“Are you new?”
“Just visiting,” she explains. “But I don’t think I’m staying long. I’ve just come to check in on a few of my friends, and then I’ll be headed home. What about you?”
“Born and raised,” I confess, just as the barista calls out her name. I grab our coffees and carefully say, “Here.” I hand hers over first before taking my own. “And the muffin has a napkin on the bottom,” I warn her before giving it to her. If she had working eyes, I would’ve sworn she was staring at it the way I stare at my demons’ cocks, because she’s biting her lower lip in a way that’s completely naughty.
“Chocolate,” she all but moans as she nibbles the top, tilting her face down so she can literally just bite into the dome of the muffin, because both of her hands are full and she apparently can’t wait. “I can’t remember the last time I had chocolate.”
“Diet?” I move to the nearest table, set down my coffee, and then pull out a chair. Lucy’s stick clatters against the ground as she joins me, and I help her into a seat. She totally does not look like she needs to diet.
“Something like that,” she replies vaguely, but I don’t think she’s really listening to me. She’s too busy stuffing her mouth with chocolate chip muffin. Actually, she’s not even pretending to eat the muffin part of the baked good. Instead, she’s ripping out chocolate chips and tossing them directly into her mouth. I swear it sounds like she’s orgasming with each bite she takes. “One of my boyfriends sneaks me chocolate when I’m sad,” she continues. “But it’s never enough.” She licks her lower lip. “Never enough.”
“Boyfriends?” I squeak, my mind fixating on that one word. Was it merely a slip of the tongue?
“Yup,” Lucy responds, popping the p. “I have three.” She pauses abruptly, and even with the sunglasses on, I have a feeling that those sightless eyes are fixed on me. “Sorry. That’s probably not first meeting material. Most people get all weird when they discover I’m poly.”
A pang of sadness explodes in my chest like a lone firework that has been set off. Absently, I rub at my breast, hoping to alleviate the sudden and unexpected pain.
“You got silent,” she muses suspiciously. “Did I make things weird?”
“No, it’s not that…” I trail off, unable to articulate the emotions running rampant through me like a tornado wreaking havoc on an unsuspecting town.
“Ahhh. I see.” She leans back in her seat, one of her fingers absently tracing the rim of her Styrofoam cup, the lid disregarded beside it. As I watch, she grabs a container of sugar resting on the table and pours nearly two cups into her already sweet drink. “What’s his name? Or their names?”
“I don’t know what you—”
“You’re suffering from broken heart syndrome,” she states firmly. “I’d recognize it anywhere. So spill. Give me the deets.”
“I don’t even know you,” I murmur anxiously, chewing on my nail. When I realize what I’m doing, I make a face and sit on both of my hands.
Bad anxiety. Down, girl. Sit. Stay.
“Semantics.” She waves a hand in the air again. “But I’ve been told I’m a really good listener. And an even better friend.”
“Well…”
Oh, what the hell? It’s not like I’ll ever see her again after today anyway.
“There are these guys.”
“Guys, as in plural?” Her voice is alight with excitement, and when the older couple sitting at the table next to us glance in our direction, I shush her.
“Not so loud.”
“But it’s more than one, isn’t it?” She places her elbows on the table and leans forward. “How many?”
“Five, okay?” I hiss, glancing in both directions and ensuring no one is eavesdropping.
“Damn!” She takes a long sip of her drink, then groans in delight before adding even more sugar to it. “You have a fucking harem.”
“I don’t have anyone,” I blurt, somewhat grumpily. “I…I left them.”
“Oh, this just got interesting.” Lucy crosses her arms over her chest. “Did they hurt you? Cheat on you?” Her voice turns angrier, harsher, as her lips purse like she’s eaten something sour.
“No, no, no. Nothing like that.” It suddenly hurts to swallow. Hurts to breathe. It’s as if someone had squeezed a lemon over the hurt in my chest, exacerbating the pain. “They’ve been perfect.”
Amazing.
Incredible.
Lovely.
They’re everything I could ever want in a man. Or in this case, men.
“Is it a family thing?” Lucy presses. “Because trust me, I understand.” She leans forward to whisper, “My old man kicked me out a while ago.”
“No, nothing like that.” My parents don’t give enough shits about me to take an interest in my love life. “I left them…to protect them,” I decide on at last. I know my words are vague, but I don’t know what else to say, how else to explain. “I don’t think I’m a good fit.”
Once more, her lips compress into a grim line, and she taps her manicured nails against the counter.
“I disagree. Okay, look, I don’t know these men you’re talking about. For all I know, they’re complete assholes. But I do think I know you. Maybe not that well, since we met two and a half minutes ago, but I can already see that you’re brave and smart and selfless. Am I right?” She doesn’t give me a chance to respond, but my cheeks flame at the praise. She continues, “I can’t tell you what to do, and I never would, but I can tell by the tone in your voice that you’re only hurting yourself by pushing them away. Maybe them too. I did that once—pushed my men away, that is—and I regret it to this day. Don’t be like me.” Before I can comment, she releases a curse, jolting up in her seat, back ramrod straight. “Dammit! I have to go.”
I have no idea why she has to leave all of a sudden. I didn’t hear a phone vibrate in her pocket or a watch buzz with an alarm or anything.
“But…”
“Here.” She digs around in her purse, grabs a blood-red pen, and with surprisingly neat handwriting, writes her number onto a napkin.
I stare at the confident muscle memory of her hand as she writes, pity and empathy both making my stomach lurch awkwardly. The fact that she can write so perfectly and precisely means she wasn’t always blind. Did she have an accident too? I feel a sudden connection with her, and as she hands me the card, her fingers brushing mine, that feeling is cemented into some strange sort of tragic bond.
“We’ll meet up again. It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Katrina.”
With a small grin in my direction, she rises smoothly from her chair, her walking stick clacking against the smooth tiles, and exits the shop, striding out into the afternoon sunlight.
I sit in my chair, not really seeing my surroundings as her words replay in my head.
You’re only hurting yourself by pushing them away. And maybe them.
And didn’t I leave them in the first place to protect them from getting hurt?