Coffee Grounds

Coffee Grounds

The darkest part of the morning is Agnes’s favorite time. It’s quiet inside the house, dark and shadowy outside. Normally she gets her coffee and her journal and spends this time dreaming, plotting, and imagining what could be. But not today.

She glances at the clock and slides out of bed, pausing to check that James is still sleeping. She moves cautiously around the bed, down the hallway, and into the kitchen. Exhales. She has a few precious minutes to calm her nerves and rehearse exactly what she needs to say.

Agnes doesn’t turn on the kitchen lights; she knows her way around this space. The stark white cabinets seem to glow in the dark. Moving quickly, she gets the coffee started and looks out the window while it brews. Nothing to see but the reassuring glow from a streetlight across the field. Maybe a faint light in the east, a hint of dawn to come. With a final hiss, the coffee is ready. She lifts the cup up carefully. She will miss this; the dark, the field, this mug.

“What are you doing up so early?” James says.

Agnes starts and the mug spills across the counter and onto the floor. She hadn’t heard him come in. She grabs a towel and frantically mops up the mess.

“Smooth move Grace.” He chuckles and squeezes her shoulder, “just kidding.” Agnes manages a weak smile, indicating that she is not at all upset. He stretches, looks at the clock, and shrugs. “I guess we can get up now.”

“Coffee sounds great,” he says, looking at her expectantly. Agnes bites back her frustration.

When they are both seated at the table, mugs in hand, James outlines their plans for this autumn Saturday. “I thought we would go up to the lake and watch the loons. They should be passing through about now, and we should see hundreds of them.”

“It’ll be amazing,” he adds, an afterthought.

Agnes considers that if she were a brave, strong woman she would look James in the eye right now and tell him that she is leaving. She would tell him that his acts of unkindness have worn her down, that she is tired of being invisible, and that she resents him and this life. He would be shocked and realize that he has been wrong, and he would tell her things will be different. But Agnes does not feel brave or strong in this moment, so she keeps those thoughts inside. But only for now, she promises herself.

“Sounds like a plan,” she says.

After a silent breakfast, Agnes cleans the dishes and retreats to the bathroom for a quick shower. James is already dressed and hands her a blue wool sweater. “Maybe you could wear this,” he says. She doesn’t like that particular sweater, but he does, so she agrees. She rushes drying her hair and skips the make-up.

The drive to the lake is peaceful, and Agnes forces herself to relax and concentrate on the beautiful morning – red, orange and bright gold leaves against the wakening blue sky. She wonders, briefly, where she’ll live after today. Maybe she’ll rent one of those cute townhomes downtown.

James tunes the radio to a classical station. When they arrive at the trailhead the parking lot is empty, save for one other car. Silently, they tread the familiar path to the lake and find a bench to sit and wait.

“There,” James whispers. “Look!” Two, no three, loons paddle across the lake towards them. Several more swoop down and land elegantly on the water.

‘Hardly hundreds,’ Agnes thinks. She glances over at James, expecting that he is irritated at this dismal showing of migrating birds. But no, he is smiling and looks happy and relaxed.

For the rest of the morning she watches him, watching the loons. There are never more than maybe ten at a time, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Occasionally he looks over at her and grins – looking for a heartbeat like the boy he once was – and she grins back. Agnes feels a knot inside her chest start to unravel. She remembers the chilly morning hikes they once took, always culminating in long afternoons spent next to a warm fire. When it’s time to leave, she reaches reflexively for James’s hand. He pulls back and ruffles his hair.

“Let’s get something to eat on the way home,” he mutters.

“Sure, sounds good.” Agnes sighs. There it is, that dismissiveness. The spell is broken.

The roadside cafe is a familiar one and they order without looking at the menu. They talk briefly about the loons (“Did you see that one with the clipped wing?” “Hmm...” Agnes murmurs in response) before falling silent once more.

The drive home is quiet, the sky clouding over. Agnes thinks that this may be the moment to tell James that she is leaving. A second later she decides no; it’s probably not smart to have that conversation while he is driving.

James pulls into the garage and shuts off the engine. The garage door closes automatically. “Maybe we could go out,” Agnes says, a little frantically. She doesn’t want to be home right now, is not quite ready for that conversation.

“Why didn’t you say something earlier? James is frustrated; she can tell. “Well, where would you like to go?”

That’s the thing; she didn’t have any idea of where or what. Once upon a time they were spontaneous like that; they would drive just to see what was out there. They made some great discoveries (that funky little bar off the highway) and had some close calls (who knew that old barn wasn’t really abandoned).

She shrugs, “I don’t know; forget it.”

“If you want to do something different, just say so. It doesn’t have to be my idea all the time.”

She gives him a tight-lipped smile. “Ok, fair enough.”

James retreats to the living room and turns on the TV. This is the time, Agnes thinks; this is it. She is suddenly lightheaded, and feels her heart beat faster. She sits next to him and stares at the screen. Her carefully worded speech – the one she knows will make him realize the error of his ways – flies out of her head. She abruptly stands and goes into the kitchen. Not now, she tells herself. Later, for sure, but not now. She reorganizes the organized pantry and focuses on getting dinner ready.

Dinner passes in silence. Afterwards Agnes cleans everything, pours herself a glass of wine, and sits down at the computer. She scrolls mindlessly and thinks maybe she should google “when to tell your husband you’re leaving” and see what AI comes up with.

James comes into the kitchen and pours his own glass of wine.

“Agnes,” he sits down next to her.

“Yes?”

“I think we both know this isn’t working. It’s time to call quits and let both of us move on.”

“No, you’re wrong,” she blurts out. Panic descends. This is not how it’s supposed to go.

“Agnes, neither one of us is happy right now.”

“How can you not be happy?” She argues, reeling. “Everything we do is because you want to! You don’t ask what I want. You make your snide comments and think it’s no big deal. You control everything, and now you’re even telling me what to wear!”

James looks confused for a moment. “I don’t - oh, the sweater. You look really pretty in that sweater, and I thought -” he shrugs. “Look, I quit asking your opinion a long time ago because all I get is ‘hmm.’ If you think my comments are hurtful, then say something. We were once partners in this and I don’t know where that’s gone and I’m tired of looking for it.”

Agnes wipes the tears from her cheeks and looks into his eyes, trying to find some glimpse of the man he was when they first met. Trying to see the woman she once was reflected back to her.

“We’ve had such a good life together,” she whispers, heart breaking.

“Yes, had. Not so much now.” His own response is equally quiet and resigned.

Agnes leans back, feeling her stomach churn and heart pound. She looks around the kitchen, at the coffeemaker, at the beautiful white cabinets. She thinks about the texts he would send, the hearts and smiley faces. Random “love you” sticky notes around the house. “Just because,” he would smile. When did she stop seeing that?

She wants to beg James to take it back and give her another chance. But something stops her from speaking. Isn’t this what she has been planning for, what she wants? Isn’t it?

They sleep in separate bedrooms, an unspoken decision, and Agnes stares up at the ceiling, feeling numb and so, so sad. It’s pitch black when she wakes, the darkest part of the morning. Next to her, the bed is cold and empty.

She misses him already. She walks towards the kitchen, pauses, then continues down the hall to the guest room. James is sleeping fitfully, she can tell. Silently she slips into bed beside him and places her hand lightly on his arm. She doesn’t know if she is saying goodbye, or please stay, or I’m sorry, or thank you for all the good, or let’s not do this. Maybe it’s all those things.

James shifts slightly, then reaches for her hand.

“Let’s talk, please,” she whispers.

“I’d like that,” he whispers back. “Is it too early to get up?”

“I don’t think so,” she smiles. “I’ll get us coffee.”