Looking back, I’m even more confused. Was I the only one actually competing?
The thought irks me.
That feeling like I’m missing something, some big, important thing that everyone else is in on, but I don’t have the ability to put it together the same way.
It’s one of the reasons I did mourn my friendship with Maya when it ended. At least I could always count on her to be straightforward with me. To catch me up on whatever social cues I was missing, even if she didn’t realize that’s what she was doing.
There’s a large jigsaw puzzle in pieces on my coffee table. It’s an apt metaphor for my life, which is currentlyalsoin pieces. I’ve gotten the edges put together when there’s a knock on my door. Ernest hops off the couch, scrambling over to the door to greet my date.
Connor technically lives in the next town over, but I had to adjust my radius after my last date. The pool of eligible, andage appropriate, people in Sassafras is miniscule. He was a good sport when I suggested trying out a new coffee shop for our date.
I open the door to reveal an aesthetically attractive man. He’s about a head taller than me with light brown hair and glasses. His voice is a deep timbre when he greets me before turning his attention to Ernest. “Cute dog,” he comments, bending down to scratch under his chin. “When did he have his leg amputated?”
“Before I got him,” I reply. “Wait right here, let me grab my shoes and then we can go.”
They should have already finished the ribbon cutting ceremony by now. I didn’t feel like I should be there for that part of the day. I don’t think I could handle feeling like an intrusion on such an important event.
Turning off the episode ofDatelineI had on as background noise, I slip into my Doc Martens that take me three times to put on properly so the sock line doesn’t bunch against my toes. Today I’ve paired them with cutoff jean shorts and a crop tank top. The midsummer heat wave has been rough on someone as chronically overheated as I am.
When I get back to the front door, Connor is standing there awkwardly staring into the space. “It’s kind of dark in here.”
I have no idea how to respond to that, so I just say, “Yup,” before moving past him out of the apartment.
“Does your dog just roam free while you’re gone?” he asks.
“Ernest is a good boy,” I reply. “He won’t get into any trouble.”
Connor shoves his hands into his pockets, nodding. “I’ve always heard it’s better for them to be in a crate during the day.”
Again, I don’t know what to say. It’s not like I’m going to take advice from this man that I’ve only just met. “Do you have any pets?” I ask. Maybe he’s a secret dog trainer and that’s why he feels the need to comment on mine.
“No pets. I’m a lifelong learner though, so I was listening to a podcast the other day about how to best train your dog.”
I’m proud of the restraint I’m exercising innotrolling my eyes. “Yeah, but it’s a little different listening to a podcast about something versus actually doing the thing.”
He doesn’t take my hint to shut up, instead launching into a spiel about how many different things he’s learned from podcasts. I bet he’s one of those men that feels confident that he would be able to pilot a plane without any actual training.
The good news is his podcast diatribe lasts until we park in front of the brand new Bardot Brothers Coffee Co., preventing me from having to make small talk. Really, he should start his own podcast about how much he loves podcasts.
Getting out of the car, I see there’s a line out the door and a group of people crowded outside with branded coffee cups already in their hands.
I feel a sense of pride looking around at the grand opening hoopla.
For Jules, obviously.
Not for Ben.
“There’s no way this coffee is good enough to wait in that line,” Connor says, setting me on the defensive.
“It’s really good, actually,” I reply, walking to the end of the line, mad that this man just made me give a compliment in Ben’s general direction.
We wait in line, Connor making small talk while I add in the occasionalmhmm, “for sure,” and “yeah” so he thinks I’m listening.
What I’m actually doing is watching Benoit—in his slutty glasses—be stupidly competent at running a bustling business. It’s hot. It’s pissing me off.
He’s taking orders while Jules is making the coffee. Ben is effortless as he interacts with each person, chatting with themjust long enough to keep drinks moving at a steady pace for Jules. It’s impressive, watching how well they work together. If you really pay attention, you see the signs of their twin telepathy. A small nod from Jules has Ben wrapping up a conversation or Ben’s hands grip the register which prompts Jules to take over with a certain customer. It would be fascinating to have that kind of connection with someone.
I’m so caught up in their back and forth, it takes me a moment to realize that Ben is staring back at me through the window. He has a stupid grin on his face, and I’m fighting hard to make sure mine isn’t sporting a matching one. We stand there like that for one breath… two.
