The Meeting Point by Olivia Lara
Fifty-Eight
Brienne reaches the front of the line, and when she does, I wonder if I can give fate a little help. I’ve never taken my stories off the page, but maybe it’s time. I’ve been so bitter this past year, letting that impact the one thing I loved the most—writing—and also changing the core of who I am. I’m a believer in love making the world go round and I will not apologize for it. I should’ve never let anything change that. Now that I know what went wrong, I feel like I got it all back.
It would’ve worked out. He did fall in love with me, just like I fell in love with him. Oh, no, I think, and I chuckle to myself. Is this the instalove Ethan and I talked about? No, it’s not, and I don’t want to think about Ethan. What Max… Aaron and I shared was not about staring into each other’s eyes across the room. I have to remind myself it’s Aaron now. It’s not Max anymore. It has to be. What Aaron and I shared was months of getting to know each other, all in one day. It’s like drinking concentrate syrup versus pouring water over it.
“Can I also have orange juice?” Brienne asks, and I realize I missed the rest of her order.
“Concentrate or with water?” I ask and she stares. “Sorry. Thinking out loud. It’s freshly squeezed, of course. Don’t mind me.”
I scan the café for a solution—Ethan’s table. There’s another table, but it won’t do.
I take her order and then lead the way to Ethan’s table.
She stops in front of it. “Are you sure? This is usually Ethan’s.”
“I’m sure,” I say, not before rolling my eyes. I don’t see a ‘reserved’ sign on it.
I take care of the next customers and make sure there’s no empty table when Alan orders.
“I think I’ll take it to go,” he says, looking around.
“Nonsense. I know how much you enjoy your breakfast here. I’ll find a solution,” I say as I pretend to scan the room.
“Follow me,” I say when I have his order.
I stop at Ethan’s table, where Brienne is with her back to us, facing the window.
“Brienne, do you mind if Alan sits with you? It’s packed in here this morning,” I say, sounding innocent and casual.
She seems startled at first and barely looks at Alan. He has the same reaction. These two are made for each other, I think, and I see the story playing out in my mind.
“I don’t want to bother you,” says Alan, his cheeks turning red.
“No—no bother,” she says. “Please, sit down.”
I turn around and hear Alan say, “I’ve seen you here almost every morning.”
Brienne says something, but I can’t hear. They both laugh.
“If you need anything else, just let me know,” I say.
“We will,” they both say and then they look at each other. And I see the smiles.
Maybe I haven’t been a good person since I came here. Maybe I’ve made mistakes and I manipulated people and I was selfish, but right now, in this very moment, I feel better about myself. I think I did a good thing. I look at them. He’s leaning forward; she’s giggling. Yes, this is a good thing. And it can work. It will work.
As the crowd calms down a bit and I’m still watching Alan and Brienne who have been here for hours, I reach for my bag, take out the notebook for a second time and continue writing their love story. The irony of me starting to write again in Ethan’s notebook is not lost on me.
Celine returns before noon, apologizing a hundred times for the delay.
“The doctor went into an emergency surgery, so I had to wait.”
I smile and tell her it’s perfectly fine. I’m still in the Alan and Brienne mood. I think it was a good thing that I didn’t go to the inn first thing this morning. I should first find out what’s going on with the photos to know what to say and how to approach this.
“Glad to see you in a good mood. I was worried a bit this morning,” she says.
“Sorry,” I say. “I’m good now.”
“Don’t apologize. I guess what I was trying to say is that if you need to talk about anything, I make a mean coffee and I’m a good listener.”
“I know,” I say, the smile still on my face.
I wish I could talk to her. I do have Alisa and she’s been amazing, but she’s not here with me. And Alisa doesn’t personally know Ethan or Aaron or anyone in this small town.
“Maybe tonight, over dinner? I plan on finally cooking something decent for us.”
I don’t know if I’m ready to tell the truth. Ethan didn’t say anything to her and I can’t help but wonder why. If he wanted to get rid of me, all he had to do was tell his sister who I am. Or he could’ve asked me to leave. But maybe it’s on purpose. This way, he’s letting me stew in my own ‘manipulating’ juice.
I googled my name on and off all morning on my phone. I googled Ethan’s name. Nothing for me and nothing new for him. If the photos were headed online, they would’ve been published by now. I think I’m in the clear; I think I’m OK. I should go; talk to Aaron.
One of the customers who’s sitting at a table in the corner is reading the local newspaper—which I assume he brought in because we didn’t have it on the shelf earlier—and raises his eyes, giving me a questioning look.
“Can I bring you something else?” I ask.
He shakes his head and goes back to reading.
As I’m scouring the place for Celine, planning to tell her I’m leaving, I see her at one of the tables outside, taking someone’s order. A customer from the table next to it turns the newspaper he’s holding toward her and shows her something in it.
Celine and the man exchange awkward glances. The look on her face. On his face.
My blood freezes. The customer… the customer is Aaron. This isn’t happening!
My hands start to shake. It can’t be. I rush to the man by the window.
“Can I have the newspaper for a second?” I ask. “Just want to see something.”
“Are you looking for this?” he asks. “I thought it might be you but wasn’t sure.”
I try not to panic. The paper is open at the entertainment section. Half a page and a photo.
This story has a happily ever after… after all is the title and I can’t read any more.
My eyes are stuck on the photo. Ethan and I. Kissing. But all I can see is Aaron’s face. Celine’s face. My eyes get blurry. If I don’t hold on to something, anything, I’ll lose my balance. I grab the man’s chair and try to regain composure, but I feel I’m going to be sick.
“It is you,” he says, sounding amused.
“It’s not,” I say. “It’s not.”
I see Celine coming back in, and I know I can’t face her right now. I’m at the counter in two steps, grab my bag from behind it, and rush to the kitchen. I see her recipe notepad on the table and scribble, barely readable, ‘I’m sorry. Maya’ before I run out.