She’s employed as a contractor through the firm.
That’s all she is.
And yet, for the first time in as long as I can remember, I don’t want to go to my mom’s today, even though I’ve been doing that every Saturday afternoon at the same time since my dad was moved into a care home.
When I tell my therapist about this slight shift, I know she’ll be impressed. It’s one of the things we’ve been working toward: changing up the rigid routine I’ve set for myself. Or at least trying to, but I haven’t been successful so far. This feels like a start.
Sapphire casually sets her backpack on her seat, opens it, and pulls out a packet of hand wipes to clean the table, unaware that I am having an inner battle with myself, fighting the need to leave but pulling toward how much I want to prove to myself that I can do this: break the chain.
“I like things to be clean too,” Sapphire says brightly, wiping the table corner to corner and side to side, thoroughly.
At the restaurant the other night, I asked for the table to be sanitized again before we sat down. I’m grateful that she didn’t make me feel weird about it then or again today.
“I’ll get the drinks.” I was only kidding when I suggested she owed me a coffee.
She stops me by raising her hands. “No, I insist. I ruined your shirt and tie yesterday, and it’s the least I can do. So, what will it be?” she asks, dropping the used wet wipe onto a tray on the table that people have just vacated behind us.
“Venti, half-caf, extra-hot, no foam, triple shot caramel macchiato, with one pump of vanilla and no cinnamon.”
“What?” she exclaims, wide-mouthed. “That’s a memoir, not a coffee order.”
And there’s that laugh again of hers that I’ve already committed to memory.
“I need to write that in my Notes app, Eli, I didn’t catch half of it.”
When she pulls out her cell phone, I repeat myself.
Her wrists jingle from the dozens of gold bracelets she’s wearing as she types. The whole time she’s typing, she’s shaking her head and smiling as if amused. “My fingers need a vacation after typing that. That’s very detailed.”
“I like what I like.”
“Yes, you do. As do I.” Sapphire takes off at high speed, then spins back to face me before entering the coffeehouse. “Sit tight, I’ll be right back. Although…” She wiggles her cell phone in the air. “Your coffee might take some time to make. If I’m not back in an hour, send a search party for me.” Someone exiting the coffeehouse holds the door open for her while I’m left marveling at her easygoing, humorous nature and admiring how unaffected she is by my quirks or the things that usually make people uncomfortable.
I like her.
Too much.
I’m in way over my head.
It’s just coffee, Eli, it means nothing.
It means something.
It feels like something.
Or maybe I’m wrong.
However, I haven’t wanted to have coffee or spend time with anyone other than my family for a while now, to the point that it’s become unhealthy. This is progress, and it feels good. Normal.
I drop a text to my mom informing her that I won’t be visiting today. She immediately replies.
Mom
Please tell me you ditched your old mother for someone much younger and better looking?
Me
I was in a thrift store and bumped into someone I know. I’m having coffee.
