Chapter 7
ELI
Crazy.
That’s what I am right now.
Batshit, entirely out of my mind crazy.
I don’t know what the hell I’m doing or why I suggested that I was ready to accept her offer to buy me a coffee today.
If I thought I was losing it before, now I know I’ve totally lost my fucking mind.
When I caught sight of her bicycle outside the store, like a magnet, I couldn’t stay away and found myself walking inside the store toward her like a man possessed.
I’m glad I did it because I’ve discovered something new about myself: I have a thing for cut-off denim shorts and cowboy boots. Both of which she’s wearing today.
Those cowboy boots are all I’ve thought about since yesterday, imagining what they would look like on either side of my head as I…
Stop. It. Eli.
She continues to talk to me at one hundred miles an hour about all the new galleries, food spots, and music venues that have opened up in her favorite neighborhood, pointing them out as we pass the farmers market.
“I love this place; they do the best iced drinks,” Sapphire says, walking with her bicycle by her side as she excitedly points at a coffee shop I’ve never been to before.
Probably because it’s not in a part of the city I usually visit. Also, it’s packed wall-to-wall with people. I can already feel the tension creeping into my muscles, making them cramp.
As if sensing my discomfort, Sapphire suggests, “Let’s sit outside.”
That’s a relief; any worries I have dissolve in a flash.
She makes a beeline for a bike stand and marches over to it, locking her bicycle securely. It’s so clean, and I get the impression that it’s her pride and joy. Even the pink artificial flowers she’s attached to the rim of the white basket look new.
“That table in the shade looks perfect.” She walks toward it purposefully, and I follow her every move, unable to take my eyes off her and her tan legs…
her curves, that perfect ass… It’s not just that, but all the other little things I’ve noticed about her since dinner the other night are getting out of hand.
The way she glides rather than walks, smiles at everyone as they pass, and tucks her hair behind her ear even when it doesn’t need tucking, then there’s her…
what the fuck is it? Aura, or vibe, I don’t know, but whatever it’s called, she’s magnetic.
At least ten guys clocked her on the short walk here.
Someone level-headed would tell you it’s because she smiled at them first, but I saw the glint in their eye, hinting at a desire to get to know her better. Some might also say that her damn belly ring has them transfixed. Me too. But again, she’s an attention magnet without even realizing it.
I should go.
Turn around and leave.
Let her go about her day.
Without me in it.
I don’t need to be here.
I shouldn’t be here.
She’s employed as a contractor through the firm.
That’s all she is.
And yet, for the first time in as long as I can remember, I don’t want to go to my mom’s today, even though I’ve been doing that every Saturday afternoon at the same time since my dad was moved into a care home.
When I tell my therapist about this slight shift, I know she’ll be impressed. It’s one of the things we’ve been working toward: changing up the rigid routine I’ve set for myself. Or at least trying to, but I haven’t been successful so far. This feels like a start.
Sapphire casually sets her backpack on her seat, opens it, and pulls out a packet of hand wipes to clean the table, unaware that I am having an inner battle with myself, fighting the need to leave but pulling toward how much I want to prove to myself that I can do this: break the chain.
“I like things to be clean too,” Sapphire says brightly, wiping the table corner to corner and side to side, thoroughly.
At the restaurant the other night, I asked for the table to be sanitized again before we sat down. I’m grateful that she didn’t make me feel weird about it then or again today.
“I’ll get the drinks.” I was only kidding when I suggested she owed me a coffee.
She stops me by raising her hands. “No, I insist. I ruined your shirt and tie yesterday, and it’s the least I can do. So, what will it be?” she asks, dropping the used wet wipe onto a tray on the table that people have just vacated behind us.
“Venti, half-caf, extra-hot, no foam, triple shot caramel macchiato, with one pump of vanilla and no cinnamon.”
“What?” she exclaims, wide-mouthed. “That’s a memoir, not a coffee order.”
And there’s that laugh again of hers that I’ve already committed to memory.
“I need to write that in my Notes app, Eli, I didn’t catch half of it.”
When she pulls out her cell phone, I repeat myself.
Her wrists jingle from the dozens of gold bracelets she’s wearing as she types. The whole time she’s typing, she’s shaking her head and smiling as if amused. “My fingers need a vacation after typing that. That’s very detailed.”
“I like what I like.”
“Yes, you do. As do I.” Sapphire takes off at high speed, then spins back to face me before entering the coffeehouse.
“Sit tight, I’ll be right back. Although…
” She wiggles her cell phone in the air.
“Your coffee might take some time to make. If I’m not back in an hour, send a search party for me.
” Someone exiting the coffeehouse holds the door open for her while I’m left marveling at her easygoing, humorous nature and admiring how unaffected she is by my quirks or the things that usually make people uncomfortable.
I like her.
Too much.
I’m in way over my head.
It’s just coffee, Eli, it means nothing.
It means something.
It feels like something.
Or maybe I’m wrong.
However, I haven’t wanted to have coffee or spend time with anyone other than my family for a while now, to the point that it’s become unhealthy. This is progress, and it feels good. Normal.
I drop a text to my mom informing her that I won’t be visiting today. She immediately replies.
Mom
Please tell me you ditched your old mother for someone much younger and better looking?
Me
I was in a thrift store and bumped into someone I know. I’m having coffee.
Mom
Someone? Male or female?
She’s fishing.
Me
Female.
Mom
Do I know them?
Me
No.
Mom
Stop with the one-word texts, Elijah Edward Hart.
Rarely does she use my full name, but when she does, it’s when I’ve annoyed her.
Me
I met her through work.
Mom
And does she have a name?
Me
Sapphire.
Mom
That’s a pretty name. Is she pretty?
Me
She’s one of our contractors. It’s just coffee.
Mom
It always starts with JUST a coffee. And you didn’t answer my question.
Me
I’ll see you tomorrow.
Mom
Great, then you can tell me all about her.
Me
I won’t.
Mom
You know I will get it out of you one way or another.
She has all four of us, and when my father was well, and my dad, wrapped around her little pinky finger. Strong and determined, yet soft and loving, my mother is an incredible woman who always gets her own way.
Yet another text appears.
Mom
This is the first Saturday you haven’t been to see me in months. This is good for you, Eli. I know you think I don’t see you struggling, but I do. I know your father’s illness has been hard on us all, especially you, and I’m here for you, all of you. Enjoy yourself today. I love you x
My mother is also observant. On more than one occasion, she’s expressed her concern, noticing my need for order and my tendency to stick to strict routines.
Me
Love you, Mom x
I don’t tell her I’m fine or not struggling because that would be a lie.
“Miss me?” Sapphire returns with our order much quicker than expected, and I set my cell phone down, lining it up with the edge of the table.
I wish I understood why my brain pushes me to do that.
My therapist diagnosed me with a subtype of OCD called just-right OCD, which makes me want to arrange objects out of place.
It might seem irrational, but I fear that something bad will happen if things aren’t perfectly orderly.
It’s impacting every part of my life, and I hate it.
Especially when it comes to work. It’s not the content of the documents I’m writing, it’s the margins, and the formatting that drives me nutty.
It sometimes takes me hours to fix it all and it’s no wonder the merger I am working on has taken so long. My productivity is shot to pieces.
I stop touching my cell phone, the feeling of incompleteness has disappeared, it’s now just right, as it should be. “No need for a search party then?” I ask as she places the tray down and sits opposite me.
“Luckily for you, there’s no need to put out a missing persons alert today.” She places the mug on the table and slides it toward me. “I hope you love muffins as much as donuts. I got you a lemon and poppy seed one.”
It looks great. “Thank you. Anyone would think you’re trying to sweeten me up with baked goods.”
“Maybe I am.”
I enjoy the way she toys with me; her easygoing nature makes me feel calm. A rare place I thought was long gone for me.
“What is that?” I point to a luminous green drink that looks like someone liquidized Kermit the Frog.
“Iced matcha latte. It’s delicious. Wanna try?”
“Mm,” I hum, shooting the drink a skeptical look.
“It’s good for you. Better than that coffee you’re drinking. Matcha helps reduce stress and anxiety, and you don’t get the jitters like you do from caffeine.”
I’m still not convinced, and I can tell she senses my hesitation.
“It’s rich in antioxidants and is known to improve focus and enhance calm.” She does her best to convince me otherwise, sliding the glass mug in my direction. “You know you want to.” She’s such a tease.
“I’m good, but thank you.” I don’t like trying new things.
“You’re missing out.”
“Maybe next time.”
I’m mesmerized as she bites her lower lip, making me want to nibble on it too, to taste her glossy lips and see if they’re as soft as they appear.