I don't understand the enthusiasm for coffee.
Some people treat it as the paragon of beverages, and they sweat over every detail of what goes into their cup, from the heritage of the beans harvested from some drug-cartel infested land and shipped in some rust-eaten container ship, to the fat content of the creamer, to exactly how many crystals of granulated brown sugar were deposited into the cup emblazoned with whatever social or political slogan was necessary to complete the experience. Funny that they hardly ever concern themselves with the lead content of the municipal water supply in all that calculation.
To me, coffee is a vile conspiracy that society demands I consume every day, a food that has to be sweetened to pass my barely tolerating tongue and lightened so that it doesn't burn a hole in my gullet. More often than not I wind up throwing half the cup away two hours later. I give coffee no more consideration than I give gasoline: go with the cheapest, fill it up, put it on my card.
That approach was not going to cut it at this temple to the pagan caffeine idol. It took me three times as long as any of the customers before me in line to convince the nose-pierced, Centauri Prime haired barista of uncertain gender behind the counter to just give me whatever he or she or it felt like giving me in a cup "to go" after repeated assurances that I didn't care if the beans were grown in Columbia or Kenya or a window-box in Toledo, Ohio.
I also forgot how damned expensive coffee is in this city. Hell, everything's expensive in this city. They'd charge for breathing the air if the could figure out how.
I managed to arrive five minutes earlier than asked. I wanted to arrive fifteen minutes early, but traffic and a substandard taxicab driver with a malfunctioning GPS unit conspired against me. I don't know what I expected to find on my arrival, or how I intended to pass the time until this Allison arrived. Sadly, this wasn't a computer game, and the player character names were not being displayed above everyone's heads for me to figure out which one was Allison. None of the creatures that I could readily identify as women seemed to be there alone, and given that none of the women who were speaking to partners looked as I imagined Lisa to look after five years, I deduced that this Allison had yet to arrive.
Ten minutes after that, I was forcing myself to stay alone at my table with my overpriced version of caffeinated jet fuel, telling myself that traffic in this city was a bitch, that there was more than one idiot cab driver in this city, and that Allison was simply late and not playing me for a fool. I tried really hard not to stare at the door like a lovelorn man waiting for his blind date to arrive, which meant that I was instead glaring at my cup of coffee and wondering if a stray spark might set its contents on fire.
On top of that, my self-loathing was sitting in the seat across from me and finding itself endlessly amused at this predicament of my own making. I was trying really hard to ignore its gleeful cackling, which only increased my dedicated focus on my coffee.
All of that is why I didn't see her until she was standing almost next to my shoulder.
"Excuse me, are you David?"
I am surprised that I did not kick over the table or hit the ceiling thanks to the sudden wave of fright that shot through my veins. I'm also surprised that I didn't soil my shorts.
A woman stood there: a thin, tall, fair-skinned, striking brunette with a birthmark near her lip Cindy Crawford style, wearing hipster glasses, a severe but attractive hairstyle, and a cranberry-and-black skirted business suit that radiated power and command, carrying a disposable coffee cup in her left hand.
There was a golden ring on the fourth finger of that hand, right where a wedding band should be.
My self loathing gave me a virtual dope slap and reminded me that gentlemen rise when a woman approaches, regardless of her orientation. I tried not to jump to my feet as I stood. Clumsily, I extended my hand.
"You must be Allison?"
She smiled.
It was her smile. Lisa's smile. I would recognize that lower-lip bite anywhere.
That hole in my stomach that the coffee started? It was now a sinkhole larger than half of Florida. For that brief instant, I could not help but be insanely jealous.
That had been my smile! It's been stolen from me!
I regained my composure quickly, or at least I think I did, but I could not push down the bile rising in my throat. I tried to tell myself that it was never my smile; it was Lisa's smile, and she was free to give it to whomever she chose. Why not the person she trusted most in all the world? It did not make it any easier for me to accept that another thing that had once been mine now belonged to someone else. It didn't make it any easier to control the rage, but control it I did.
Allison took my hand and gave it a single shake.
"Pleasure to meet you," she said.
That's what her voice said, but her body told a completely different story. The handshake grip was as nervous as mine was. The clothes tried to project confidence, but the eyes and the grip did not reflect that. I held her hand for a moment longer, feeling the sweat and temperature in it.
She was nervous. More than nervous. She was frightened of me.
How could she possibly be more nervous than I am about this?
Perhaps I accepted Allison's invitation because I secretly hoped to find some reason to hate her. I wanted her to be "butch", ugly, man-hating, agenda-spewing, ignorant: like Jenni. It would give me the appropriate sacrifice for my self hatred to find that Lisa's beloved was inferior to me. But holding her hand and seeing the fear and worry in her eyes, and seeing her wearing Lisa's nervous smile, I came to a much different conclusion. This woman was no caricature, no stereotype, no villain.
She was genuine.
And she was afraid of me.
I couldn't hate this woman if I tried. Not because she was scared, but because she was genuine. And damn it, because Lisa loved her. That made her worth something to me. At that moment, it made her worth more than myself to me, given the shameful motivations in my heart. I shoved my rage back into its cell and slammed the door on it hard.
"The pleasure's all mine, Allison," I tried to say gently. I released her hand and gestured to the seat across from me at the small table. The place was a bit too cramped for me to move around and slide the chair out for her, but I wondered if she might not see such a gesture as condescension instead of politeness; Jenni always saw gentlemanly gestures as demeaning. I was not very good with humor, but I decided to try with an icebreaker.
"I'll give you a moment to pull out your cellphone camera and take a picture for the police in case you need to report me later," I joked.
"You're not the stalker type," Allison said through a slanted smile.
"Willing to bet your life on it?" I asked.
"Lisa never would have gone for the clingy, stalker type."
I felt the blood rush from my face. I knew her name would come up. I thought I was prepared to hear it. I was dead wrong.
"I'm sorry," Allison apologized, obviously sensing my reaction and the reason for it. "That was... I'm... not sure what the heck I'm doing here. This is world-boss-level awkward."
"I almost didn't show," I said, agreeing with her sentiment. "Too damned scared of what you'd think I was really trying to do with that phone call. Too damned afraid that you'd have the cops waiting here."
"Me too," she whispered, looking down at her own coffee cup. "I was afraid you'd go all Jealous Boyfriend on me."
"I was tempted," I admitted, lowering my eyes to my own coffee cup in shame. "Until..."
"'Until', what?" Allison asked.
"Until... until I saw her smile on your face?" I replied, my voice shaking with the sad memory of lost love. "She only used that smile when she was really happy or really nervous. Seeing that... I can't hate anyone wearing that smile."
The smile returned, accompanied by a blush of embarrassment.
I smiled back. "See?"
She chuckled awkwardly.
I extended my hand again. "Truce?"
She reciprocated instantly. Her hand was still shaking and uncertain, but she took mine. "Truce."
I pointed to her coffee cup. "You should have come to me first. I'd have bought you one."
Allison smirked. "I'm sure you mortgaged your house to buy your own," she said, gesturing to the cup in my grip.
"Don't have a house. Had to add it to the student loan debt instead."
Allison cradled her coffee mug for a few moments. I recognized the gesture as part of the ritual for beginning the Small Talk, because I practiced it sometimes myself. I need to practice it more, because I suck at it.
"I should have guessed that the guy Lisa fell for was handsome," she offered, continuing her efforts to be polite towards me.
I appreciated the effort but considered it unnecessary. I was the idiot who conjured this awkward situation. It was not Allison's job to diffuse it; it was mine.
"You need to get your lens prescription rechecked," I joked weakly as I searched my brain for some appropriate compliment that a hypothetical lesbian would not find awkward, uninformed, or just plain insulting. I always choked when trying to come up with one for Crystal or Jenni, and right then, I was vapor-locking for something to say.
With fear and trepidation, I offered, "I have to admit, you're not what I expected."
Her smile crumbled, her lips drew into a thin line, and her eyes narrowed into lethal slits. "Meaning?"
My self hatred whispered Nice Going Shit For Brains into my ear. My previous line in this script definitely needed a rewrite before the next take. Unfortunately, this was a live broadcast and I had to work in an improvised apology to soften what had sounded harsh and judgmental. I sighed to try and relieve the pressure. It didn't work. I decided to try and let her know that I was not completely inexperienced with lesbian women. Smooth? Hardly. Inexperienced? No.
"Meaning, you're not the least bit like my cousin's wife."
Confusion softened Allison's angered glare but did not erase it.
"Sorry," I replied. "Lisa never knew about Crystal. In fact, I don't think Crystal - she's my cousin," I explained briefly, then continued. "I don't think Crystal 'came out' until after we broke up. Her wife is still perpetuating the 1980's lesbian stereotype. She thinks her orientation gives her a license to hate men."
Allison relaxed, thinking that she understood. Maybe she did, maybe more so than I understood.
"I don't hate you, David," she whispered.
"I don't hate you either, Allison," I admitted. "And even if I did, you don't deserve it. And I certainly can't hate Lisa. I... I can only hate myself."
Her eyes softened. "Don't do that."
Those three little words cracked the dam holding back my frustration and self hatred, and all of it began leaking out. It took all of my composure to control the flood so that Allison would not be swept up in its rage and pulverized.
"Too damned late," I said in soft tones that were tinged with bitterness despite my best effort. "I ruined it. She was the best thing I ever had and I ruined it. I ruined it by either pushing too hard or not pushing hard enough. I ruined it by letting her go like she wanted and not following after her like I should have. Whatever it was that I was supposed to do or not do, I didn't do it, and I ruined everything.
"She's obviously happy now," I continued, "and I'm glad for her. You're happy now, and I'm glad for you. And I'm honestly happy that she finally knows who and what she is." I raised both hands in a weak gesture of surrender. "Everyone gets to be happy now except stupid-ass David." Realizing that I had now etched the image of the Lord High Emperor Of Conceited Bastards in Allison's brain next to the entry for my name, I added, "who's such a stupid ass that he's dumping on his ex-girlfriend's incredibly kind and generous wife because he's too much of an ass to keep his damned mouth shut." I lifted the scalding jet fuel to my lips and sipped. "Hooray for me."
I didn't expect Allison to have an answer, and she did not for a few seconds. After an awkward silence, she said, "sorry for asking bluntly, but are you sober?"
"As a judge," I replied. "Alcohol and I don't get along. Bad things happen when we get together. Nuclear fallout level bad things."
I felt her finger touch the hand that I was using to grip my coffee cup. Its touch was slow and timid, completely contrasting with the power and confidence that her wardrobe attempted to convey. In reflex, I looked up and saw her eyes looking at me.
There was no judgement in those eyes. All I could see within them were concern, the same concern a rescuer would have for a dying victim.
It suddenly became so clear to me how Lisa could love this woman. It became clear to me how anyone could love this woman.
"David, it's not my place to tell you Lisa's secrets," she started.
"I don't want you to," I interrupted. "I don't want to poison what you two have like I poisoned her."
"You didn't 'poison' her," Allison stressed in a low, hushed voice.
I cocked my head slightly in confusion. Yes, my folks owned a Golden Retriever when I was a kid, and I learned some of my best facial expressions from old Farley.
"I can tell you this. You didn't do anything wrong."
I shook my head in disbelief. "If I did nothing wrong, then how did it all fall apart?"
Allison's eyes softened and then slammed shut. In the instant before she tried to hide them, I saw evidence of some old, secret pain whose source I could not guess rising within them. She wasn't supposed to show me that, but she had not been quick enough to prevent it.
"It takes two to hold a relationship together, David. Lisa said you were an architect. Can a bridge hold itself up if you take away one of its anchors?"
"People are not bridges," I muttered, avoiding her question.
"But one person can't do a two-person job," Allison gently insisted. "You can struggle all you want to save something and it'll fall apart if the other person doesn't think it's worth saving."
"Is that what she thought? Is that what I made her think?" I asked before I caught myself. I then blinked and started waving my hands in front of me in a vain attempt to erase those words from the air before Allison cold hear them. "Sorry, forget that. Stupid Man falling into the Stupid Man Stereotype again."
"I can't tell you what she kept from you," Allison repeated. "But I can tell you that she was afraid that if she mentioned it, it would be like saying Voldemort's name aloud. It would destroy you guys."
"Yeah, and not saying his name aloud turned out so much better?" I icily replied.
Silence crashed down on our table like dried, cracked ceiling plaster loosened by an old woman falling out of bed in the upstairs apartment.
"I'm sympathetic to what you went through," Allison said after an awkward moment. "If you think you can screw up, you should take a look at my life. Hell, I almost lost Lisa because I was too damned afraid to admit what I felt for her." After a pause, she added. "It's a bit hard for a woman who's not very sure of her own orientation to admit to another woman who's also not so sure that she loves her."
I accepted her trepidation and her honesty. "Yeah. And here I thought that us males had it hard. Wrong again, as usual. At least us guys have a guidebook to follow... someplace... sort of lost my copy..."
"Grass always looks greener," she agreed. "I never understood what you men go through until I tried to do it myself."
Another awkward silence intruded into our discussion. This time, I decided to break it.
"I'm serious when I say that I wish you both every happiness in the world," I offered.
Allison smiled gently but didn't look at me directly. After a moment, she replied, "you seem like a nice guy..."
"I wish to God you didn't say that," I groaned. "You know the old cliché of Nice Guys and where they end up? I'm not exactly shattering the stereotype here."
Her smile turned sad. "Not all Nice Guys finish last. For a time, yeah, sometimes they do. My best friend in the whole world is a Nice Guy, but he's a bit on the fringe, which makes it much harder for anyone besides me to see him that way. His luck with women was so bad that he was all set to spend the rest of his life in last place with the rest of the Nice Guys. But he screwed up his courage one last time and tried again, and now he's about to marry one of the most 'real' people I've ever known.
"There are plenty of people out there looking for Nice Guys, David," she tried to assure me. "Real people, not wackos. But they can't find them because the Nice Guys aren't helping their cause and hiding in their bedrooms every night because they're afraid of finishing last again. You've got to move on."
Unfortunately for Allison, this was all advice that the Person Who Hates Me The Most has already spewed at me a thousand times or more. Apparently, I needed instructions more than I needed advice, and no one had the instruction sheet for Moving On. At least, no one was willing to let me see their copy.
"Tried," I sheepishly admitted. "Failed miserably. If you need proof, I can provide names, dates, and telephone numbers. Might even be a police report if I look hard enough."
Allison obviously didn't believe me. "Come on. A handsome guy like you?"
"None of them were Lisa," I said simply and softly. "Not even close."
Allison fell silent.
"You said that you almost lost her," I reminded her. "What if you did? How good do you think you'd be at the 'moving on' thing?"
I regretted those words the instant that I uttered them, because a tidal wave of pain rose in the windows of her eyes.
"Defense rests, Your Honor," I said meekly, taking another sip of the vile black stuff in my coffee cup. In that instant, my vindictive nature was made plain to me and I hated myself for it. "Sorry, that was unkindly cruel. I apologize. Feel free to slap me in the face and storm out; I deserve it." I slid my coffee cup over to her side of the table. "Better yet, fling this in my face. Damned stuff is corroding my stomach, might as well burn my face off as well."
"But you're right," she admitted in a small voice that was shaking with the stress of forcing itself to be gentle and calm.
"But I'm also an ass," I said, trying to continue the apology. "You've been nothing but kind to me, and I repay it by being bitter towards you. You deserve better than that. I'm an ass and I'm sorry."
"You're hurt," Allison replied. "Sometimes, it's hard to not be an ass when you're hurting. I know, I was the world's biggest ass when I was hurting."
"I think you'd better check the standings again," I tried to joke. "I think you'll find that I've been ranked the World's Greatest Ass for five years running."
"Well, I gave you a run for your money a couple of years ago."
"Never saw you in my rear-view mirror," I said, taking back my cup of the black jet fuel and forcing down another sip.
Cue the silence once again. I tried to use that moment to compose my thoughts, but Allison broke the silence first.
"I won't hide it from her that you and I talked," Allison said.
"Don't ever hide anything from her," I replied in gentle seriousness. "We hid things from each other, and it evolved into a monster that ate us whole."
"Maybe in time, I can... convince her to talk to you?"
I almost broke into tears with the suggestion. It's what my heart yearned for, but my brain had a firmer grip on reality at that moment. "It'd only poison what you two have. Some old ghosts should stay buried."
"But please, David, don't hate yourself over this?" Allison pleaded gently. "It wasn't your fault."
I disagreed, but I did not vocalize my opinion this time. I simply closed my eyes and swallowed, trying to get the brick that had formed in my throat to go back down into my stomach and fight it out with the bile and caffeine churning down there.
"If you have to hate someone, hate me," she offered.
I smiled at the magnanimous gesture, but even of I weren't trying very hard to be a polite gentleman, I could never accept such an offer. No one should take bullets for me. No one should serve time for my crimes.
"Hate the woman who finally made Lisa whole?" I asked. "How could I possibly do that?"
She blushed again and tried to do her best turtle imitation by pulling her head towards her shoulders.
"Allison," I began in as gentle a voice as I could manufacture. "I know that I've only just met you, but I can already tell why Lisa fell in love with you. You're 'real'. Lisa liked 'real', she respected 'real'. You're sympathetic. You're kind. Being here with me proves that more than words can say. If you weren't married, weren't gay, weren't completely out of my league, and you were so blind that you couldn't see my faults, I could fall for you just like she did."
Allison's lips gave an embarrassed smile. "I don't see any faults."
"Like I said, you'd better recheck your lens prescription," I joked. I then became serious again. "I like you, Allison, and I'd like to think that I can now call you a friend. I'd love to be able to call Lisa's wife my friend. I'm glad we met. But... anything beyond this one meeting is playing a very dangerous game with your marriage. Because damn it, I still love Lisa too damned much, and I can't guarantee you that I can control that, that I wouldn't try to sabotage what you've got. I already ruined one relationship of hers, I'm not going to ruin another."
"You're not giving yourself much credit here."
"Not sure I've earned it," I countered.
Allison looked uneasily down to her coffee cup, struggling for some polite reply.
"Just... just know that I am happy for you both. Happy that she's figured out who she is and that you've found each other. You both deserve every happiness." I finished.
"I'd like for her to be able to say the same thing someday about you," she replied softly. "Give her that chance?"
There was that advice again. Move On. Two syllables that were so damned easy to say yet so damned difficult to do. How does one Move On from perfection?
"Someday, maybe," I sheepishly answered. "Who knows? Miracles happen every day."
"Only if we help make them happen," Allison corrected me.
"Yeah," I muttered. "Still working on that. Guess I missed that class in college."
Again the awkward silence descended upon us. It was interrupted by an electronic chirp.
Allison gave an embarrassed smile. "Reminder of a meeting I have with my employer." She rose. "Gotta go."
"Of course," I said, choosing to believe her. A quick glance at my watch showed it was half past the hour, not an unreasonable time for someone's reminder alarm to go off. I rose and extended my hand again. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Allison."
This time, her hand was confident when it grasped mine. "The pleasure was all mine, David."
I watched her leave. She gave me a glance over her shoulder and a parting smile before the door closed behind her.
Yes, Lisa could love that woman. Anyone could love that woman. In a different reality where I still had a fraction of courage? I could love that woman.
How could I hate her? I couldn't. And I certainly couldn't hate Lisa.
So, despite what Allison said, I wound up right back where I started, hating the only person left in the whole sad story: myself. Deciding that I was weary of that, I chose to hate the coffee instead. I headed towards the coffee shop door, tossed the half-full cup into the trash to the audible distress of the hired help, and let myself out.
