She nods hello at me, then calls over a waitress, telling her we’re ready to order. She speaks for both of us, confident and casual, and I don’t interrupt her, don’t ask for any explanations. I don’t do anything but sit there, next to her, in silence.
She doesn’t ask and I don’t answer. We’re both alone – but we’re alone together.
It’s irrational, but I like it. It’s comforting, intimate. And the most surprising thing of all is that it doesn’t frustrate me, or scare me.
I start to feel relieved, calm, grateful for the situation, for having saved myself from an hour of loneliness and emptiness, without trying to fill it up with something else – something sterile and superficial, which would probably have ended up causing me even more trouble.
I watch her eat, without lifting my head; but my eyes don’t miss a crumb.
I watch her cut the meat with her delicate hands, her nails bitten down as if she were a little girl. I watch her face change expression with every bite. I almost smile with relief when her face lights up at the sight of our coffee arriving, as if it could save her. Watching the delight in her eyes when she takes the first sip nearly makes me choke on my own coffee, and it takes everything I have not to burst out of my jeans watching her lick her lips, not wanting to waste a single drop.
When she’s done, she simply gets up and goes through the back. I follow her with my eyes glued to the small of her back, her figure hugged by her skin-tight jeans.
As soon as I realise I can move again, I get up too, not sure whether to offer to pay for my half. But I tell myself that it’s best to just leave things the way they are, to imagine this strange connection between us never really existed. To pretend that I never studied each of her movements like a stalker, and that I didn’t have an awkward erection like an overexcited teenager.
I head towards the door, my heart feeling slightly lighter than before, but with a strange commotion stirring in my body – as much as I try to hate that woman, she bursts her way into my thoughts. This definitely won’t lead to anything good.
I tell myself that I have to keep hating her, that there’s no reason to change my mind now. It won’t be difficult, given my temper – and hers.
I won’t let today change anything.
I won’t let her reassuring silence change my mind. Or her unexpected kindness. Or her intimacy, her pleasant nature. Or the way she made me feel less alone, even though her loneliness runs much deeper than mine.
