Coffee & Cigarettes
Chapter Two – Half of Something Else
Paul
The steaks that I had planned on grilling sat on the stove top as I paced the kitchen, embarrassed. Zeus sat in the corner glancing at me woefully.
"Why are you so damn nosy?" I snapped at him. "You can't go roaming the neighborhood looking for her. She's gone. Do you remember what that means?"
Zeus shook his head, his yellow ears flopping against his skull.
"Of course you don't," I muttered. "You're a dog and I'm the fool standing here talking to you like you know what the hell I'm saying." I grabbed a box of aluminum foil out of a box on the floor beside the counter and wrapped the steaks up, tossing them into the freezer.
Slamming the freezer door shut, I turned around and took stock of the stacks of boxes piled up at every turn. I had no idea when I was going to get this all done. Between moving and starting work the next morning I was going to have little time to do anything.
Hell, I didn't really even know what I was doing here. I mean, I know why I was here, but I don't know why I chose Capeside of all places to retreat to.
Because the city was too much, my subconscious replied. Everywhere you looked it reminded you of her.
That was true. Everywhere I looked, everywhere I went, it seemed like Angela's presence lingered in every nook and cranny. The day I saw her and Ben leaving Abbey Road, a small café in the heart of Seattle, the same place she and I had our first date, I knew it was time to go.
While things ended on the more amicable side between us, it was still like a punch to the gut to see her with someone else so soon. That night, the one after I saw Angela, my uncle called, he had an opening on his fishing boat and would I like the job?
I said yes without thinking. I packed up my apartment and left the city for the tiny idyllic town of Capeside the following morning. I stopped about an hour north of the coastal town, my body racked with panic. I just left my apartment, my job, my entire life – well, what was left of it at least, for what? God only knew and he wasn't talking at the moment.
I thought about turning around, heading back to Seattle and doing the manly thing – sucking it up. I pulled my cell phone out of the glove box and dialed my uncle.
"Paul," he said, his voice practically pleading. "I need you. I'm already shorthanded as it is. If you bail, there's no way I'm going to make it. Just come for the season, help me out and if you decide the life of a smalltime fisherman isn't what you want, I'll shut my yap and let you go."
"I don't even have a place to stay," I told him. "I rushed into this without thinking, without planning. I don't have a plan."
"You can stay at one of the houses I rent, its empty right now, and it's on the beach. I'll even let you live there, rent free. See problem solved. As for your plans, man, you've got nothing but time on your hands for your plans. Live life for a while, and then start making plans."
I gave in then and put the moving van back on the highway, closing the distance between myself and my new life in Capeside. I arrived in the sleepy town early this morning, fog rolled in off the ocean casting the street in a creepy light.
As I began unpacking the moving van, the street came to life, men and women leaving for work, babysitters arriving, dogs barking, kids shrieking from inside houses on either side of me. Then I saw her, the neighbor, Leah, I reminded myself of her name, leaving for work, her dark hair fluttering in the breeze. She looked pissed as she slammed the car door and almost backed into her mailbox, but underneath the pissy exterior laid the face of a woman who could be beautiful if she could stop scowling for more than five seconds. Even tonight, beneath the cool exterior of a woman hiding herself from God only knows what, she was gorgeous. It surprised me how easily I could find another woman so attractive so soon.
Oh please, the darker side of my sub-consciousness muttered. Put it the fuck away already. You came here for solidarity, not pussy.
Shaking my head, I walked down the short hall and began wearily climbing the stairs. The boxes would have to wait; I was too damn exhausted to even try to begin unpacking.
When I entered the bedroom, the California king bed sat in the middle of the room, devoid of sheets and blankets. Sighing wearily, I threw myself down and lay there, staring up at the ceiling, the fan casting a dancing shadow in the lamp light. As I closed my eyes, I prayed that exhaustion would keep the memories at bay, but instead seemed to do the opposite. Flashes of what was supposed to be my wedding day flickered like candlelight in a dark room before my eyes. I could smell the Murphy's Oil and see my best friends all gathered around, crystal tumblers raised in congratulatory fashion, their words echoing in my ears.
"Enjoy it while you can," one sang.
"Yeah, you're last few moments as a free man."
I saw myself chuckle at them, thinking that they had no idea what they were talking about, marrying Angela was going to be the highlight of my life, and hell the years that were still to come could only get better. Then I heard the faint knock at the door and my stomach dropped.
I watched as I set the glass down and stood up, knees shaking slightly from nerves, and crossed the room. Opening it, I saw Angela's father standing on the other side. He looked down as I smiled at him. "I'm afraid there's a complication," he said softly so as not to alert my groomsmen.
I glanced at him, my face a mask of confusion and alarm.
"Angela, I'm, um." Mr. Weber fumbled for the right words to say, the easiest way to break the news. "Perhaps you should just come with me."
I nodded mutely and followed him into the hall of the church and down past door after door until he stopped in front of one at the end. He knocked softly and the door was opened by Angela's mom.
She stepped aside, allowing us access to the room. The first thing I noticed when I stepped inside was the wedding dress still hanging on its hanger in the corner. Then I saw Angela, sitting in front of a vanity table, her long dark hair in a causal ponytail, wearing a pair of jeans and a pale pink tee shirt. She glanced up at me, her eyes sad.
"Hi Paul," she said softly. "Come sit down, I think we need to talk."
I don't remember crossing the room or sinking unsteadily into a chair beside her. I didn't notice her parents quietly slip out of the room. "What's going on Ang?"
She wrung her hands and stared into her lap. "I, I can't do this," she said softly.
"You can't do what Ang?"
"This, the wedding…I just can't do it Paul."
"Okay," I said slowly. "That's fine. Forget all those people out there, shit fuck 'em all. Let's just leave, right now. We can leave, get on the plane and go to Honolulu and drink fruity drinks with umbrellas in them. We don't need to get married." Even to my own ears my voice sounded desperate, pleading, and unable to accept the reality that she was suggesting.
"No," she said, shaking her head slowly. "That's not what I mean."
"I don't understand. What are you saying?"
"I can't marry you. That's what I'm saying. And I don't mean today or next year, I mean ever. I can't do it."
"Is there someone else?" I asked automatically.
Tears filled Angela's eyes as she nodded slowly. "I never cheated on you," she began, "but there's something there between us, something I haven't felt for a long time with you. I didn't mean for this to happen, but it did, and I can't marry you."
I sat there processing what she had just said to me. There was someone else, but she waited until now, until today, to tell me. I opened my mouth to speak, but there were no words to explain what I was thinking, the uproar of tumultuous emotions rolling around inside of me.
"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I really am."
"It's okay," I replied numbly.
"Paul…"
"No really," I said forcefully. "Its fine, I'll, uh, I guess I'll go let everyone know that there isn't going to be a wedding here today and then I guess I'll come get my stuff from your place whenever you want. Just, um, just let me know, okay?"
Angela smiled her face showing the relief she must feel. I wasn't sure what she expected me to do, maybe throw something, or yell but I just sat there absorbing the news. "Okay," she said softly.
We sat there, in the small room that smelled faintly of rose and lavender, for what seemed like eternity before the door opened and Mr. Weber poked his head in. "Everything okay?"
"Yes," I said nodding. "Everything is fine. I was just about to go." I stood and crossed the room, stopping in the doorway. I turned back to her and said, "If anything ever changes, if you ever changed your mind, or if you ever need anything, you call me."
Angela nodded silently, tears shining in her dark eyes. "I will," she whispered hoarsely.
The vision of her faded as the door shut behind me. I took a deep breath, tears sliding down the sides of my face immediately making me feel weak; a fool. She stood there and told me she was in love with another man and I told her to call me if she ever needed anything.
My weakness when it came to her set rage aflame inside my soul. She made me look foolish, standing in front of 200 people as I told them there had been a change of plans, my face flushing as the guests murmured, rumors flying from wagging tongues.
Goddamn it, I thought angrily. STOP thinking about her. The angry exclamation served to only open the vaults contained within my memory, memories and mental pictures flying forth like the evils of the world released from Pandora's Box.
I lay on the bed, as anger and pain rocked my body, unable to ebb the flow of memories. I closed my eyes and let them have me, let myself wallow in the pain and seethe with anger until the ferryman came and whisked me off to the land of black nothingness that was sleep.
