The Jealous

When Henry woke up that morning he felt better than he had in ages. He'd been traveling for work so much that being in National City for a whole week for a slew of meetings almost felt like being home. A respite from the all airplanes and taxis. A chance to sleep in the same bed more than three nights in a row.

As he opened the curtains of his hotel room, the day seemed full of potential. He had a whole weekend to himself. In a city where he didn't have any family or social obligations. And in only a few hours he was meeting that woman. It was only coffee, but still.

He had seen her standing at the counter of an upscale coffee shop. He had stopped by on his way to a meeting to pick up a quick cup of coffee. She had looked so sad and lonely and tired and beautiful. So beautiful. Long dark hair, one of the most stunning faces he'd ever seen.

As they had both waited for their coffees, he had tried to think of something to say.

"Looks like you need it," he had finally blurted out as she took her coffee off the counter. Immediately he realized it was probably the least smooth thing he could've said.

But rather than look offended or angry, she'd simply stared at him vacantly.

"Sorry?", she had said a moment later, looking confused.

"I'm sorry," he had said, glad not to have completely ruined the moment. "I meant no offense. Obviously you look beautiful. I just noticed you look tired as well. I sure need my coffee when I feel like that."

Henry was sure there were too many words there, spoken too rapidly. But the woman had smiled. It had been a strained smile, but a smile nonetheless.

"Is everything alright?", he had asked. Normally he wouldn't have wanted to pry, but there was something about this woman that made her seem so utterly alone. He wasn't sure that if he didn't ask, someone else would.

And he may have imagined it, but as soon as he asked the question, her eyes had seemed to light up just the tiniest bit. And he liked to imagine that it was because in that moment she had felt seen, slightly less alone.

She hadn't answered his question but had looked at him with some interest.

"Look," he'd said, "I'm only here 'til Sunday, but do you expect to need more coffee before then?"

As he finished his question he knew it sounded stupid. But the woman had let out a tiny laugh. She had found it amusing.

"Yes," she had said. "I guess I do."

Somehow, and he still doesn't quite know how he did it, he had convinced her to let him buy her a coffee. They had agreed on this Saturday morning. She would be at work but promised take a break to have coffee with him at that exact coffee shop.

Henry had breakfast at his hotel and then walked around the city for a bit, picking up a novel he had wanted to read at a local bookstore. He arrived at the coffee shop early.

When she walked in she looked so beautiful he found it difficult to keep his eyes on her.

They sat down at a table in the corner. He told her about his week in National City. The things that had struck him, the things he had liked. He could tell she enjoyed listening to his stories.

Then he tried to get her to talk. That was far more difficult than he was used to. In his experience, people were usually keen to talk about themselves. Not this woman. She gave monosyllabic answers to most of his questions, not in a rude way, but guarded.

Finally he said, when her continued terseness made him wonder whether she had lost interest in being there, "Listen, we don't have to do this. I'm more than happy to let you drink your coffee in peace. No hard feelings."

"No, please", she said. "I'm sorry."

She looked at him with something that almost seemed like desperation in her eyes.

He gave her a warm smile. "Okay," he said.

She looked at him tentatively and said, "I'm just out of practice talking about myself. There's really not much to say. I work a lot. But the company is nice."

First he thought she had meant the company she worked for. Then he realized she meant his company, his presence here with her. It made him feel warm inside.

They sat in silence for a moment, a quiet calm between them.

It made him feel there was something real and honest between them, so he said, "You seem so profoundly sad."

But perhaps he had misread the moment. She gave him a slightly annoyed look and said, "I'm fine."

But as she looked up at him, there was a new vulnerability in her eyes. Wanting so much to comfort her, make her feel better, he said, "You know, you're not alone."

She looked at him for a moment and then said softly, "Oh, but I am."

Wanting to prove to her this was not true, Henry reached out his arm and took hold of her hand which was resting on the table.

Right at that moment, Henry became aware of a blonde woman staring at them from the counter. She had a camel coat on and a large steaming cup in her hand, the string of the teabag hanging over the edge. Did he know her? She looked at them in shock.

Then suddenly everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The blonde woman squeezed the cup in her hand much too hard. The hot tea spilled all over her hands onto the floor. Somehow the teabag ended up in the middle of a puddle of the floor. The barista behind the counter let out a loud gasp. The woman clearing tables ran over to the woman, shock on her face. All the while the blonde woman continued to stare at their table, oblivious to the fate of her hands.

As time sped up again, Henry got up and rushed over to the woman. "Your hands!", he cried out.

The woman put her hands behind her back. "I'm fine," she said, although Henry didn't know how that could be true.

"Put your hands under cold water," he urged her.

But she shook her head and hurried out of the coffee shop.

Henry walked back to his table, but his date had already got up.

"I'm sorry," she said. "There's something I have to do."

She thanked him for the coffee and ran out.

And so Henry simply sat down again, feeling disappointed and confused. After several minutes, however, he shrugged his shoulders, took out his book and settled in few a few hours of quiet reading.