Served Hot

by Albert, Annabeth

  “I like them too.” It wasn’t really enough and it wasn’t the same as meeting the family, but it was all I had. Probably all I was going to get. I told myself not to be a baby about this. My getting all needy wouldn’t solve anything.

  “Carol talked to her husband the Realtor for you. And it’s actually good timing for me too.”

  “How so?” I couldn’t help the uptick in my pulse.

  “Yeah. Property management company sold our building. Apparently, it’s the season for apartment hunting in Portland.”

  “You’re not thinking of using the roommate service for yourself, are you?”

  “Of course not.” His dismissal was emphatic. “No. I haven’t had a roommate since college. Last thing I want is another. I’ve been on my own too long. Too set in my ways and all that.”

  Last thing I want. I had to swallow hard, my throat feeling doused in Super Glue. For a moment, I’d let myself believe I’d found the perfect segue to talking about us sharing a place. For an instant, my chest had vibrated with stupid hope, but he’d extinguished all that in four words. Us living together seemed like little more than a pipe dream, especially on a night when he seemed to miss his dead lover’s presence more than mine.

  “Oh.” My voice was way too soft, so I took another breath, needing to get the hurt out of my tone. “You’re going to use Carol’s connection to find another rental. Still in Northwest?”

  “Sure. That or the Pearl.”

  “Of course.” Great. Two of the highest-rent areas. I couldn’t even take solace in the idea of living closer to him. With my luck, I’d be stuck out in Beaverton, with a forty-five minute commute to work and David.

  “But we can totally look together, like you suggested. Maybe next weekend. Check out some places for me and some roommates for you.”

  Oh, no. Just no. This I could not do. I couldn’t go out looking at little one-bedrooms with him, fresh blank canvases of a future we wouldn’t be having. And to have to turn around and hope our next stop didn’t yield a smoking cat lady with an angry boyfriend.

  “With any luck I’ll find a place before then.” My mouth was on autopilot, disengaged from the hurt and frustration raging through me. I smacked a pillow hard enough to send it skittering to the floor.

  “Sure. Whatever you want.” David sounded tentative, and somehow that made my heart break even more. I threw my other pillow at the door.

  “I should probably be going.” I needed off this call. My control over my voice was slipping and the last thing I wanted was to go all whiny on him. Not when I knew it wouldn’t help anything. Last thing I want.

  “So soon?” I could hear him shifting about.

  “Yeah. I’ve got a load of clothes on downstairs and I promised Sarah I’d try her cookies.” The clothes could rot in the washer for all I cared, and Sarah’s hemp-nut cookies weren’t exactly high on my must-haves list, but I was willing to seize any excuse.

  “Oh. I thought . . . never mind.”

  “Sorry.” I knew what he’d been thinking, and five minutes ago I’d been all for it. God, even now, I wanted to give him that release, wanted to erase all the tension I heard in his voice, wanted to undo his shitty day. Wanted to be the best part of his life.

  But I was the coward who couldn’t even tell him I loved him as we hung up, and he was so used to being alone, I wasn’t sure there would ever be room for me in his heart.

  Chapter 9

  On Monday, I got the college student who worked some hours for me to stay through lunch. I had a plan.

  “So, you planning a nooner with that hot boyfriend of yours?” Suz was twenty with a penchant for roller-derby chic and an assumption that the whole planet was having more sex than she was.

  “Not exactly.” I sidestepped around her to refill the cup dispenser. It always felt weird working the counter with someone else, even someone as nice as Suz. The space behind the cart was narrow and there wasn’t an easy way to avoid conversation.

  “You’re so lucky.” She got that dreamy look that all younger girls get when they see a cute cat—or a sappy couple.

  She also had a case of the 10:30 A.M. restlessness that came from having no customers and an empty atrium without people to watch. I usually cured the boredom by cleaning, but Suz got all chatty. “Mmm hmm.” I gazed longingly at the double doors, willing a flood of customers to arrive. “I guess.”

  “You guess?” She grabbed my arm, spinning me around. “Wait. You guys aren’t fighting, are you?”

  “We’re not fighting.” I tried to sound blasé, but a weary sigh escaped instead.

  “Oh. My. God. You’re not breaking up with him, are you? That’s why you wanted me to cover lunch?”

  “I asked you to cover because I could use the help.” My stomach flipped as I scanned the atrium. Thank God a whole two customers arrived right then, putting Suz’s inquisition on hold. Two mochas to go and a reprieve for me.

  “Yeah. Right. We’ve had maybe a half-dozen customers since the morning rush,” Suz hissed at me as she added dark chocolate syrup to a cup. Raising her voice, she flashed a pinup grin at the Armani-suit-wearing guy who was all expense account swagger. “Whip?”

  “I’ve got my own.”

  And they were off on a flirty little exchange that netted Suz a five-dollar tip on a four-dollar drink and let me focus on the middle-aged dude who’d accompanied the vice president of swagger. The tip jar got zero moola for my efforts, but I was simply happy with the silence.

  “All right. Dish.” Suz didn’t even wait until the dudes were out of earshot before rounding on me. “Why are you unhappy with David? I mean, have you seen how he looks at you? It’s the cutest thing ever. I can’t fucking wait to have someone look at me like that.”

  “How he looks at me?”

  “Like you’re holding tickets to Cancún and you just cured cancer. Every. Single. Time. He’d do anything for you.”

  “Not quite.” I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.

  “Wait. Is he terrible in bed? Because those studly nerdy types can go either way; either they’re freakishly good or flat-out terrible.”

  “So not discussing that with you.”

  “Freakishly good it is.” She gave me a grin that was all teeth. “If he were bad, you’d be happy to complain.”

  “He’s a great guy, okay? Fabulous. Perfect. We’re just . . . having some issues.”

  “Come on.” Suz hopped on the counter, her feet dangling, as she gave me a sad puppy face. “Don’t make me keep guessing. Knowing you, I bet you haven’t told anyone anything about your issues. You need to clear your energy before you go all Dear John on the poor guy.”

  “You know, you don’t have the psych degree yet. I’m not sure you’re qualified to analyze me.” I tried to keep it light, even though she was right. I’d lived with Seth and Mark for three years, but they knew more about my coffee business than about David. Sarah and I shared a love of deep-fried tofu, but deep conversation wasn’t really our thing. Talking wasn’t really my thing with anyone; I’d never really opened up with anyone about what went down with Brian either.

  “It doesn’t take a degree to see you’re on the verge of making a shitty mistake.”

  “It’s not a mistake.” I’d been over and over this in my head all weekend. I had to tell David what I really wanted. Had to stand up for myself. But I was almost positive it was going to end badly.

  Frustration bubbled up in me, made worse by Suz’s concerned eyes. “I’m pretty sure he’s still in love with his dead boyfriend and I’m . . . in love with him and I have no clue what he wants and I can’t get in any deeper with him because it hurts too freaking much already.”

  “Oh, sweetie.” She got down off the counter to hug me, which did nothing to counter the broken-glass feeling inside me. “Is it really that bad?”

  Then it was like the ancient Hawthorne Bridge creaking open inside my soul and the whole story came lurching out—Craig, wanting to move in together, more Craig, his family st
uff, and even more Craig. It was hard to articulate that my biggest worry wasn’t that he’d say no but rather that he’d say yes and then things would get all weird between us because he didn’t really want it.

  “Give him a chance. You’re just assuming David’s still hung up on the dead guy. I’ve seen how he looks at you. You need to at least ask him what he wants instead of deciding for him.”

  “I will.” Every time I pictured telling David what was in my heart, icy sweat gathered at the base of my spine. I didn’t see this ending any other way than with us breaking up. But maybe Suz was right. Maybe I needed to have more faith.

  Articulating wants usually led to disappointment—moves happened anyway, deployments dragged on, grad school requirements changed regardless, boyfriends kept right on lying to their families. My preferences seemed irrelevant and speaking up led to awkward conversations and magnified the hurt. Keeping pain private kept the wounds smaller, helped me buck up and move on. And maybe that was part of it; it seemed inevitable that David would hurt me too. Why speak up and make it hurt that much worse?

  But at some point in the last few days, I’d decided that I couldn’t let my aversion to conflict and inability to talk sink the best thing that had ever happened to me. I had to give it a shot. And maybe Suz was right; maybe everything would work out fine.

  An hour later, I made a large vanilla latte and headed out into the frigid morning. It seemed important somehow to step out from behind the counter, meet him on his walk over. Downtown Portland was gray and dingy, the sun having fled months earlier. February always seemed far longer than twenty-eight days as the rainy season turned frigid, with a breeze that stung my cheeks and made me wish I’d grabbed my hat.

  I met up with David on Ninth. And I watched as he caught sight of me. Suz was right—his whole face shifted, all the tension he usually carried replaced with light, little smile lines lifting up the corners of his mouth and eyes. Somehow, some way, I was going to have to find the right words.

  “Hey! This is a surprise!”

  “Suz stayed later this morning.” I held out his drink. “Thought I’d meet you partway.”

  “I don’t mind coming to you. But thanks.” His words felt like punches, hitting me in the stomach, reminding me of how kind and sweet he was.

  “You want to walk?” He studied my face, clearly confused about why I was there, but the softness in his eyes said he was willing to go where I wanted.

  My KEENs felt dipped in concrete, every step heavy as I followed him around the block. We ended up at a little plaza tucked between two office buildings. Come April it would be buzzing with people, lunchtime picnickers in business suits jockeying for space with street musicians and black-clad teenagers, but right now we had our pick of benches. I headed for one tucked under the building’s overhang, slightly shielded from the wind.

  “Want to sit?”

  “Are you okay?” he said as he settled in next to me, leaving a space between us that made my bones hunger for his warmth and nearness.

  “I . . . yeah. I’m fine. But we need to talk.”

  David fiddled with his coffee cup, his eyes on the cobblestone patio. “Are you breaking up with me?”

  Damn. Of course he chose right then to get perceptive.

  “No,” I said, but uncertainty crept into my voice. “I don’t want to break up. I want a real relationship.”

  “A real one?” He frowned and his question was edged with what sounded like anger. “This isn’t real? I mean, I know this is all new to me, but I’ve had not real. And this feels pretty darn real to me.”

  “It does to me too. It’s only . . . I want more than just dating.” There; I’d said it. My heart pounded like I’d run to the riverfront and back. “I want a partnership. I want to deal with your crazy family. I want to hear about when Craig’s family acts like dicks. I want . . . I want to look for an apartment. Together.”

  Despite the freezing temperatures, sweat slid down my neck and my hands turned clammy.

  “You want to move in together?” He chewed on his lip and I hated that I couldn’t tell whether he was surprised or repulsed or maybe a little of both.

  “Yeah.”

  He didn’t say anything for a long minute. “And you want me to tell my family about us?”

  “You haven’t?” My worst fear confirmed. No matter what he said, this wasn’t real to him.

  “It’s irrelevant.” He tried to squeeze my hand, but I pulled it away.

  “I’m not irrelevant.” I stood up.

  “I didn’t mean . . . look. Robby. This is . . . sudden.”

  I could see the lie in his eyes. “You guessed, didn’t you? Last week. You knew I was thinking about living together.”

  “Maybe.” His answer was all breath and zero volume, but it hit me like a right hook to the jaw. Any hope I’d had that this was all just miscommunication withered away. Deep inside, I’d believed Suz. Believed that all I needed to do was speak up—

  “But I . . . I can’t, Robby. It’s too soon.”

  “I can’t keep wrestling a dead guy for you, David. I won’t.”

  “I . . .” His face squished up like he might cry. And God help me, I was on the verge of tears myself, my eyes hot and itchy.

  “I love you. And I want a future with you.”

  “I need time.” It was the worst thing he could have said. Not yes, I love you too. And not putting me out of my misery with a firm no either. He needed time and patience and probably a better guy than me because I had run out of both.

  “I need you. I need you in this thing with me. One hundred percent.” My voice broke. My cheeks stung as the wind slapped against my tears. I couldn’t stand for him to see my tears, so I fled. He let me go, still sitting there with his coffee.

  This was why I’d wanted to keep silent. Because before I’d had faith, even if it was foolish and unwarranted, and now I had nothing. I had taken Suz’s advice. Told him exactly what was in my heart. Given him a chance, and he’d given me . . . nothing except more waiting.

  Somehow I made it back to my cart, kept it together long enough to tell Suz she was covering the afternoon too. And then I did what I hadn’t done since I’d bought my cart two years ago. I took a sick day. Went back to my house, threw myself on my bed fully clothed, and pulled the covers up over my head.

  Chapter 10

  I made it through the rest of the week. It wasn’t pretty, and more than one regular customer asked me if I was ill. And I was. I was bitterly heartsick. Broken inside like a shattered espresso cup. Useless little shards of glass where my heart and brain used to be.

  Finally, Suz cornered me after Friday morning’s rush. “Maybe you shouldn’t have walked away.”

  “What?” She’d dragged the whole story out of me, of course, making soothing noises and telling me how sorry she was.

  “I’m just saying . . . would it be the worst thing in the world to wait on living together? To keep dating? I mean, Robby, I’m in your corner here, but you’re miserable. And I saw him on the street yesterday and he looked gutshot—”

  “You saw him?” My throat threatened to close up. I wondered where he’d been headed, if he’d been going elsewhere to buy his coffee.

  “Yeah. He’s miserable. You’re miserable. And he didn’t exactly say no to what you asked—”

  “He might as well have.” I surprised myself. A few weeks ago, I would have agreed with Suz. Would have accepted whatever David wanted to give me, anything to keep him around. A few months ago, I would have kept quiet, not finding the courage to speak up at all. But now I’d found a resolve I hadn’t known I had. I’d laid myself out there. I needed David to do the same.

  He absolutely was a guy worth waiting for, but I needed to know we were at least headed to the same place. I couldn’t give David my heart and dream that someday, maybe, he’d give me a part of his life—the part he chose to share with me.

  Sunday morning was even colder than the last two weeks. Good. It matched the deep
freeze in my heart, gave me an excuse to sleep in. That’s what I did lately. I worked and I slept and I tried not to think about David. Tried not to check my messages eighty-five times a day. Tried not to look up at every person through the doors, hoping to see his dark head.

  Maybe later I’d feel up to streaming some old episodes of Battlestar or Firefly. Do some comfort-TV wallowing. But right then, all I could do was stare at the cracked, chipped ceiling.

  I had no idea how long I lay like that, adrift on my own thoughts, almost but not quite awake.

  “Hey.” My roommate Seth pounded on the door. “You home? Your boyfriend is here.”

  “What?” I managed to get off the bed and come to the door. He’s not my boyfriend. I had no idea what he was, but I did know that I couldn’t face him right then. My lungs seized like I’d chugged a quadruple shot on an empty stomach.

  “Tell him—” I opened the door to tell Seth to make an excuse, but David was right there behind him.

  “I’m gonna take off, man.” Seth gave me a mock salute as he backed up down the hall, almost tripping over himself to get away from us.

  “Can I come in?” David asked all formally—like I was a coworker in an adjacent office. Unlike his voice, his face was uncertain—eyes weary, cheeks flushed. His hair was a mess and his usually perfectly pressed clothes were rumpled. Looked like he hadn’t slept since Monday. He shifted his weight from side to side, as if his feet were considering following Seth.

  “Sure,” I said, only because it beat having this conversation in the doorway.

  “I brought you some of the raisin toast you like so much from People’s Coffee.” He held out a small package, carefully wrapped in napkins.

  Eyes stinging and throat tight, I accepted it. “Thanks.”

  I had to perch on the edge of my bed because standing felt too strange. My hands flopped about as uselessly as my vocal cords. I felt as if I should be touching him but couldn’t, should be inviting him to get comfortable but couldn’t, should be shutting the door but couldn’t.