Your Slightest Look

The diner at the corner of Joy Street had been a staple in Mark’s Senior year of High School. He’d gone there the weekends, at insane hours because he couldn’t sleep or he had to pull an all-nighter because of an exam. Effie’s Diner was still the same as always, and as he entered and heard the familiar sound of the bell, his eyes immediately drifted to his usual table. And sure enough, Al—Ángela was there.

She was warming her hands around a cup of coffee. He could remember a boy coughing and swearing not to ever drink coffee again, and he’d laughed and told him it was the biggest lie he’d ever heard. Now the boy was a girl, and Mark carefully sat in the booth in front of her as if she were an animal easily spooked. She still didn’t look up from her beverage.

In front of him there was a cup, and he was pretty sure that as soon as he’d take a sip he’d find a caramel macchiato.

“Hello,” he began, taking off his many layers, starting with his coat.

“Hey,” she mumbled. “I ordered for you, so you, uh, wouldn’t have to wait…”

“Thanks,” he told her honestly, and pulled off his scarf. “I haven’t been here since I moved to LA.”

“I didn’t even know you were in LA,” she chuckled, but there was no humour to it. Taking a sip of his coffee, indeed it was a caramel macchiato, and he felt much worse than he already felt.

“I’ve been in LA for a while,” he nodded. The steam of the coffee was nice, and it smelled as good as it tasted. He wondered if Gina still worked here. “You?”

“Same,” she shrugged. She still wouldn’t look up. “I’m living alone right now, but Kevin, Felix and Wade live together.”

“Wade Abbot?” he grinned. “Oh, man, haven’t heard of him, either. He’s your bassist?”

“Yeah,” she whispered.

Small talk wasn’t doing it, Mark knew. Very seldom did he find himself in awkward situations—he was good at speaking and breaking the ice. It should’ve been easy, what with her being who she was and the great friendship they’d had back in the day.

Things weren’t as easy, though.

“I don’t care,” Mark began, and finally her green eyes clashed against his whiskey brown. Immediately, he cursed and tried to fix it. “I mean, I do care, of course, I care about you, you’re my friend. But. But what I mean is. Fuck, I mean. I mean that I don’t care that you are a woman. I really don’t, it changes nothing, you know that?”

Her gaze was unnerving. Had her eyes always been this green? No, they couldn’t be. Mark remembered her having big eyelashes, though. He could count every freckle in her skin and suddenly all he could see were the bruises he’d never been able to stop.

“Mark, you’re staring at me,” she told him softly, and it was then that her eyes shifted and they were miserable. “You know that we were friends when I was a kid, right? I’m twenty one now, Mark, you don’t need to save something that’s been long for so long.”

“I don’t feel that way,” he countered. “I don’t think our friendship’s lost.”

“I don’t trust people,” she frowned.

“You trust Felix,” he just wanted to give her an example that she could be trusting, but it soon backfired when her emerald pools hardened.

“Felix held me together when my dad died four months ago,” she told him, and the next pang of guilt nearly made him double over.

“Shit,” he rubbed his face and shook his head. “I’m eloquent today.”

“That was a low blow, Mark,” she sighed and sipped her coffee. “Sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“You’ve a right to be upset,” he shrugged. “I didn’t try to keep up. We lost communication because of me.”

“Friendship is a two-way street,” she rubbed her forehead. “I just don’t want to try again only to have it all blow up in my face.”

“What do you mean?” he furrowed his brow and leaned further into the table. Ángela made a vague gesture and the light of the neon sign outside made her lips turn cyan for a second. “Come on, explain.”

“I liked you, Mark,” she blushed—an honest-to-god blush that spread across her cheeks, bloomed and blossomed like a Spring flower in the middle of winter and Mark wondered if he’d been punched by a ghost, because running out of breath was impossible while sitting down. “I really fucking liked you back then, and I’ve got this idolized memory of you in my head that’s all clouded by my fourteen year old version of myself.”

“Well, mine has been crushed to tiny pieces,” he chuckled and he was glad that he could make her smile even if it was just a tiny bit—a turn of the lips, but it was there. “We could… start from zero.”

“Could we?” she was skeptical, but he really couldn’t blame her. It did seem kind of impossible to move on from everything they’d gone through. “Could we really?”

“Yeah,” he had to smile. He had to.

“Okay,” yeah, she was smiling back. And it was that very same smile he’d gotten when he’d made that joke at this very same diner after her Homecoming dance was ruined by one of her bullies. Now she was fine, not hurt, and she was smiling and she was a woman and dear god, she was beautiful.

“Okay, then,” he rubbed his hands and made a show out of cracking his knuckles, rolling his neck, taking a deep breath and grinning like a maniac. “Hi! I’m Mark!”

She laughed, and her laughter was so much softer than he remembered, and so much more delicate, more fragile. When he shook her hand it was as tiny as always but with callouses that were more prominent than before. “Hi, I’m Ángela. Nice to meet you, Mark.”

“Goodie! Now you can tell me what you’ve been doing,” he took his coffee with gusto, feeling the tension and uncomfortable atmosphere deflate like a balloon.

“Band stuff,” she laughed again, took a long sip of her coffee and sighed little, a sound of relief that made Mark’s bones a little bit lighter. “And YouTube stuff. I’ve also written a book.”

“You’ve written a book?” Mark’s eyebrows shot up. “No way!”

“Yeah,” she smiled with happiness immediately radiating off her every pore. “I’m actually working on the third. It’s a fantasy trilogy, and it’s actually getting pretty famous.”

“Wow,” he felt nervous giggles leaving his lips but he could barely focus on anything when she was looking at him with those huge green eyes—happy green eyes. “I feel inept next to you. All I’ve been doing is playing videogames and screaming at a camera, alone in my house.”

“From what I’ve heard, it’s more than that,” her features were gentle. “I’ve watched a few of your videos, Mark, and you’re doing a wonderful job. You’re helping people. Like always.”

“I can,” he shrugged and finished his drink. “So why shouldn’t I? Don’t give me so much credit, I bet you’ve done the same.”

“Not as much as I’d like,” she let her elbows rest on the table and placed her chin on the heel of her hand. Her lavender hair touched the table and he was reminded that lavender was her favourite flower. She’d had a pot of them back when she was fourteen. “I mainly keep myself busy. I like to do a bit of everything.”

“We should do that Let’s Play,” he found himself blurting out, then that nervous laugh again. “I mean, would you like to?”

“Yeah,” she grinned. “I actually want to.”

“Good,” he adopted the funniest expression he could muster and exaggerated his moves. “I hope you’re ready to be scared off your socks, little lady, because we’re going to find the scariest game of all.”

“Oh, come on,” she groaned, and he laughed again. He couldn’t stop, not when she was laughing back. “I hate you, Mark, I only played like, two.”

“Vanish is one, right?” he shuddered internally. “And the other one?”

“Amnesia,” she rolled her eyes. “A classic. I swear I could a grunt in ever goddamn corner for at least a month.”

It was easy to get back to how things were before. Conversation was easy. Laughing was easy. The third drink was a chocolate milkshake and god, had Mark missed those damn milkshakes. He was about to take a sip when Ángela made a Pulp Fiction reference and Mark realized he hadn’t even thought of her once as a male, just… Allen.

It was strange, how the human body and the human mind worked. Things had changed, yet they hadn’t. Mark could see Allen inside Ángela, but a better version of himself. He supposed it was okay to find a friend again, even under such strange circumstances. He’d been afraid to lose Allen only to realize he had Ángela.

When Mark went back home, it was four in the morning.