Coffee and Spilled Ink

Chapter 2

By the third week of whatever was going on between us, I knew I was losing myself.

I found myself waiting for your text, waiting for you to walk down the hall and catch my eye, or waiting for you to pay every bit of attention you could to me. I never wanted attention before, but once I got it, I certainly didn't want to let it go. It was like a compulsive need to have your attention twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. I felt like if I ever lost your attention, even for a second, I would lose you forever.

Of course, I never verbalized any of that. I never really begged for your attention, either. You just always gave it to me. I never had to ask. I used to consider myself lucky - I had so many friends whose significant others would barely pay attention to them when they were around anyone else, but even when we weren't official, you treated me like a queen. No one else ever treated me like that. I wasn't even sure if I deserved it.

We had a weekly coffee date. We went on other dates, of course, but we had a set coffee date where we would share poetry and talk about the world. It was more of an intellectual thing than a romantic date, which was really cool for me because too much romance freaked me out.

Every time, you would make my coffee perfectly, and every time, I would deny that you did so. It became an ongoing joke that I am just too hard to please.

Three weeks into whatever this was, and you still hadn't kissed me. I think you were waiting for me to tell you that I was comfortable enough, but honestly, that day would never come as there has never been a day in my life where I have felt 100% comfortable. I could tell, though, that you were growing impatient and I was terrified that you were going to walk out the door if I didn't make a move soon, but I didn't know what to do. And a part of me also thought that you didn't kiss me because you thought I was fat, or ugly, or both. That thought terrified me.

The days grew shorter and the nights got colder as we walked the familiar path from the coffee shop to my house, and for your sake, since you had to walk to your place after walking me home, I tried to make the walk as quick as possible.

"One day, I'll have a car and we won't have to walk like this anymore," you remarked.

"I don't mind it, but I imagine you turn into an icicle by the time you get to your house," I said.

"Nah. I just become numb."

"Oh, like that's so much better."

We reached my front door a little while after that. You lingered for a bit after our hug. My stomach was in knots. This was it.

"Can I kiss you?" you asked.

"Yeah."

You leaned in and put your lips to mine and all the hesitation I had no longer existed. This felt natural. Easy. And the ice that seemed to live in my body melted away.

When I didn't pull away from the kiss, you put your hands on my hips and pulled me into you. Your hands sent a shiver up my spine, and I realized that there was no other place I wanted to be, even in the freezing cold. When we eventually broke away, you said, "and you've never done that before?" to which I responded, "no", and you said, "hm, well you'd never be able to tell."
I was glad the cold air made my face red so that you couldn't see how hard I was blushing.

You waited till I walked in the door to walk away, and I watched you leave from the window, not realizing that someone else was in the room.

"Who's that?" my mother asked.

"No one."

"It didn't seem like just no one," she said.

"I'll tell you when I'm ready, ma."

"Just know this - no daughter of mine is going to be a whore."

"That's sexist, mom."

"Don't talk back to me."

"Don't insinuate I'm a whore."

"I'm just saying. If you want your father to come back, you can't be acting like a whore."

My mom always had a way to make things ridiculous. Somehow, everything was my fault, too. Even the things I had no control over. Like the way dad left us. Without warning, in the middle of the night. Poof, he was gone. Just like that. She always blamed me. She said I was too crazy for him. Maybe I was. But she always seems to ignore that I got the "crazy" from her. I feel bad that he left us, I do, but I don't like the fact that I have to take the blame for it. He's the deadbeat. He's the one at fault. If you can't love someone with a mental illness, and if you can't love your child who happens to develop the same thing, then maybe you shouldn't become a husband or father in the first place.

I always said that I didn't need him, that I was fine with just my mother, but that was a lie. I would be fine with just my mother if she was competent at all, but that was the fourth night of Top Ramen Noodles for dinner, and I could feel the heart attack coming.

It's not that she didn't try. She did. I'm just not sure if she tried hard enough. And that always felt weird to say because she did have depression and my father leaving only made it worse, but it felt like I was the adult most of the time. I was the one who paid the bills and I was the one who fed our cats. She worked, but I somehow made better money. Or, I had more money at the end of the day. Who knew what mom did with her money? It was not my business, and frankly, I was afraid to ask.

I could hear her playing an old Clapton record in the other room, which meant she was going to relax and probably fall asleep. That put me at ease.

When I assumed she was asleep, I went into the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water. The house was a lot cleaner than it usually was. The floors were vacuumed and mopped and even the dishes were washed. I'd hoped it was because my mother got a random bout of energy and decided to clean. On days like that, it reminded me of how things used to be. We used to be able to function like a normal family. I was looking at a picture of my five-year-old self with two missing front teeth when my mother spoke: "That boy, does he treat you nicely?"

"Yes, momma."

"Would you tell me if he didn't?"

"Yes, momma."

"Okay. Please try to keep in mind that there's no such thing as fairy tales. There aren't always happy endings."

"I know."

And, in theory, I did know that, but like everyone else my age, I just assumed the rule did not apply to me and that I would get my happy ending and that he was my prince charming and that everything was going to be okay. I was going to be okay because he was going to make me okay. I mean, that's how love works, right?