'deprivation'
It should not, I told myself firmly that next Sunday, be any different. So I'd have the table all to myself, so what? That was all I wanted when I first started coming here, and after half a year I'd finally have my privacy back.
I made a point of spreading my papers over every inch of the small table, sipped my coffee, and began to read. And for a while I did well, browsing contentedly on the detailed year-end analyses and noting with some satisfaction the gaming industry's surge in market share. Then I found an article predicting next year's interest rate, and I glanced at my watch.
3:20. But she wasn't coming, she'd told me wouldn't. She, like most of the world, was out there celebrating. The table was my own today.
I fidgeted and pushed the Journal aside, then reached for the crossword. The clues didn't fall into place like they usually do, and after fifteen minutes I was still tapping my pen on the edge of a mostly blank puzzle. Too many vital clues were out of my reach, today, like 'wizardry schoolkids author' and 'rat pack singer'. Coffee girl would have known the answers.
3:40. I finished my lukewarm coffee and stared glumly at the empty seat opposite mine. Was she having fun with her stupid brother, who couldn't even figure out the concept of interest rates? Laughing and enjoying herself? What about me? Didn't she care that I was all alone?
I'm happiest alone, I reminded myself, I hate people. The bookstore was practically empty today, café quiet as a tax audit, this was my element. I should be thrilled.
3:50. And instead I was looking at my watch again, then looking back to the café entrance. It was, after all, just possible that her plans changed and she would sidle in at any moment, bundled up and pink with the cold, fantasy novel in hand.
It didn't happen. And at 4:00, I left.
It just wasn't the same without her, I admitted sulkily. In spite of her quiet nature or maybe just because of it, Coffee girl had become an inseparable part of my weekly ritual. Without her, in the most ridiculous of ironies, I could not concentrate on relaxing.
Somewhat bothered and a little depressed by this revelation, I returned to my home and found it empty. My brother had left a note to say that he'd gone to see the city Christmas lights show with that irritating super-friends crowd, having (correctly) guessed that I'd rather get a molar yanked than come along. Alone, I shuffled up the stairs and to my personal suite.
I should hate Coffee girl, I really should. To think that she'd corrupted my precious retreat like this, to the point where I got up and left two hours earlier than my usual exit. I was weak, somehow, I slipped up and let her do this to me. I hate being dependent on anyone. I should despise her.
Emptied and swept free of crumbs, the carton sat innocently on my desk and I propped my chin in one hand, staring at it. Sharing the cookies with my brother would have invited awkward questions about where they came from and so I hadn't, consuming every last morsel myself. Coffee girl was a good cook. And I didn't hate her.
I missed her.
- - - - - -
I suspect there's been reason to before, but that following week was the first time I've ever felt sorry for my employees. Anyone that had the misfortune of working on the executive floor suffered my short temper, unreasonable demands, and more than a few explosive outbursts. The mythical 'CEO tantrum' that gets people fired right and left isn't something any decent corporate leader would sink to, and it had never been my style. But I'll admit I came pretty close. I hadn't realized just how much I needed my weekly recharge time to keep sane.
Even my brother noticed, muttering things under his breath about overwork and a needed vacation. As if that was even a possibility with the financial year coming to a close, a stack of annual reports waiting to be reviewed on my desk, and tax preparation looming ahead. I didn't want a vacation. I just wanted my Sunday afternoon.
Just as she'd predicted, the bookshop was closed on the thirty-first. I glared hatefully at the black windows and explanatory sign on the door, as if I could somehow intimidate the store into opening up, then drove on. My brother was at a classmate's party to celebrate, and I once again had the house to myself. Determined to make at least some productive use of the evening, I hunched over my laptop and set to work on some new system specs.
Didn't get a thing done all night.
- - - - - -
The next week was even more miserable than the one before it, to the point where I was locking myself in my office just to avoid people. I didn't touch any of my waiting creative projects, but buried myself in menial paper-pushing tasks. They were all I had the concentration for. No thought began without wandering to my retreat and settling itself across from Coffee girl. And I wondered how I'd ever managed to survive before.
So it was with a low moan of contentment that I finally slid into my seat that next Sunday, papers and coffee at the ready. Happily I sunk into an article on APEC, literally able to feel the stress melting away by the minute. Three weeks was far too long to go without this; I prayed that no holiday would fall on Sunday again.
"Konichiwa," Coffee girl sighed, upon arrival. "I sure missed this place."
"Hn."
"How was your holiday?"
Wretched and despicable. "-s okay," I muttered. "You?"
"It was fine," she said brightly. "I had a lot of fun."
In the dueling arena a good player is an observant player, and even the tiniest slip in his opponent's expression can speak volumes. Her smile slipped, and I saw it.
"With your mother," I asked coolly, chin in hand, "or your brother?"
Flipping through the pages of her book, Coffee girl started visibly. "Both," she finally answered, a trifle defensively. Gamely she kept smiling, and fingered an antique silver locket dangling from around her neck. "My brother got me this for Christmas, he must have seen me staring at it in the mall. Not that he could really afford it, but he's generous like that."
She examined it fondly. It was a nice enough piece of jewelry, not too cheap but not very expensive either. I could probably get it with the spare cash in my pocket.
"How about you, did you get any really nice presents?"
I thought of the printed cookie box on my desk, still there even though I'd been telling myself for days I should toss it.
"Yeah."
"Good." She flashed me another smile before diving into her book, and I retreated to my papers.
So began the new year.
'negotiation'
In midwinter the weather stretched flat and gray across the days, the muted sunlight unable to hold out until five o'clock before it was sliding back into darkness. Retails in the stores slumped, overall sales dropped drastically across the market – except for pharmaceuticals, of course. Smiles disappeared with the holiday excitement, and people hardly looked up as they shuffled to work and then home again. These were the doldrums of the year, every day identical in bleak, featureless monotony.
These were the days I couldn't get out of the house fast enough, couldn't wait to get in front of my office computers and begin a fresh round. My employees suffered under the pall of low dark skies and cheerless crowds, but it was at times like this that my brain seemed to come alive. In the familiar thoughtlessness of routine my mind was free to roam and boy, did it. Computer programs invaded my dreams, I was designing circuit chips in the shower, ideas flowed from my head to my hand too fast to write. In my element, it was difficult to keep from humming as I strode about the office.
Freeflow of creativity or not, I made an effort to forget my work when I entered the bookshop. If nothing else, the holidays proved how much I need this recharge time and I had no wish to jeopardize all my progress. Even if I had to force myself to leave the office I still left, and in the café I resisted the impulse to scribble designs on a napkin. I kept myself in check, but the good mood stayed and I was even smiling at Coffee girl when she arrived.
Never did she fail to return the smile, and offer a polite greeting. But the smile was short-lived and her face seemed a little paler lately, which I chalked up to the depressing weather outside. For three weeks we read without speaking, but I couldn't help but notice the way she hugged her book to her chest at 5:40, her eyes more reluctant than ever to leave our sanctuary. And the more I noticed it, the harder it became to enjoy my own contentment. This must be what they called 'concern'.
"What is it?" I finally asked one Sunday, when I couldn't stand it any longer. Surprised, Coffee girl looked up from her book.
"What?"
"I don't know. But you're… not happy."
It was the only way I could figure out how to word my thoughts, awkward as it sounded. She ducked her head, looking abashed.
"Is it that obvious?"
"Not really. But I can see it."
For some reason, that provoked a light blush on her part. I replayed my words in my head and almost choked when I realized how that sounded – I didn't mean to sound that concerned. This is why I try not to talk to people.
"I'm sorry," she apologized, for what I wasn't sure. "I didn't mean to bother you. I've just been feeling a little down lately; you know, the winter blahs."
"That's all?"
"That's all," she affirmed, and I propped my chin in one hand.
"It's your family again, isn't it?"
"What?" This time her eyes flew open, stunned and unguarded. "What makes you say that?"
She was just too easy to read, and I shrugged. "You have the same look on your face whenever you talk about them. You had it just now."
"Oh." Coffee girl was starting to look a little uncomfortable at all this attention, and I huffed.
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to -"
"Oh no, it's all right. It's just a little embarrassing, that's all. My school issued the grade reports for last semester a couple of weeks ago, and… mine slipped. A little."
She blushed and snuck an expectant look my way, looking for judgement. Undisturbed, I raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. And?"
"And that's bad! My literature score is okay but math and science fell by a whole bracket; my GPA has slipped by .05. It's awful."
"Numbers," I said dismissively. "Not like they mean anything. That defunct state school bureaucracy can't even hire teachers smarter than the students, what makes you think they're any judge of your intellect?"
"Er, well, um… I think my teachers are rather smart."
I snorted. I hadn't graduated more than a year ago, but already the memories of high school were a vague blur in my mind. Mind-numbingly dull classes, pointless homework, and overworked teachers. Already worth more than all my teachers' salaries combined, I considered it a useless exercise but endured it to set a good example for my little brother.
"Trust me, the grades don't matter. Mine weren't all that great, and I'm doing fine."
"But you're so smart!"
"Told you, they can't judge your intellect." As if I ever bothered to study for a literature test, or do the assigned readings. My time in the office was much more valuable, and I scraped through school doing as little work as possible. Coffee girl seemed piqued by my opinion, but then shook her head.
"Well, maybe so, but I still need a good score to get into the university next year. And I graduate in May, so I've only got one more chance to pull my grades up."
"You graduate in May?" I repeated, puzzled. The school year ended in February.
"Mm. I'm in the International Baccaleureate program, so we start in September, finish in May, like the western countries. Classes are half in Japanese, half in English." I grunted in acknowledgement, a little impressed in spite of myself. Coffee girl wasn't any flake, after all.
"Sounds tough."
"It is tough." Her shoulders slumped and she uttered a petite sigh. "A lot tougher than I thought."
"You signed up for it?"
"My mom signed me up for it."
Aha. "So it's really her that's not happy about the grades."
"Well I'm not happy either, but… no. She's not pleased. In fact, she's really angry about it."
Unpleasant memories rushed through my mind: his voice dark with the threat of punishment, an impatient cuff when I couldn't keep up with his demands. Hard, sharp blows.
"Are you all right?"
Unaware that I'd closed them, I opened my eyes and met her worried amber gaze. Exposed, I looked away and cleared my throat.
"What did she do?"
"She yelled a lot… and then she yelled some more. I'm lazy, and not taking my education seriously. Don't appreciate what she's done for me… you know."
"Yeah. I know."
"She's right to criticize," she added quickly. "My mother worked hard to get me into that school, it's a good opportunity and I should be grateful for it."
"You know she's wrong."
Coffee girl opened her mouth, looking as though she wanted to deny it, but could not bring herself to say the words. "I am trying hard," she insisted, softly, as if her mother might overhear. "I study so much. Math and science just don't come easily to me, I like reading and writing so much more." I was not in the least surprised. "But now she thinks that I'm spending too much time away from home. She doesn't want me to see my brother anymore."
There it was again, that bizarre schism that made her so miserable.
"Do you really spend that much time with him?"
"I guess. We live across town from one another, but every weekend I take the train up to his neighborhood and spend Saturday night at his place. I come home on Sunday. Mom never liked it, and now…" She shook her head, eyes despondent.
"What about your father?" I probed, taking my chance to answer my own questions. She shrugged lightly.
"Oh, he's pretty much welded to the couch no matter what, beer in hand. Half the time when I'm there he's not even conscious; I don't mind. I'm there to see my brother."
How could a man like that produce a daughter like this?
"But why doesn't your brother live with you and your mother?" I pressed. At that question Coffee girl visibly grimaced.
"I guess you'd have to ask my mother that. I think she assumed he would grow up to be just like Dad, and gave up on him. Onii-chan isn't anything like Tou-san, but she won't listen to me when I tell her that. She's… very set in her ways."
Nice lady. "And how does your brother feel about that?"
"He doesn't talk about it. He doesn't talk to her much, either."
"I'd imagine. So, what are you going to do?"
She winced. "I look forward to seeing him all week, we always have a lot of fun with his friends. I don't want to end that."
"And your mom?"
"I don't know. I can't just deliberately disobey her."
"I don't see why not."
She stared at me, round-eyed with astonishment. "What?"
"She can't stop you. You want to go, get on the train and go. If you're this close to graduation then she can just get used to you making your own decisions." Leading a company requires confidence and decisive action. I can't spend time worrying that some of my executives don't agree with me, and making unpopular choices was second nature by the age of fifteen. Judging by Coffee girl's horrified expression, it was not the same for her.
"She's my mother. I have to listen to her!"
"Says who?"
"Well, um, she does. And me. I live with her, she and my stepfather feed me. I can't just ignore what she says."
The more she spoke, the less I missed having a parent to answer to. What a suffocating existence. Blowing my bangs out of my eyes with an impatient puff, I considered the next step. Even a CEO can't order the world to fall in line with his demands, and when dictation isn't possible he moves on to negotiation.
"Maybe you can throw her a sweetener."
"A whatener?"
"Compromise. Tell her that you'll pull down a good score on the next big test if she lets you continue to visit him. Would that calm her down?"
She blinked and considered that. "There's a pre-calculus test on Friday. I really don't like that class… but I'll study extra hard every day." As she spoke a light of determination filtered into her eyes, and she straightened her shoulders. "If I get a high score on that then Mom will surely back off. Right?"
"You know her better than me," I reminded her, and she smiled weakly.
"That's true. Well, I hope so." She glanced at her watch and sighed in a resigned manner. "Oh, time to go. Wish me luck."
"Work hard," was what I said instead. I've never believed in luck.
She looked surprised, then grinned. After wriggling into her jacket, she turned to go and hesitated.
"Thank you for listening to me, I feel so much better now. I'm sorry that I interrupted your reading."
My heartbeat sped up at her grateful smile, for some reason, and I felt my face grow warm. "No problem," I muttered stiffly.
I didn't know why, but I didn't feel like I'd missed out on anything at all.
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Disclaimer: I do not own these characters
APEC – Asian Pacific Economic Conference. The Australasian trading bloc community, designed to foster favorable trading conditions. My own view on that is: by any means possible. Yes, international trade is good, but I wish the planet didn't have to section itself off in these regional clubs. Can't we just… buy and sell freely?