One for the Angels

Life had settled back to how it was before. Before Danny, that is. I got up, went to work, came home, and prepared to do the same thing over again. I drew a lot more than usual; mostly of just trivial things: mugs of coffee, my bed, the shop, but occasionally I’d start to draw the outline of a boy. I never got very far with it, though: usually it ended with me crumpling it up and tossing it aside.

As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I really did love Danny. A lot. And maybe that was what sucked the most: as unconventional and strange as our relationship was, I really had fallen for him. Somewhere between the different coffees and fancy desserts, he’d become my entire world. And now I was never going to see him again.

Until I did.

It was a typical day. Danny had been gone for nineteen of them. The wastepaper basket was full of my drawings. I stopped taking my lunch breaks. It was fine. I was on register duty, but no one had come in yet, so I was sneakily working on a sketch of Hannah. Her birthday was coming up, and I planned on giving her a portrait of her, leaning against the counter and looking to the side.

I was so busy concentrating that I didn’t even hear the door open until a voice said, “Hi, I’d like a cup of coffee and an old-fashioned doughnut, please.”

I froze, my pencil hovering over the page in my sketchbook. The voice was familiar, one I never thought I’d hear again. “Room for cream and sugar?” I asked finally. I didn’t look up, afraid that if I did, everything would disappear.

“Yes.”

“Anything else?”

“Nah, just those two. Haven’t had them in a while.”

“Maybe if you’d been here . . .” I didn’t finish my sentence, trying to figure out what to say next. “God, Danny, where the fuck have you been?”

“I know. I’m sorry, Juno.”

Finally, I looked up. The illusion didn’t shatter. His hair was a little longer (that stupid beanie was stuffed on his head still) and his eyes were a little sadder, but he had a small smile on his face as he looked at me. For a moment, I didn’t move, just staring at him, trying to take in every part of his face that I could in case he left again.

“You have a lot of explaining to do,” I said finally.

“I know,” he said quietly, averting his eyes. “And I will.”

“When?”

“Soon.” I got him his coffee and doughnut and he reached into his back pocket, pulling out a wallet. “Look, I can pay for stuff now.” Pleased, he handed me a five-dollar bill.

Slowly, I reached out and took it, but he kept holding my hand. “Please don’t do that ever again,” I said finally. “If you’re gonna leave, at least tell me first. Going out there and seeing nothing, day after day, was just . . . awful.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t know if you were okay, or where you were, or why you left . . . you didn’t even say good-bye.” To my surprise (and disgust), I was near tears.

“I’m sorry, Juno. I’m so sorry. I had to go, but I won’t do it again.”

“Promise?” I held out my pinky. He looked at it for a second before he laughed a little and linked it with his his own.

“Promise.”

“Okay. Why don’t we sit down?” Turning to the back, I called, “Hey, Han. I’m going on my lunch break.”