The Meeting Point by Olivia Lara

Forty-One

June 9

In the morning, my mother calls and I apologize a hundred times for missing our weekly Saturday call. I act in my most casual, relaxed, ‘vacationing’ kind of way, and don’t tell her I quit my job because I know she’ll worry. I also don’t bring up Max and except for an ‘any news?’ question, she doesn’t either. Instead, I focus the conversation on Carmel, and how pretty everything is here and what a good time I’m having.

“David keeps calling my cell,” she says.

“Just ignore him, Mom. Don’t answer.”

It’s funny. Now that she mentions it, I realize David didn’t call or text me yesterday. Good. Maybe he got the message.

“Is that man worth all of this, Maya?”

There. She brought him up.

“He is worth it,” I say firmly.

“When are you coming back?” she asks.

“Not for another week or so.”

I think. Maybe. I honestly don’t know anything right now.

I’m a couple of hours into my solo adventure at Café Azure, and besides the fact that Ethan just arrived, barely said two words to me and hasn’t even offered to help, it’s all good.

I pass by his table, juggling a tray of coffee cups, glasses of lemonade, and orange juice.

“Good morning. Can I get you anything?”

He’s writing something on a piece of paper and seems startled to hear my voice. He lifts his eyes to look at me and makes a jerky move with his arms, like he’s about to push his chair back or to get up. Or get further away from me. Surprised by his reaction, I jump to the side. I don’t know why I do that. I’m startled by him being startled and worried I might’ve gotten too much in his space. I honestly don’t know. It all happens so fast. What I do know is that a second later, all the glasses and cups on my tray come flying down. Broken glass everywhere, dripping coffee and sticky juice on the table. On his clothes. On his laptop.

I’m mortified. Oh my God. Two days in a row. “I’m sorry, so sorry,” I keep saying.

I’m waiting for him to swear or have an aggressive reaction. Instead, he gets up with a swift move and just stands there, staring at me, not saying a word. I run to the bar and bring paper towels, to help him wipe his clothes but when I’m about to clean his sweater, he mumbles something I don’t understand as he backs off. He doesn’t want me touching him. I have to keep that in mind. People don’t like strangers touching them, especially strangers who live in their house and who just ruined their clothes, quite possibly their laptop, and definitely their day. Not that I want to touch him.

Ethan takes his things, dripping as they are, shoves them in his backpack and goes into the kitchen. Everyone in the coffee shop is staring at me and I wish the earth would swallow me. I see myself going deeper and deeper into the stone floor, until there’s no trace of me.

That won’t solve my problem. Quickly, I remake the orders I’ve just ruined and take them to the people who have been waiting, apologizing profusely for the delay and the mess.

“Sorry,” I say again.

He’s never ever going to tell me anything if I continue like this. I’m a mess.

The shop is suddenly quiet, making me feel even more humiliated.

After searching for it for five minutes in the back, I find the broom and use it to get rid of the broken glass. I’m drying the chairs with paper towels and at the same time, cleaning the table. I’m like a juggler. The table is a mess and the liquid has gone under so I’m wiping the floor too when I see a piece of paper.

It’s drenched in coffee and juice. I grab it and throw it in the direction of the trash.

Finally managing to clean everything, I go back to the counter to wash the dirty dishes.

From the corner of my eye, I see the paper I tried to throw in the trash landed next to the basket, so I pick it up when I see something written on it.

I don’t think anything of it as I unfold it.

It’s written in pen and it’s now all smudged.

Dear past me,

You’re not crazy. It’s not all in your mind. What’s the worst that can happen? Act like a fool. Be brave. Go to her. Stop her from leaving. Hug her, kiss her and tell her how you feel!

If you don’t…

The next time she sees you, you’ll be nothing but a long-lost memory to her.

The next time you see her, you’ll know letting her go was the biggest mistake of your life.

Someone yanks the piece of paper out of my hand before I get a chance to finish reading.

“This is mine. Thanks,” says Ethan and stuffs the piece of paper in his pocket.

I didn’t even hear him coming up behind me and he’s wearing a different T-shirt—I guess he had one in his backpack? He’s fast and stealthy.

“It’s for the book I’m working on,” he says, although I didn’t ask.

“I thought as much,” I say. “It’s sweet.”

“You mean sappy.”

“No. No, I think it really is very touching. At least the part I read.”

He raises an eyebrow as if he’s doubting what I’m saying. “Yeah, sorry about that; I don’t like people reading my work.”

“I’m the same way. In fact, I don’t like people reading anything I write, at any point,” I say and chuckle, trying to lighten the mood and make him forget what I just did.

He asks if he can help clean up. “I’m good. Thank you, and sorry again. I didn’t mean—”

“It’s OK,” he says. “Not a big deal. It was my fault. I’m a bit of a klutz.”

Without a doubt, I’m prone to disasters whenever he’s around.

I should ask. I have to ask.

“Is this for a new book or the one being published later this month?”

He stares at me with a questioning look before answering.

“No, that’s been done for a long time. It’s a new one.”

“What’s it about?” I ask.

“This one?”

I gulp. This conversation is so obviously forced. “No. The one publishing this month.”

“A chance encounter that goes—” He stops. “Well, unexpectedly.”

He sits back at his table and starts wiping his laptop with a paper towel while I’m standing awkwardly next to him. Lingering for much longer than I should.

“I’d love to read it,” I say.

He smiles. “It’s a tale as old as time,” he says and chuckles.

“Is it?”

“Boy meets girl. Boy falls in love with girl. Girl breaks boy’s heart.”

“That’s sad,” I say.

And not true. How is that true? My tongue is itching.

He lifts his eyes and looks at me. “Everything worth something is always a little bit sad.”

“How did she break his heart?” I ask, my jaw clenched.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he looks at me with an absentminded expression on his face.

“I’m sorry for your friend,” I say.

I’m annoyed. This is not the truth. He broke my heart. My heart.

“My friend?”

Ooops. Quick, quick. What do I say? BIG MOUTH!

“Celine told me you get inspiration for your stories from real life. From your friends.”

A lie. Not so white. Hopefully, he doesn’t mention it to Celine.

“Did she?”

Come on. Give me something. I’m already enduring this painful account of what happened, which is so far from reality. Make it not be in vain.

“So, what happened to your friend? Did he get his heart fixed? Did he find love again?”

He types something. A sign that his computer still works, despite taking a juice bath. Also a sign that I’m overstaying my welcome.

“Maybe.”

What does that even mean? Tell me he doesn’t have a girlfriend. Tell me he didn’t fall in love with someone else. I didn’t fly thousands of miles to find out he’s married with kids now. Wait. Is that why I came? No. No! I came to talk to him face to face and ask why. This is not some desperate attempt at chasing a man who doesn’t want me. I’m not that pathetic. Am I?

“I would love to meet him,” I say.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

That’s a stupid answer. I guess I didn’t expect his question.

“When you know… let me know. I might introduce you to him.”

I’m so shocked; I don’t even try to hide it. “You would?”

“Why not?”

“What’s his name?” I ask. I’m on a roll. I got this.

“Max Meridian.”

Pfft. Come on. “Not in the book. In real life.”

“How do you know his name is Max Meridian in the book?”

OK. Twice in a row. I should put duct tape on my mouth. What now?

I look down. “I googled you. Last night.” Right.

“Aha. Did you find anything interesting?” The slight smile is back.

“I was just—”

“Yes?”

“Looking for details about your books. You know, writer’s curiosity.”

I feel bad about admitting I googled him. But, at the same time, this is the first bit of truth I’ve told him. So, in a way, it’s good to have something out there that’s not a complete fabrication.

“Don’t believe everything you read on the internet,” he says. “I think someone’s waiting for you,” he says and points at a man fidgeting at the counter and looking around. I nod and go behind the counter. From the corner of my eye I see Ethan putting his laptop in his backpack and leaving.

This conversation is not over. I was so close to finding out who Max is. And I will. I also need to read the book ASAP. I don’t like what I hear about the story. Because it’s a lie.