Guilt and Cappuccinos

     Overwhelmed. That’s exactly how I felt as I rushed into the Panama Bay Coffee Shop, that gloomy autumn afternoon. It didn’t last long. The scent of dark roast held hints of hazelnut, and mixed with freshly baked cinnamon pastries. It assaulted my senses to the exclusion of everything else. I dreamed of this place. Here, sales reports could wait, and problems, both work-related and personal, were nonexistent. It was just me, a few cups of coffee, and the pale orange couch on the corner. At least until I got enough of a caffeine rush to rally my cutthroat sales team, because I needed to pay for the Tiffany’s ring, the Burberry Coat, and the European winter vacation, otherwise known as some of this month’s purchases. On impulse, I ditched my usual espresso in favor of the more calming cappuccino. I didn’t even realize I had closed my eyes, my first sip already working wonders on my frazzled nerves, until I opened them, and there he was. 

     “Hi Trisha”...” he’d said something else, but I miss the next few words. Staring at those earnest, slightly disconcerting eyes. Just like in college. Bringing back a flood of memories that left me slightly confused.

    “Alex.” My tone was warm. “Will you join me for coffee?” I felt a twinge of guilt at the surprised look on his face, before he flashed a big smile and flopped down on the seat across from me. Apart from getting a law degree, he hadn’t changed much. He was the same caring person, involved in half a dozen causes, none of which had himself as a beneficiary. And he could still make me laugh. His eyes drew me in. I saw myself in them as he saw me; not as the stressed out sales executive with the plastered smile, or even the bitchy cheerleader I once was, but just Trisha, as he first met me; the nice girl who lived next door. Back when I liked myself, when I was happy, and capable of making others happy. 

    "Live, Dream, Be...” the words screamed in my head as I read them off the cheery shop wall directly behind Alex. My gaze return to where I had just tore them away. He was looking at me just like he used to, all those years ago. Another sip of my 

bittersweet brew silenced the warning bells I heard from a distance.

  “I still think about you Trisha.” It was all I needed. We left together. It was quick, and wrong, and sordid. In his car, parked in the deserted lot of the nearby cemetery that autumn afternoon, just like in college, I laid to rest the last decent memory of the nice girl I used to be. As we straightened our clothes, our eyes met. It felt different somehow. I guess my self image was not the only casualty. Oh well. At least, it was a good fuck. Fast, and hard, and kinda rough. 

     The drive back to my car was quiet. Our goodbye had been said years ago, on my wedding day. Just like today, it was a Friday. I had a thing about Fridays.

     His car stopped perfectly beside mine. Without a backward glance, I jumped into my car and drove off. I was shaking as I drove. The clouds were starting to clear. For the first time in months, I let myself think of my husband, Edward. Right on cue, there was a damn sunset. Everyone said we were the perfect couple until he left six months ago. We were very civil. Very reasonable. I didn’t even ask why. From our big bay window, I just watched him drive off. The stupid sunset was making me cry. That taught me a lot. I’d never wanted so greatly, needed so desperately or failed so spectacularly. Suddenly, illogically, I was mad. The least Edward could do was give me answers. “Live, Dream, Be...” the words were stuck in my head. My foot pressed against the accelerator as I sped past my house. I drove for what felt like hours then skidded to a stop in front of the little log cabin where my husband now choose to stay. Just as I remembered, the key was still under the mat.

  “I slept with Alex.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. For about a second I felt a grim satisfaction at the hurt look that crossed his face. Then the floodgates opened. In the five years we’d been married, we’d hardly ever argued. We’d certainly never screamed at each other. We did so now. In language that neither of us knew we possessed; there were years worth of accusations, questions, confessions, and declarations. In the middle of it all, I noticed the unmistakable smell of coffee. He’d been making it when I barged in. The bastard had a cappuccino maker. For some reason, this more than anything else made me burst into tears.

  “I’m sorry, Trish.” It was barely a whisper. 

     “Me too.” I finally had my answers. They were reflected in Edward’s big brown eyes. 

  What happened next caught both of us by surprise. Not that we made love, but how... so gentle, and unhurried. Without thought or care for what came after. Like it used to be before our endless quest for perfection seeped in. In me, it awakened something I thought could not be reclaimed. Once again, I am living in the moment, learning to both love and let go. Of useless hurts and old obsessions, of everything and nothing. I am making peace with the scars in my heart, the screaming in my head and all the baggage I have carried far, far too long. Perhaps it is a new beginning. Perhaps it is a final goodbye. Either way, it doesn’t matter. Now caught between sleep and residual bliss. I am happy. I don’t even need a damn cappuccino.