The Coffee Girl

A kink in my neck. Why was there a kink in my neck? I shifted in the awkward position I was in, trying to somehow sit up straight without opening my eyes just yet. I could feel the sun burning my eyelids, urging me to wake up, but I didn’t feel like facing reality. Like a child reluctant in going to school, all I needed was five more minutes.

The smell I had familiarized myself with these past 2 months wafted in and out of my nostrils with every deep, content breath. It was the hockey player smell. All of them smelt like it. Not in a bad way, but definitely something memorable. Patrick had it, Sharpie had it, the ice rink in general had it and now, with my head leaning on something relatively comfortable, I smelled it again. I let one eye open slowly, my pupils adjusting to the bright morning sun streaming in through Jonathan’s enormous windows, and then the other. I was still on Jonathan’s couch with the TV on, but I wasn’t in the same position I remembered last night.

I tilted my head to the side to see Jonathan’s placid face inches away from mine. His eyes were closed, the eyeballs shifting back and forth behind the eyelids, and his mouth slightly ajar to let the tip of his tongue hang out. This was a different side of him, a more playful side; something I could imagine Kaner looking like instead. Slowly, trying not to move him, I raised myself up from his warm shoulder and raked back my dishevelled hair. If I left his apartment with the same clothes I had come in would that be considered a walk of shame? We hadn’t done anything...

I flashed him a look, hoping he wasn’t awake and could notice my slightly disappointed expression.

The only other clothes I had at this point were his t-shirt and boxers. That wasn’t a better alternative. I stood up from the couch and did a little stretch, suppressing the yawn itching to break through my lips. I gave the apartment a once over. Was it just me or did it look different? Happier. Maybe it was the circumstances I was under the last time I was here that made it seem gloomy and unwelcoming. With one final look at a sleeping Jonathan, I knew that the least I could do at this point was make him some breakfast.

☼☼☼☼☼☼

Bacon crackled in the frying pan, coffee steamed from the maker, toast popped out of the toaster, and the scrambled eggs had already begun turning a nice golden brown. I was quite proud of myself at this point.

“What’s all this?” I heard a groggy voice say from behind me. Trying to keep my attention on the frying bacon, I cocked my head over my shoulder and smiled meekly at Jonathan, who stood with his shirt crumpled and his hair sticking up in every direction.

“Breakfast,” I replied simply, flipping over the bacon one last time before stacking it on the plate next to the oven. “Kind of a lame ‘thank you’, but it’s all I could think of right now.”

Jonathan walked towards me and picked up a strip of bacon, shoving the entire thing in his mouth. “No,” he said once he swallowed, “it’s perfect. Now I feel kinda bad for letting you do this while I slept.” He licked the bit of oil from his lips.

I shrugged and turned off the oven. “You took care of dinner, I take care of breakfast. That’s how friendships work.” I leaned back against the counter to look at him. He nodded, taking another strip of bacon. We stood there for a moment and I could feel the burning sensation of hunger envelope me. Though, however hungry I was, Jonathan topped it. In almost seconds he had finished off the plate of bacon and moved on to the eggs. I just smiled and shook my head as I watched him wolf everything down.

Anyone else would want to keep up a steady conversation at breakfast, but Jonathan was perfectly content eating in idle silence. And I was fine with it. I guess it was a weird understanding we had. Not a lot of talking had to be done to mutually agree that we enjoyed each other’s company. As he and I took simultaneous swigs of coffee, his phone began to ring. Swiftly, he stood from the chair and picked it up from the hook it hung on in the kitchen.

“Hello?” Jonathan said deeply, his mouth still slightly full of food. “Uh—yeah...” I couldn’t hear the voice on the other end or even pick up what the conversation was about, but I knew it must have been something important by the tone of Jonathan’s voice. Then again, he always had that tone. It perplexed me at times. “Me too,” he continued in a soft whisper.

I looked down at my plate and continued eating.

He ran a hand through his hair and looked at the time on his stove. “Yeah, I just got up.” Silence. “Just a friend.” One Mississippi, two Mississippi... “Okay, yeah I—uh—love you too.” And with that he hung up and walked back to the table. No words were spoken.

“Who was that?” I asked, curiously. His mother, perhaps, or his father? He never really talked about them to me. He never, really, brought them up at all. Did he miss them? Of course he did. They lived all the way in Canada and he was here alone at 22 years old.

Jonathan forked some of his eggs, shifting them around the plate. “My—uh—girlfriend.” He raised his head to look at me—brown eyes flickering back and forth behind thick lashes—and I had to try and keep my face as straight as possible. All this time he had a girlfriend?

“Oh,” was the only reply I could think of at this point. A girlfriend?! A girlfriend? There goes thinking I had finally cracked his mysterious shell and gotten to know him. He gave me a surreptitious look then diverted his gaze back to his food. Did he feel uncomfortable that I was here while he was talking to his girlfriend or that I spent the night? What kind of question is that? Of course he did. And even though nothing happened, I knew Jonathan felt unfaithful. He was the kind of guy to put all the pressure on him. “You know what?” I breathed out, “I should probably go. See if my mom is still alive.” I stood up from the chair and placed my plate in the kitchen sink.

“You don’t have to,” Jonathan said.

“No, I should go,” I replied. “Thanks again...for everything.” I briskly walked to the laundry room, changed into my dry clothes and picked up my bag to leave before Jonathan could say anything else.

Uncomfortable was not quite the word to describe this situation.

☼☼☼☼☼☼

I walked into my apartment to hear a loud groan from the washroom. I sighed whilst shrugging off my jacket and placing it on the coat hanger. With everything going on with Jonathan and his secret double life, I had almost forgotten that my mom was probably face-first in the toilet bowl, heaving up whatever she drank last night. Kicking off my shoes, I walked to the washroom and leaned against the door frame as I watched the woman who gave me birth kneeling by the toilet.

“Oh, mom,” I breathed, hopelessly, “you’re gonna kill yourself.” I walked towards her and placed my hands under her arm pits to help her up. She wobbled a bit then leaned back against the sink, using her hands to support herself.

“I thought you wanted me dead,” she grunted then pushed back her bangs so that I could see her tired eyes.

I licked my lips and dropped my shoulders. “I could never want you dead. You’re my mom.”

“Barely,” she replied with a wipe of her lips. She gave the washroom a once over then let her eyes land on me. “Where did you stay last night?”

“At a friend’s.”

“A boyfriend’s?” She inquired.

I licked my lips and looked anywhere but her face. Now she wanted to know where I was and who I was with. “He’s a boy that’s my friend,” I clarified.

There was a silence between us that seemed exactly the same as when I was a kid.

“Do me a favour Calli,” I looked at her and nodded, noticing the severe tone in her voice, “Don’t end up like me.” Even though I had been through a lot of horrible times with my mom, I couldn’t help but feel a bit heartbroken once she said that. She was, after all, my mother and my sole provider for 18 years. “Find someone who cares about you and doesn’t just think of you as a side dish.”

“Okay, mom,” I replied in a whisper, placing my hand around her shoulders for support.

“Go for the guy that cares about you. Not self-absorbed with other girls on his radar.” I nodded again and began leading her to the bedroom. Despite her being partly intoxicated, she still had that motherly knowledge. And there were times where I would do good listening to it.