The Meeting Point by Olivia Lara
Fifty-Seven
June 11
I wake up with a major headache, jump in the shower, but neither that nor the first coffee of the day help me feel any better.
As Celine and I walk together to the café, all I can think of is how early I can go to the inn. Would eight be too early? And what will I say? I should start with an apology. I think. Then an explanation. Imagining the scene makes me feel so nervous, my mouth goes dry.
“Celine,” I say. “Would it be OK if I left for an hour or two this morning? I have something to take care of.”
“Oh—” she says, and I can tell it wouldn’t be OK at all for some reason. “Sure. It’s just that I have my annual checkup at nine. I was about to ask you the same thing,” she adds with a faint smile. “But it’s fine. I’ll reschedule it.”
In a way, I feel relieved, as strange as that sounds. Celine is buying me some time to gather my thoughts before talking to Aaron. I’ve waited a year to talk to him, and now that the moment has arrived, I’m literally chickening out.
“Don’t. My thing can wait.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“Thank you. I should’ve told you last night. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Please!”
I barely talk to Celine before she leaves for her doctor’s appointment. It’s not because I hold a grudge—not at all—but I just can’t get my thoughts together. Aaron, Ethan, what happened yesterday in San Francisco, the book. Everything. Everything is moving in fast circles in my mind. I made a mistake. A huge mistake and no matter how many times I’ve thought about it, I have no acceptable explanation and no excuse for the kiss. It shouldn’t have happened. Under any circumstances. It’s like something took over my brain when Ethan was staring at me with those eyes of his you feel go right through your soul. It’s not as if Aaron didn’t have enough reasons to resent me and to want nothing to do with me.
I can explain, or try to, what happened last year. Why I left, why I didn’t wait for him at the bench like we said. Why I kissed David. But how can I explain why I kissed Ethan?
My only hope is that nobody will use those photos and they’ll be forgotten and then erased from that guy’s camera. Maybe Cameron will just keep them as souvenirs. I couldn’t care less. As long as they don’t make it public.
I’m in a foul mood, but I make a huge effort to smile at customers and not let them see through my pathetic poker face. They’ve done nothing wrong and don’t deserve my crappy attitude. It’s hard though, because I feel bad for being called out by Ethan on lying and manipulating both Celine and him. I’m judging Ethan for what he did, but I’m no better. I just don’t feel like a good person right now, so that makes me want to try even harder. Smile more, make jokes, be extra friendly. I scrub the kitchen, make it sparkly clean. I give a customer a free drink. I search through a magazine to help a customer with a recommendation for a one-day tour in the Monterey area. Anything that can make me feel like I’m getting something right today. Look, I am nice and helpful and I’m kind. But it doesn’t work. I still feel bad.
Hugo comes in, as usual, for his dark coffee and veggie sandwich. He’s scanning a newspaper, while waiting for his order.
“What are you looking for, Hugo?”
“I don’t know. A miracle. I’ve decided to quit my job and start my own public relations company and my lease is up in Monterey, so I need both a place to live and space for an office.”
“Congratulations! A new start. That’s great,” I say.
“Only I can’t afford any of these places and still have enough to start the business.”
“You want me to look in the paper, maybe I’ll find something?” I offer.
“It’s alright, Maya. You’re busy. There’s nothing in there anyway. Thank you though.”
“I’ll keep my eyes open then,” I say, putting the coffee cup and sandwich in front of him.
As he leaves, I see Brienne in line and a few people behind her, Alan.
I look from Brienne to Alan and from Alan to Brienne and the more I watch them, the more I feel like this guilt I carry around would feel less suffocating if only I could do a nice thing for someone else. Last year, when Max—Aaron—was kind to me, I promised myself I’d pay it forward. And I broke my promise. When he broke my heart, I even stopped the one thing that I felt was my contribution to making the world a better place. I stopped writing my happily ever after stories and the world has felt gray ever since.
I grab the notebook from Ethan and the pen, and while the customer who is first in line is busy going through each and every menu item—thank God for undecided clients—I jot down, ‘Alan and Brienne have known each other for a long time, but it’s not until one summer day at their favorite café that their romance begins. Unexpectedly. It was a busy morning—’
“I’ll have the latte,” says the customer and I close the notebook.
The exhilaration of writing. The joy. It’s back and I can’t help smiling.