Ink & Interruptions

            The thumps of my feet hitting the pavement were a much-needed salve being smoothed over the frayed ends of my nerves—each crunch of loose gravel working to push together the loose threads and prepare me for the rest the day. I sucked down a breath of air more dramatically than I needed to since as I wasn’t jogging, but the push of the chilled air down my nose and into my lungs felt stabilizing.

            Up until this point in my life, I’d never feared the “Monday Blues.” Mondays, for me, were where routine and the guaranteed lay. I would wake up, go for a walk, go to work, stay way too late, avoid Jenna, and then come home to my book and my wandering mind. Well, that’s what Mondays used to be. Hell, I didn’t even have the whole ‘avoiding Jenna’ thing to fall back on. How had everything changed in one weekend?

            I’d never wanted to see into the future—the thought of peeking into my predetermined life with Kyle and the fear of the shell I would find kept me from ever providing that answer when the traditional ‘ice breaker’ was spit out on college syllabus days or what felt like the thousands of mixers Kyle had dragged me to, but now…now, I wouldn’t mind having it.

            I pulled my index fingers through the corners of my eyes once more, praying that I wouldn’t find yet more built up crusts from the restless night. If that build up was based upon quality of sleep, my body was clearly malfunctioning. I had enough crust to share with six cursed Snow Whites and yet didn’t have so much as one consecutive hour of sleep to show for it.

            It felt like all night I’d been torn between flipping to my side to avoid staring at my wobbling fan, its whirring blades slicing through the tepid air, then flipping back to my spine to avoid the darkness filled with what was waiting for me that was permanently stuck behind my eyelids.

            So, here I was, almost an hour ahead of schedule because after the clock clicked into the 4:00 hour, I’d given up any pretense of sleep and pulled my groggy body from bed and began moving through the motions of my morning, hoping the routine would help me piece together my mind enough to make it through the day. Well, that and the gallon of coffee I was planning to purchase on my way to work.

            At the thought of coffee and the fact that I would have an extra thirty minutes tucked into my favorite booth in the far corner of the coffee house, I felt a familiar burst of energy and bounded up the front steps and through the door.

            My movements through the house, my closet, and my minimalistic makeup routine came and went in a blur, the only moment of clarity being a small hiccup in front of the mirror where I found myself asking if Jenna would approve. The thought was jarring and drew me up short. Why did I care? Jenna had spent one unwarranted, albeit surprisingly fun, weekend with me. That didn’t mean I needed her approval, no matter how cute the brunch outfit had been.

            I tugged the hem of my shirt once in defiance of my spiraling thoughts before picking up my work bag and locking the front door, pulling it hard behind me. The cool morning air wiggled its way under the cuffs of my slacks, sending a chill along my skin which encouraged my legs to move a little faster as my work clothes afforded me nothing but a thin layer of fabric between my goose bump ridden skin and each blast of air.

            A few minutes later, I had the radio and heater on full blast as I navigated out of my neighborhood and onto the highway. Coffee here I come, was the last thought I registered before I flipped my blinker and merged into the light morning traffic.

            The parking lot had five cars, three of which I recognized as the workers, and the fact that I knew their vehicles was not a sign of dependence on caffeine, or at least, that’s what I told myself as I pulled into the parking space closest to the front door. The less distance I had to travel to the caffeine source, the better the world would be.

            I slid out of my front seat and worked to rearrange my clothes as I bumped my hip against the door panel and walked forward leaving the thud of the metal door meeting the bug’s frame to fill the space where my body had just been. I finally got my shirt to lay straight as I reached the front door, I shifted my phone to my other hand before reaching out and letting out an audible sigh as the smell of coffee beans wafted over me, followed quickly by the soft music that played from the speakers mounted to the ceiling.

            “Ms. M!” I looked up and found Katherine, a senior from last year’s graduating class, waving at me. I hadn’t been the counselor at the time, but she’d asked me a lot of questions regarding her college career over the past few months and past few hundred coffee orders that it felt like I’d been her personal advisor.

            “Katherine,” I chuckled as I walked to the counter. “I told you, it’s Evie.”

            “I know, but all the juniors, well I guess they’re seniors now. Anywho, they all call you Ms. M, and you give me so much advice that I feel like I kind of have to call you that too, you know?”  

            “All right, all right,” I said sighing dramatically. “I guess I can manage being old to one more person in my life.”

            “Oh, come on, Ms. M,” she said waving her hand at me as she slid a medium sized to-go mug from under the counter. “You can’t be more than thirty.”

            It stung, but I quickly decided that correcting her gross overestimation of my age would do little to speed up the process of getting coffee, so instead I redirected the conversation, focusing on the menu as the doorbell signaled another patron. “Katherine, I think I’m going to do a large today, and,” I glanced at my watch, “For here, please.”

            “Really?” She asked, her eyebrows rising before she shifted her eyes to the screen on the computer and nodded in understanding. She shifted the to go mug to the side and pulled out a ceramic mug that looked to be the size of a small child’s head. “You are a little early today. Just the regular order?”

            “Yes. Thank you so much.”

            “No problem. That will be 8.75.”

            “Right,” I shifted my weight and placed my hands to my pants before realizing I was in my slacks and my wallet was still resting at the bottom of my purse which I’d left in the car. “Crap. Just one second. I left my wallet in my car.” I sighed and went to move out of line as Katherine nodded once and waved the next customer forward.
           

            “That’s okay; I can cover it.” His voice sent a chill down my spine. I don’t think there is enough caffeine in the world for this. I turned fully around, and there he was. Kyle. Dressed in a pair of navy slacks that looked to have been crafted for his body. His button up was white, and the dark navy tie fitted to his neck offered a stark contrast drawing my gaze, my eyes forced to follow the tie down his torso.

            I hadn’t realized I’d been staring until Katherine’s chipper, “Well, isn’t that great, Ms. M,” pulled me from my trance.

            “No, that’s, it’s okay.” I stumbled to get in front of him, desperate to keep his card from passing over the machine, knowing the purchase would determine how I would spend the next thirty minutes of my life.

            “Evie. It’s fine.” He held his card to the screen, waiting for the beep as he asked Katherine how her parents were doing—something about looking forward to helping her dad with his upcoming case.

            I tried to follow the conversation, tried to smile at Katherine as she waved goodbye and told us our coffees would be ready at the other end of the counter. Some quip about not needing to tell me that. Kyle’s smile—still soft and sweet as he moved towards the other end of the counter, and to my horror, my traitorous feet followed him.

            Our coffees were already waiting for us as we reached the other side. Apparently beating the morning rush had more than one benefit. I thanked the barista for my coffee and mumbled another thank you to Kyle as I turned from the counter and began to work my way to the corner booth.

            Maybe he won’t follow me. Maybe the ‘thank you’ will be enough. Halfway to the booth, the memory hit—vivid and overwhelming. This booth wasn’t mine. It was ours. Kyle and me. We always came to this coffee shop, and we always sat in this booth. How had I forgotten?

            My mind whispered maybe he’d forgotten too, but I knew it was a pointless vapor of a wish as I slid into the booth, naturally sliding all the way to the inside, so that I rested against the cool stone wall. A moment later, I felt an odd sense of comfort wash over me as the booth shifted beneath me. I looked up to find that Kyle had slid into the same side of the booth. My eyes caught his, and the contact must have startled him.

            “Oh, sorry. I guess I should sit there.” As he moved away, the warmth he had momentarily offered left, and some part of me ached to follow him. It’s just a habit, Evie. Breathe.

             “Habit,” he said, seemingly speaking my thoughts aloud, as he slid into the other side of the booth.

            “Yeah,” I mumbled, lifting my own mug—the steam moistening against my cool skin as I positioned it to stand as a shield between him and me. I needed something that could offer me a moment—just one to compose myself—to think. Think about what we were doing, what I was supposed to say, who I was supposed to be.

            “Evie?”

            Crap, I guess I’d taken longer than a moment. “Sorry, what?” I said, blinking and pulling my mind back to the present.

            “I said, I could move to another booth if this, um, me…if I’m too much.”

            “No, no, I’m fine. Sorry.”

            “Really, because you’re hiding behind your mug like you used to when Mom asked you wedding preferences.” He gestured to my still raised mug.

            “Hey, that’s not fair,” I said feeling a smile tug at the corners of my mouth before I took a sip of my coffee and savored not only the moment it gave me but the immediate relief having it in my system afforded me. “In my defense, I was fifteen when those questions started.”

            He shrugged his shoulders shooting me a smile before taking another drink.

            “And” I added, “I drank hot chocolate back then, so this is a completely different situation.” I shouldn’t have said it, but it was supposed to be a joke—something light, playful. The old Kyle and Evie without the messiness of our mothers’ strings tethering us together, but Kyle’s face fell, and I knew those words had meant something else for him.

            “That’s the truth of it, huh?” His eyes fell to the mug between his hands, and his gaze became hard. “Us. Our situation—it’s different.”

            Oh, dear God, please don’t make me do this here. Not this conversation. Not now. My mind reeled back, searching for an out, some way to protect itself and me, but there was no exit plan. There was no Jenna. God, what I wouldn’t give to have her here right now.

            “Kyle…” My voice was soft, but I found I was searching for his eyes, head tilted down, trying to catch his attention. “That’s not what I was trying to say. I just meant that—” His head shot up, cutting my sentence short.

            “Why not?” His eyes held mine—the contact firm and unyielding.

            “Why not, what?” His question caught me off guard, and between that and his gaze, my mind felt squeezed in a vice, one cranked to the point of cracking.

            “Why wasn’t that what you meant to say?” He sighed and the movement of his chest falling seeming to release us both. I dropped my eyes immediately to the light, brown liquid still waiting. “We have to have this conversation, Evie.”

            I felt my hands tighten around my mug. “Honestly, I don’t know what there is to say.” I sighed and lifted my gaze. “It didn’t work.”

            “Now who’s not being fair.”

            “Me? Not fair?” I blew out a huff of air. “Listen, I’m not trying to be difficult, and I don’t want to fight, but I truly don’t know what there is to say anymore.”

            “Anything, Evie.” He reached across the table, his eyes imploring me to release my mug and return the gesture.

            “Don’t.” The word was hushed and forced out between my teeth. I couldn’t do this today.

            “Please, just talk to me. I know lunch went poorly, and I’m sorry for springing all that on you. Your mom, my confession—”

            “My mom?” It was my turn to cut him off. “What do you mean ‘spring my mom on me? Did you know she was coming?”

            “Yes, but—”

            “And you didn’t feel the need to tell me?”

            “Evie.” He pulled his hands back. “I didn’t know—”

            “Didn’t know what? That bringing my mom would assure someone would be on your side with this whole ‘pick up where we left off’ plan you concocted.” I dropped my voice low, afraid of drawing attention from the other patrons who were slowly filling the space around us. “I meant what I said the other day at your dad’s, Kyle, I’m not sure what else I can say.”

            Kyle sighed, low and long, and the vibration of it rattled my heart. “You can say you’ll think about it.”

            “I don’t know—”

            “Evie, please. I know, listen, I know I screwed up.” He reached back across the table, but this time he stretched far enough to place his hands around mine as I still clung to my mug. “I can fix it.”

            I shot him a look.

            “No, really. I really can fix it, not like lunch, that was another blunder. Trust me, Dad told me all about it after you left.” I felt a smile tug at my lips at the thought of that. Kyle must have seen it soften me because he added. “He specifically enjoyed the monologue about your life without.” Kyle coughed. “Should we say my anatomy.” He made a sound that could have been a laugh. “Then again, I think that was the entire neighborhood’s favorite part.”

            I winced and moved to pull my hands out from under his, but he tightened his hold. “No, I didn’t mean anything. I deserved that. Hell, I deserved worse.” There was a pause that sucked the air from the room. “Evie, please. Look at me.”  

            For half a second, I thought about saying no, about standing up and walking out, but this was Kyle. I lifted my eyes to find his already pinned to me—his gaze intense. The pools of brown overwhelmed me, and suddenly, I was swimming in his grief, pain, and confusion—it was like I was drowning with him. My eyes started to sting. “Kyle.”

            “Please. Just give me a chance to prove it wasn’t our moms.” His voice broke.

            I couldn’t keep my eyebrows from pulling together.

            “Okay, it wasn’t all our moms.” He said with a small smile, trying to regain his composure. “There was us and them, and I can prove it to you if you’d let me.”

            His hands pressed into mine and the familiarity of them caused the stinging behind my eyes to intensify. Did I want this? Did I want to see if there was more to Kyle and me than our moms? Or did I just want things to make sense again? Kyle made sense. He was easy and safe. Things could go back to normal. Mom and me would be okay again. My heart beat hard against my chest—the ache for her and for a moment of peace growing with each inhale of breath.

            I looked at Kyle and pictured it. The calm after the storm. The mending of the things broken when he walked away all those months ago, and as I thought about it, I looked at him. His brown eyes that rested beneath eyebrows a similar shade pulled low as he tried to read my thoughts. His nose, just slightly crooked from when he’d tried out for the baseball team in 8^th grade, only to find out, he didn’t love the idea of catching a ball that could move that fast.

            His mouth stretched into a fine line, showing his worry by the way it puckered at each side—like Aunt Julia’s did. I could see so much of her in him. My mind began to race through years of her. Her holding Kyle and me. Her pushing us together in all the family photos. Her squealing when she found out we’d kissed behind the shed when we were eleven even though we both adamantly claimed the other was gross afterwards. Aunt Julia was his mom.

            My eyes lifted to his. His pain wasn’t for me—for this loss—it was for her and for his dad—it was for so much more than the girl he grew up with that he thought he needed. I was his normal too, and the same way that I was tempted to make it all go away through him, he was too, but we couldn’t do this. We couldn’t be this for each other. It wasn’t fair to him or me.

            “Kyle, you don’t mean this.” My voice was soft as I tried to find a way to save us both without shattering him in the process.

            “Yes, I do.” His voice cracked again.

            “You miss your mom, and everything with your dad right now—”

            “That has nothing to do with it. I love you.”

            “I love you too, but—”

            “No, Evie. There’s no but. We love each other.”

            My throat stung, and I struggled to swallow the lump that was working to cut off my air. “I love you because of who you are, and you will always be part of my life, but we are not in love with each other. You walked away from that table because you knew that.”

            “What if I was confused then?” He pulled back from me the sudden air against my hands causing my own retreat.

            “You weren’t. You knew it then, and we both knew it long before that dinner.”

            “It’s him, isn’t it?”

            The question startled me. “Him?”

            “Henry? The boy from high school…the man from the bar. He’s it for you, then?”

            I felt like screaming. Were all men like this? If I said no here, it had to be because of another man. It couldn’t be a no just for me. “He has nothing to do with it.”

            “Sure.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I saw you two, and I remember High School.”

            “High School? Kyle, please, let’s not make this—”

            “Make it what? A conversation where you announce you’ve always loved him, and me walking out that day was the best thing that happened to you? Or are you still lying about that, too?”

            I blinked, stunned by his anger. I took a deep breath and pushed my half-full mug away from me, my stomach swirling at the thought of more liquid. “I think this conversation is over.” I stood from the table.

            “Good luck.” His voice was hard and he kept his gaze pinned on the front door.

            “With what?” The words were clipped.

            “With all that running you’re doing.” He pushed up from the table and slid out of the booth moving around me in one fluid motion. “I just hope when your legs give out, someone is there to catch you.” He turned from me and walked away, through the tables filling the air with other conversations—he wove through the other lives playing out around us until he made it to the door, pushed it open, and walked out. He never looked back.