Love, Actually.

From my seat in the window of the tiny coffee shop, I had the perfect view of the street. I could see everyone, and everyone could see me. I hated it. My usual spot in the back was taken by a pair of old women, gossiping over tea. It didn’t matter, I suppose, as most of my attention was focused on the notebook and anthology of poems before me. My English professor was the epitome of a grammar Nazi. A tiny Frenchwoman, she was fluent in three languages and since she knew the ins and outs of the English language, she expected all of her students to be spot-on in speaking and writing it correctly.

Our current essay involved taking a poem and relating it to ourselves; rather philosophical for an English class, if you asked me. I had chosen Invictus, a poem by William Ernest Henley. I had thought this paper would be easy, for the poem was about taking control of your fate. The more I thought about it, however, the less in control of my fate I felt. I was more of a ‘let the winds guide me’ kind of person, I had long since given up taking charge.

I was a third-year writing major at a state college and had been asked out on a date exactly two times. Both times were my freshman year. The most I got out was to the coffee shop for a change of scenery and the grocery store for a refill of ramen. Needless to say, I had given up. Settled. I was already at peace—well, maybe not at peace, but accepting of—the fact that it was only a matter of time before the cat lady start-up kit arrived at my door. I already had the horn rimmed glasses, now I just needed the forty-plus cats and turtle-shell clip to wear in my hair.

“Mind if I sit down?” I jumped, surprised, causing an accidental doodle on my notebook. Looking up through my bangs, I saw a young man standing before me, a steaming mug of coffee in hand. He couldn’t possibly be talking to me… Yet there he was, clearly expecting an answer. Mutely, I nodded, still in disbelief as he sat down across from me.

“I see you in here a lot,” He continued, completely unaware of the fact that I was still staring at him skeptically. “I’m Andy, by the way.” He extended his hand to me.

After a moment of hesitation, I shook it, “Clara. I’m sorry—why did you sit here?” He looked taken aback, and I instantly regretted asking. “I mean,” I shook my head, wincing at my awkwardness, “Sorry, that was rude. I just… this has never happened before.” I laughed nervously, pushing my bangs out of my face. I didn’t do well with strangers, especially not with handsome ones—I never knew what to say.

I was sure this nice guy, Andy, would leave. He’d probably be very sketched out by the weird girl he’d tried to be nice to. To my surprise, he just smiled.

“It’s ok,” He said. “I see you in here a lot. I’ve always wanted to talk to you, but you always look preoccupied. I figured the hell with it—the school year ends in a month.”

“I’m sorry, but I am kind of busy… I have to write this paper on a poem, and I’m really behind… This professor is a really tough grader. I just have to focus, maybe some—“

“—What do you have to lose?” He asked, cutting me off completely. “Come on—go to dinner with me?”

I was surprised with how bold he was. At the same time, I had to acknowledge that maybe it was a touch of fate—a sign. I had just been thinking of my forever fate as a spinster; a cat lady living in a house coated in dust and cobwebs. What did I have to lose?

I had to take charge. I was the master of my fate: the captain of my soul.

Locking eyes with him, I nodded. “Ok. Sure.”