Page 5 of Girls Will Be Girls
“Dull?” I repeat. “As in boring?”
He laughs again. “Duhl, as in German great-great-grandparents.”
His hand is still stretched out, waiting for me to take it. I look at him, then down to my covered chest, and back up to him with the remnants of a pink blush.
“Oh right.” He laughs, pulling back. “So, I guess that’s…” He trails off, pointing at my stained chest.
“This is my coffee?” I ask pitifully, looking down at my wet front.
“I didn’t realize. I should’ve — it’s not exactly the same order.”
“Yeah.” I nod. “Mine’s decaf.” I joke.
He laughs again, and it’s hard not to want to laugh with him.
“I was on the phone and I thought I heard Lou.” He continues. “I got distracted. I was just bringing it back, when-”
“When you thought it’d be quicker to return it straightontothe owner?” I ask.
He lets out the beginning of a laugh like he wasn’t supposed to before biting down on his cheek as if to stop himself. “I’m so sorry.”
“Honestly, it’s no big deal,” I say, pushing this other slight setback out of my mind. “You’re welcome to your coffee.” I pointto his cup with my finger like a T-Rex. “Although I did take a sip.”
“I think I can live with that.”
He smiles at me, and despite the sugary liquid sticking to my stomach, this feels nice. I think I might be experiencing a real-life meet-cute — a clumsy heroine and a sexy stranger meet at an airport. It’s a classic.
“I might go grab another.” I smile, definitely hinting that he should come with me. “Once I’ve dried off.”
I crane my neck slightly towards the cafe, and the delightful noise of the toddler shouting is instantly back in my eardrums.
“Wait.” He steps closer. “Let me buy you another. It’s my fault.” He says.
“Well, I guess…” I start, but then suddenly I’m interrupted by the feel of a very different kind of liquid on my sandalled feet. I would give anything right now for that to be coffee as well.
I look down to find a smiling child at my feet. My feet that are covered in orange, warm, clumpy puddles.
I’m not sure if I want to scream, cry, or laugh hysterically to the point of madness.
This can’t be happening.
I take in a deep breath, but not too deep because the smell is pungent.
My anxiety does what it does best and takes the reins, making me feel like I have zero control. Convincing me that everything that happens is karmic retribution. That everything I feel is real and inevitable. That it’s all doomed.
My anxiety can be a dramatic little bitch.
I visualize my thoughts as a cloud.
I take in another breath, the smell of puke invading my senses, making the image blurry.
I take one more smaller breath.
My friends.
My health.
My new retro noughties hot pink clutch bag.
