The Meeting Point by Olivia Lara
Seventy-Five
When I walk in, the café is packed. Celine takes an order, and Ethan makes coffee.
“I’m so sorry,” I say to Celine when she comes back to the counter.
“Good morning, sunshine,” she says, all smiles.
“I’m sorry,” I say again.
“What for?” she asks.
“What do you mean what for? For getting here at ten. I didn’t hear the alarm.”
“It’s OK, Maya. You don’t have to be here all the time; don’t feel bad. Besides, Ethan was here and he’s much better in the kitchen than I remembered.”
I smile and look at him and he smiles back. I don’t need to say anything or hear anything from him to know what his smile means. I wonder if he knows what mine is saying.
“Thank you for helping Celine out,” I say.
“I’m expecting compensation for my work,” he says in a serious tone.
“From Celine, I assume.”
“No. From you. It was your shift.”
“Let’s see,” I say and check my pockets. “I have five dollars.”
He chuckles. “Tempting but I’d rather be paid in time.”
Time. That’s one thing I can’t control. And time is slipping away from me, from us.
“Time in general or…?”
“Time with you,” he says, lopsided smile and all. “I have something in mind for this afternoon.”
“And leave Celine alone again? I was already late this morning.”
“She’ll be fine,” he says. “I heard she has company coming to the café this evening.”
“She does?”
He winks. “So, four?”
“Four,” I say.
“How did it go last night?” I ask Celine as soon as Ethan goes to his table.
“We were so awkward at first; we talked about the weather and politics for an hour.”
“What happened? How did you get past that phase?”
“I said, ‘It’s been too long and probably what we had is gone. Let’s just be friends.’”
“And… And?”
“He came over and kissed me.” She blushes as she tells me this. “And then he said, ‘See? It’s still there. I don’t just want to be friends. I want to be with you. I love you.’”
She’s beaming.
“Aww, that’s so beautiful,” I say. “I’m so happy for you.”
“I can’t believe he finally gathered the courage to talk to me. I wonder what made him.”
“Who knows? The important thing is that he did it.”
“You bring me luck; that’s what this is. If he hadn’t seen the photo in the paper, we wouldn’t have talked. I doubt he would’ve reached out, otherwise.”
I take a deep breath and smile. “I heard you told Ethan.”
“I did. He’s happy for us.”
“Of course he is. He’s your brother; he loves you and wants to see you happy.”
“Did you know Aaron and I used to work together at Café Azure in high school? It’ll be like good old days.”
I laugh. “Are you making me redundant?”
“Never! I’d be dead without your help.”
About that,” I say. “Is it OK if I leave around four?”
“With Ethan?”
My cheeks are on fire. Am I blushing?
“You two have been spending quite a lot of time together,” she says, and I don’t know if she’s judgmental, confused as Alisa (and me, as a matter of fact), or just observant.
“We have, yes. He’s been showing me around—”
What a lame excuse. And it comes out just as lame as it sounds in my head.
“I’m happy,” she says. That’s all. No questions, no probing, no: ‘What are your intentions?’ She’s just happy. And she looks happy.