Chapter 8
CARMEN
Idon’t know what I was thinking.
All afternoon and evening after finishing my shift at the café, I sat at my computer trying to force myself to put words on the screen.
Dozens of times, I torturously typed out a paragraph, wringing the words from my brain like squeezing water from a stone, and each time I was so dissatisfied with the result that I deleted the whole thing to start again.
After a while, I started to feel stir crazy in my apartment. I couldn’t even focus on watching something or reading a book to take my mind off it.
And the thought I had the other day—that my own lack of sexual chemistry with the men I’ve been with is stifling my creativity—kept barging into my mind.
Then I got the idea that maybe I don’t need an unusually intense, passionate experience to get past it. Maybe I just need any experience.
It has been over eight months since I last had sex, after all.
Maybe I’m carrying around too much tension, and trying to write a sexually charged scene is making it worse. I got the idea that, well, maybe I just need to get laid.
Being cooped up in my apartment and unable to get any writing done was making me nuts, so I decided to give it a try. I got dressed and headed to the busiest bar in town to meet a guy and put my theory to the test.
It didn’t take long for me to realize it was a stupid mistake.
When guys tried to talk to me, I’d just find them annoying.
There was no spark at all. And when Jamie’s teammate strolled up to me, his eyes brimming with arrogance and acting like he was doing me a favor by approaching me, I gave him a few choice words before calling the whole experiment a failure and leaving.
Jamie’s teammate.
I don’t know why I thought of him like that. I know his name. He’s Felix Marshall. He’s a star player on the hockey team, and I see him at Last Word all the time. Why would I only identify him in terms of his relationship to Jamie?
Weird.
Now I’m walking around Cedar Shade as the clock passes midnight on a Friday night.
I’m not ready to go back to my apartment yet. It feels like all I’ve done for the last couple days is either go to work or sit unproductively at the seat in front of my desk.
I need time away from that space. And I’m not going to get a respite from that taunting Word document by sleeping in my room. I can feel in my bones that this is one of those nights where I won’t be able to fall asleep until it’s almost dawn. At least I don’t have work tomorrow.
I wish there were coffee shops open at this hour. I’d love a public space that isn’t a bar where I could sit down, nurse a hot coffee, and decompress outside my apartment.
Do twenty-four-hour coffee shops exist anywhere? Maybe Tokyo or somewhere like that. I could sure use one right now.
It might seem counter-productive to long for a coffee while lamenting the fact that I’m too restless to get to sleep. But I know tonight is one of those nights where sleep will elude me no matter what I do.
If I’m going to be up, I might as well at least have a boost of energy.
I don’t want to go home, but the cold air is starting to filter through my jacket and cling to me. I need to get indoors somewhere.
I turn a corner toward the big gas station in town. It’s open twenty-four-seven. I’m pretty sure it brews coffee all night long to cater to the small number of third-shift workers in town and drivers passing through.
Gas station coffee has never sounded as appealing as it does right now.
I walk inside, feeling the delicious blast of warmth from the heaters. It’s pretty lively in here, with students coming in and out for snacks. I walk over to the coffee station, and I’m delighted to find a full pot, the aroma twirling through the air telling me that it’s freshly brewed.
Hey, it might not be gourmet, but right now I’m a beggar, not a chooser.
I fill up an extra-large cup and pay for it at the register.
Instead of wandering back out into the cold night, I sit at a counter that’s built in front of the long glass window near the coffee station.
I take a slow sip of the hot brew. The caffeine hits my veins, and I feel an uptick in my mood already.
I guess I’ll take my time sipping this, maybe even get another, and then head home. At that point, at least, I won’t be sleepless and exhausted as I ride out the rest of the night in my apartment.
“Gas station coffee at midnight?”
A familiar voice surprises me mid-sip. I turn to see Jamie.
He wears an excited but trepidatious look, like he had to build up the courage to come up and talk to me.
I’m still a little peeved at the whole experience of this evening, from struggling with my writing to being unable to get into the vibe at the bar. The wry note in Jamie’s observation raises my hackles, making me feel like I’m being judged.
“Is there something wrong with that?” I reply, my tone a bit too snappy.
An apologetic look splashes on Jamie’s face.
“No. Not at all. Actually, I suddenly realize it’s a great idea. Brilliant, even. Genius, even. So smart, that I’m in the mood for the same thing.”
Is he going to …?
I watch him fill a cup of his own with gas station coffee, pay for it at the register, and then shuffle his way back to the counter.
What’s he doing here? Did he follow me out of the bar or something? But I was wandering aimlessly for a while before I ended up here. I’m sure I’d have noticed if someone was following me.
He was probably picking up a snack to soak up the alcohol before going back home.
Timidity colors his green eyes as he glances at the stool next to me. “This seat taken?”
My tongue prods at my inner cheek as I think. Despite Jamie’s crush on me, I’ve never found his presence irritating, which makes him exceptional in a way. Maybe chatting with him while sipping gas station coffee won’t be the worst way to pass part of a sleepless night.
I tilt a shoulder. “Knock yourself out.”
Even though I’ve turned to look out the window, I can sense the smile beaming from his face, like stadium lights right beside me.
“Be careful,” he says. “Considering recent events, I just might.”
A puff of laughter passes my lips. I’m as surprised by that as anyone.
Glancing at Jamie, there’s a toothy grin spread across his mouth, a marveling look in his eyes. It’s like a scene in a movie where a character opens a treasure chest full of diamonds and precious stones.
Is that what making me laugh is like to him? Finding treasure?
Poor guy. That’s a little pathetic.
But … maybe a little sweet, too.
He does manage to lower his tall, broad frame onto the stool without tripping and smashing his head on the side of the countertop. Which—he’s right—isn’t a given, considering recent events.
A beat of silence passes as he seems to search for something to talk about.
“So … what do you study?” he settles on.
“Nothing right now,” I answer.
He frowns quizzically. “You don’t go to Brumehill?”
I take a long, light sip of my still-hot coffee. Normally, small talk makes me nervous. But I feel strangely comfortable right now. The urge to close myself off and hold the details of my life close to my chest isn’t as strong as it usually is.
“I’m taking a gap year right now,” I say. “I’ll continue my studies next year. Transferring to Brumehill is an option I’m thinking about. That’s why I was on campus the other day.”
The other day, when his teammate tripped him, and I felt the most inexplicable protective anger rocketing through me that I couldn’t resist marching over to Jamie’s gigantic friend and chewing him out.
“Gap year? That’s cool. Are you doing anything special with it? Other than working at the café?”
I draw another long sip of hot coffee into my mouth. My inclination is to deflect. But something about this moment pushes me to be more open.
“Actually, I’m working on writing a book.”
I feel a twist of embarrassment. I know how silly it is.
Taking an entire year off in the middle of my undergrad to write a book, a task that’s almost guaranteed to be a failure.
Endless numbers of people try. Most never finish, and most who do don’t get it published, or fail to gain any traction if they self-publish.
I know that. I’ve been reminded of it plenty.
I expect the same judgments to be blaring in Jamie’s mind. But when I look to gauge his reaction, I find eyes wide and jaw low.
“Whoa. That’s so cool. So, so cool.”
His voice is so genuine. My cheeks heat.
I shrug, trying to will away the warmth crawling to my face. “It’s just something I felt like I needed to do, and I wasn’t sure I ever actually would if I didn’t take this time and force myself to focus on it.”
“Why not? Was what you were studying really demanding?”
I huff one cynical laugh. “Pre-Med? Yeah, I’ll say.”
“You want to be a doctor, then?”
I roll my lips, considering how to answer.
My heart was never really in it. But I do have to make a living, after all. I can’t bank on being able to support myself writing fiction.
But it never excited me. And the demands of med school and residency are a lot to sign up for when it doesn’t excite you. I’m still not sure that, when I start school again next year, I’m going to stick with the same major.
Instead of delving into all this with Jamie, I just say, “Yeah. It’s a good career.” To switch tracks, I continue, “What about you? You enjoy playing hockey?”
Jamie’s expression drops. Suddenly, it seems like he’s staring a mile away, through the houses that line the other side of the street.
“No. I hate it. I’ve never told anyone. I can’t tell anyone.
It’s the only thing I’m good at. It’s the thing everyone expects me to do.
All I’m doing out there is performing a role I know I’m expected to play.
I get no joy from it. I never have. And this is what I’ll have to do for the rest of my life … ”
My brow rises, mouth forming a surprised circle. I turn to Jamie, blinking heavily, totally caught off guard. “Really?”