it back on the table. The woman’s eyes lingered on his now empty cup before lifting hers and sipping gingerly on the still-hot liquid.  

            “Any plans for today?” the man asked.

            “Just meeting a friend.”

            “A friend?” he asked, raising his eyebrow.

            “Yeah. An old friend from college. He’s in town for some conference,” she said as she brushed her brown hair behind her ear again. 

            “He?”

            “It’s just Elliot.”

            “Hmm,” the man said as he pulled his hand from hers.

            “Really, it’s nothing,” the woman stammered. “We were in the same program. You know, all the same classes and things,” the woman said, pushing the words out in a rush.

            “Well then, I guess I should be going. You’ve got places to be,” he said, placing his hands on the table and scooting his chair back.

            “Please—don’t go. He really is just a friend,” she said, stretching her hand further across the table.

            “Really?”

            “Really,” she said, her voice firmer.

The man let out a breath and dragged his seat back to the table. Several moments passed and the bell rang out, but neither looked away.

            “Abby, I just don’t know anymore,” his voice grew quieter.

            “What?” she asked, stretching fully across the table to grasp his hands. 

            “I can’t do this.” The man shook his head, tucking his hands into his lap and out of her reach. He watched as hers retreated back across the table. “This back and forth. I told you I would wait three weeks, and I have.”

            “I know. I just…I just don’t know.”

            “Well, I know and sooner or later they will too.”

            “You wouldn’t?” Her whisper came out harsh, pushed between clenched teeth.

            “I told you last week, I’m tired of waiting, and if I have to push it…well, I will.”

The woman was silent as she stared at the man. “Abby, look,” he released a puff of air “I’m not trying to be mean.”

            “Really? Well, you could’ve fooled me.”

            “Abby,” he said again, lowering his voice and placing his hands back on the table, “I didn’t mean to…I mean I did mean what I said, I just didn’t mean for it to sound mean, you know?”

            “I know. I know. It’s just, well, it’s different for me.”

            “Different for you?” his voice rose an octave, his head snapping up as he pressed his hands into the table, spreading his fingers from the pressure.

            “Yes, John. It’s different for me.” The woman’s voice was tight, contained.

            “Right, because it was easy for me. With Helen when, I mean, for fuck’s sake, Abby, I could lose my job.”

            “No. That’s not what I-”

            “That’s exactly what you just said.”

            “John, you don’t understand-”

            “I don’t?”

            She shook her head. Her brown curls falling out from behind her ears. “No. I have a life. Different from this one.”

            “And I don’t?”

            “No, you do. It just isn’t as complicated as mine.”

            His breath came out fast, the noise scraping the edges of the space around them. “You know what, Abby? You’re right,” his mouth curled into a sneer. “Please tell me how your life is so much more complicated than mine. Please explain to me which part of telling Helen, after ten years,” his paused, taking a breath. “Ten years, Abby. Yes, please explain to me what was easy about that. Tell me how me doing it, is different from you doing it. Tell me again why I should be patient, and keep waiting for you to make up your goddamn mind.”

            Her eyes dropped to the table. “It just is. I have other things to think about.”

            “No, we have the same things, only you refuse to think about it.”

            “That’s not true.”

            “What’s not true? The fact that I am still waiting on an answer, or the fact that-”

            “I have children,” she spat at him. Her eyes met his again.

            “Yeah, Abby, I know. Trust me, I am well aware of them because every time we try to have this conversation, you throw it in my face.”

            “Really, John, I throw it in your face.”

            “Yes. Every single time. I make the case for this week, but oh god no, not this week. Little Jimmy has a baseball tournament. Okay, fine, wouldn’t want to go around ruining an entire sport now would we?”

            “John, stop.”

            “Okay, so not this week. How about sometime this month? Whoops, nope. That’s no good either. Sarah’s turning five.”

            “John-”

            “How about this year? Next? When Abby? When are the stars going to align?”  

            “Please.”

            “God. You must think I’m an idiot.” He exhaled and ran his hand through his hair, causing strands to fall at odd angles against his brow. “Well, I guess I must be for waiting on one damn woman this long.”

            “Stop it. Just stop,” her voice rose, “Stop acting like we’re the victims. They’re the victims. They’re the ones who have no idea, and you sit here and talk about ruining their lives like it’s an easy thing to do.”

            “You can’t honestly believe he doesn’t know.”

            “What do you mean?”

            The man let out a harsh laugh. “Where do you tell him you go every Thursday and every other weekend?”

            “I go out of town for my job.” The woman’s shoulders stiffened as she twisted the ring on her left hand.

            “And you think he buys that? Abby, receptionists don’t go out of town. They don’t work weekends. They go home at five.” He laughed again, “and I’m supposed to be the idiot.”

            “But we’ve been-”

            “They know, Abby. The only thing left is for you to know.”

            “John, we’ve been careful. There’s no way-” 

            “Do you love me?” he asked, interrupting her.

            “You know that it has nothing to do with that.”

            “Abby, for once just answer the question.”

            Names were still being called, each one spinning in the cramped space. The bell sounded again. More names. They didn’t say anything. Hot teas, cold brews, and pastries moved across the counter into waiting hands. Cell phones chimed from incoming texts, soft lilting music bounced around the room, filling in the space between hushed conversations and shuffling feet. The woman with the cough had been replaced with a plump woman, her face flushed as she bounced her six-month-old on her knee while stretching across the table to catch her older son’s muffin before it rolled from its wrapping paper to the floor. Each table filled with a new face, a new story, but the couple still remained, staring at each other.

            “I’m done,” he said after a few more moments had passed, “I can’t keep meeting here every Thursday to have the same conversation.”

            “Oh, please. You can’t be serious.”

            “I am. I’m done.”

            “John don’t act like that. We had a fight. Everyone has fights.”

            “It’s the same fight, Abby. We come to this coffee shop every Thursday and have the same conversation.”

            “John,” her voice was a wisp of air between them.

             “Then, we go to the same hotels, dive bars, and restaurants—two, three, four towns over just to sit and say the same damn things there.”

            “So what? You’re going to walk away and pretend nothing happened? We have to see each other at work every day. What are you going to do? Look at me and pretend. Pretend there is nothing here—nothing between us?”

            “You act like there is nothing,” his voice was low, slow as he pushed his mug to the edge of the table. “So, I’m guessing it won’t make that big of a difference.”

            “Don’t do this.” The woman stretched her arm towards the man, her chest pressing into the table as she grazed his hand with her fingers.

            “Then choose,” he said, rising from the table and walking away.

            The woman sat, staring—perfectly still, head dipped, hand still stretched, reaching for his. Another moment passed before she stood from the table. She wiped her hands along her cheeks, brushing at the streaks discoloring her makeup. Then she gently stacked the two mugs together, lowering to brush any lingering trash from the table into the empty cup. Her steps were precise as she moved from the table to the dish return—every movement calculated. She glanced at the table once more, before she opened the door. The bell sounded as the door closed behind her with a soft click.