Page 73 of The Infinite Light of Dust

He shakes his head. “No. You like hot coffee now?” he asks me.

I look down at the mug between my hands and shake my head. “No.”

I hate that he remembers small things about me. I wish I could erase them all from his memory. And from mine. I’m lying to myself, and I know that, but I try to keep a straight face.

A half smile crosses his stoic face, reminding me of one of the million reasons I fell in love with him. A moment ago, it was easy to look away. Now it’s impossible.

“Not coffee,” he assures me. “Tea.”

He isn’t wearing a jacket, of course, and the sleeves of his denim shirt are rolled up above his elbows. The tattoo on his forearm is fully visible and I know if I touch his skin right now it will be burning up. I’m sure as hell not going to do that, so I look up and over his shoulder. Away from the tattoo. Away from the thought. It’s safer that way. For both of us. I try to focus on the noises in the coffee shop so I can settle into his silence. I forgot how unnerving his presence can be.

That’s a lie. I didn’t forget. I wanted to but couldn’t. Just like sometimes I wanted to forgive him, but I never could.

I can hear the server approaching, her sneakers squeaking on the concrete floor. She has a mousy little voice and when she tells him that he should “so totally” try the new peppermint mocha, I laugh to myself, knowing that he hates all minty things, even toothpaste. I think about the way he’d leave those red globs of cinnamon gunk in the sink at my house and how many times we bickered over it. If only I had ignored those petty grievances. If only I had paid more attention to what was really happening, everything might have been different.

Maybe. Maybe not.

I don’t want to know.

Another lie.

Kael tells the girl he would like a plain black tea, and this time I try not to laugh. He’s so predictable.

“What’s so funny?” he asks when the waitress leaves.

“Nothing.” I change the subject. “So, how are you?”

“Don’t do that. Don’t act like we’re strangers.”

I tuck my lips together and look away before I reply, “Aren’t we, though?”

He sighs and his eyes roam around the room before they land back on me. “Should I go?”

“I don’t know, should you?”

He moves his chair out slightly and I reconsider. I don’t really want him to go, but there are so many reasons to be mad at him and I’m afraid that being around him will soften me. I can’t have that happen.

“Okay. Okay. Please, sit. I’ll be nice,” I promise him, with a small smile that’s about as convincing as my attitude.

I don’t know what bullshit we’re going to fill this coffee date with, but since we’re going to see each other tomorrow, it seemed like a good idea to get the first awkward encounter out of the way without an audience. A funeral is no place for that. And I had to be in the city today anyway.

“Kael, how are you?” I retry this whole being-nice thing.

“Good. Given the circumstances.” He clears his throat.

“Yeah.” I sigh, trying not to think too much about tomorrow. I’ve always been good at pretending the world isn’t burning around me. Okay, I’ve been slipping these past few months, but for years denial was second nature, a permanent habit I mastered between my parents’ divorce and my high school graduation. Sometimes it feels like my family is disappearing. We keep getting smaller and smaller. Sometimes I feel like I’m disappearing too.

“Are you all right?” he asks, his voice even lower than it was before.

It sounds the same as it did those damp nights when we fell asleep with the windows open—the whole room would be dewy the next morning, our bodies wet and sticky. I used to love the way his hot skin felt when my fingertips danced across the smooth contours of his jaw. Even his lips were warm, feverish at times. The southern Georgia air was so thick you could taste it, and Kael’s temperature always ran so hot. Another thing I pretend to forget. We aren’t here for a romantic reunion.

He clears his throat and asks again if I’m okay. I snap out of it.

I know what he’s thinking. He can tell that I’ve left earth with my thoughts and he’s trying to bring me back. I can read his face as clearly as the neonBut First, Coffeesign hanging on the wall behind him. I hate that those memories are the ones my brain associates with him. It doesn’t make this any easier.

“Kare.” His voice is soft as he reaches across the table to touch my hand. I jerk it away so fast you’d think it was on fire. It’s strange to remember the way we were, the way I never knew where he ended and I began. We were so in tune, so different from the way things are now. There was a time when he’d say my name and just like that, I’d give him anything he wanted. I consider this for a moment. How I’d give that man anything he wanted.

I thought I was further along in my recovery from us, that wholegetting over himthing. At least far enough along that I wouldn’t be thinking about the way his voice sounded when I had to wake him up early for physical training or the way he used to scream in the night. My head is spinning, and if I don’t shut my mind off now the memories will split me apart, on this chair, in this little coffee shop, right in front of him.

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