Iced Caramel Latte

I agreed to meet Bethany for coffee on the 17th of May. It has been 3 months since I popped the festering pimple of our relationship. It is weird because for pimples, you shouldn’t pick at them; they should go away on their own. I have avoided picking at out relationship for 4 long years. I never felt my best but certainly never my worst, it was comfortable sure. Bethany and I have persisted though long-distance, loss, and infidelity. Unconditional love, it turns out, is quite suffocating. So, I broke it off and broke her heart. And I imagined that she may need time, certainly she would, she loved me unconditionally, but I never envisioned her vanishing for 3 months.

I have been following scat. Someone says that she was at the movies the other day, dressed up and laughing. Others say she was crying on the 99 bus. I know I destroyed her; 4 years is a long time to love someone. In a way, we became each other. I think there are 4 main breakup periods for relationships in your 20s. You first break up at 3 months because you are inconceivably incompatible, just both hot and thought that was enough. You next break up at 6 months because you were compatible but don’t add anything to each other’s lives, and the novelty has worn off. The next breakup happens at 2 years, because if you make it past 6 months you like each other quite a lot, but 2 years means you are planning a future. And of course, the next break up is at 4 years because you tried planning a future and you realised the future you are going to have isn’t the one you wanted. To be honest, I did think that Bethany and I should have broken up at 3 months, but she was the kind of person I thought I aught to be with. Then at 6 months, she was so convincing that we were perfect together that I believed it. And by 2 years being together was simply habit.

It was the 4-year mark that woke me up. On a Tuesday morning before work she tumbled into the living room, tripping over my laptop cable. She leaned over dropping crumbs on my keyboard from her blueberry muffin and tried to kiss me on the cheek. This routine was not atypical, she was despicably clingy, but today she was radiant and smiley and perfect. I looked in resonant beautiful brown eyes, with their awning of short, pointy lashes, and I knew in that moment that I am not entirely convinced I have ever loved her at all. It was the unfathomable perfection of her that allowed me to know it, because had she been difficult (as I wish she was) then I would have been able to blame her for my lack of love. But knowing that she was perfect but that I didn’t enjoy her in the slightest allowed me to destroy our life. And now, she wants to go to coffee.

I toss on a new and casual brown sweater. I don’t want to wear a sweater that I know she liked, so it needs to be new, because she always complimented my outfits. If I wear something new, then there are no memories locked into the fibres. We can meet as 2 people who once knew each other but no longer know the clothes that line their wardrobe. That’s how I think we should meet. I ponder jewellery and decide on a simple chain and stud earrings; I can’t wear any rings as she might know the feeling of them in her fingers. I have been waiting for this opportunity, to talk to her, and if I fuck it up there won’t be another one.

The coffee shop we picked is the one right next to the cinema, that is the one we used to sit in on a Saturday afternoon before a 3pm showing. It is the perfect setting. It is just familiar enough that we won’t feel awkward about what to order or where to sit but still, we rarely went to a movie.

The roads are clear but alive. There are a few cars in front of me and behind me and I imagine there are couples in each car, some with children in the backseat. They are gulping down the rare Saturday sunshine and enjoying the bliss of love. I wonder how long they have been together and if either of them has secrets too. I think Bethany and I looked like that, a euphoric pair, kissing and laughing, but her eyes crinkled and mine did not.

As I pull up to ‘Cuppa’ I can just make her out through the sunlight reflecting on the coffee shop windows. She is sitting and focused on her laptop and smiling. She doesn’t look quite as devastated as I thought she might and I am immediately sick. She hasn’t spoken to me for months, and of course I thought this was because she was sick with despair from the loss of our 4 years together. The wasted time, the wasted money, the wasted love. But here she looks just as iridescent as ever. I take 10 deep breaths before I unlock my car and slide out. I know now that I need to appear casual and cool, she can’t know that I have been looking forward to meeting her today, she will get the wrong idea. I just wanted to see she was okay, after all, I still care so deeply for her. She is the most perfect person I have ever known, and I hate myself for not loving her like I should. The least I can do is continue to care for her and reassure her that I never meant to hurt her. I told her I would never hurt her.

I put my headphones on and hold my leather jacket over my shoulder and saunter through the door. I pretend I don’t notice her right away, because I don’t want her to know I have been watching her. My eyes trail around the room and I feign confusion. Then those brown eyes meet mine. She smiles gently in a way that says ‘ah, you made it.’ It infuriates me that she seems disinterested, so I hold up 1 finger to say give me a moment and I walk up to the bar to order a coffee. I order 2 lattes, one iced with caramel syrup and oat milk – the way she likes. I feel my phone vibrating in my back pocket reminding me to practice Spanish, so I check it while I wait for the coffees.

The barista offers me a customer-service smile with crooked teeth, and I go to sit down across from Bethany who this time doesn’t smile at all.

…

Ariana slides into the seat across from me so I begin to put my laptop away. She smiles at me and her teeth are white like bleached coral. I know she uses white strips every week and I have told her they will damage her enamel, but she doesn’t care, and now neither do I. She hands me an iced coffee and I smile politely, ‘sorry, is this decaf? I don’t do caffeine lately.’ I know her well enough to know that this aggravates her. She has always been quick to frustration at minor inconveniences, and because I cared for her, I found this slightly endearing before. I spent our 4 years caring for the smallest of struggles, but now, I relish in the freedom to speak my mind. I think she thinks better than to say anything because she says ‘No worries. Maybe Ill drink it on the way home.’

It is weird to sit across from her now because we have spent so many days sitting across from each other. But then it was as a team and today we have something between us. We aren’t quite opposing forces, just sort of ships passing, eventually we will be out of range for communication, but for now… we must keep an eye on each other to avoid collision.

I was incredibly brave when she casually slipped into conversation over morning coffee that the 4 years that we spent loving each other, supporting and forgiving each other were coming to an end. I cried, yes, but then I grabbed a bag and packed my favourite underwear, some comfy jeans and t-shirts and left without saying goodbye. I knew then, that if I told her then how I felt, I would do it in a way that made her sound much more important than she was. I would sob and tell her how much this hurt me, how I thought she loved me, how I thought we might marry, how I even considered adopting a baby with her because she always wanted to be a mom. But if I left and let each wave of feelings pass until I could rationally think about her, then I could have a closure conversation while conveying to her how unimportant she truly is.

I do acknowledge that this is harsh, of course she is important, but to me she can’t be anymore and she won’t be. I clear my throat to speak but she beats me to it.

‘I am glad you asked to meet, I wanted a chance to explain myself a bit better. I don’t think I handled our last conversation with grace.’ She stutters.

‘No stress, it was a hard conversation to have. I think though, that I don’t necessarily need you to explain yourself at all. I think I understand perfectly without the need for you to awkwardly stumble over alternate phrasings of ‘I didn’t love you’.’ I am glad that I rehearsed what I wanted to say. It is so silly because it doesn’t matter what she thinks of me; of course I know that. But I still have this compulsion to show her that I am not as small as she thinks I am. I am strong and independent, and I don’t need her.

‘Oh. I mean it’s not like that. I think I must have. I mean, no. Of course I did love you, I just don’t think… like it wasn’t right for me. We were sort of… growing apart, I think? Or maybe I think I needed to change… but it’s not like I didn’t love you or don’t love you. I mean I don’t like… want you to think I want you back… but of course I love you… you are a good person.’ She is rambling which she does when she knows she is wrong. She has never been able to admit that I might be right. She always must come up with an alternate truth that lets her be right even though it sums up to about the same thing that I have been saying the whole time.

‘Yes, of course, I understand you. Don’t stress over its Ariana.’ I laugh a bit because it is hard not to laugh at the insinuation that I must be hoping she will take me back ‘I don’t want you back either. Definitely not. But I did want to arrange a time to pick up the rest of my stuff. I think that I left quite a bit of stuff at yours.’

‘Ours.’ She spits, clearly, she is becoming quite frustrated.

‘Sure, it was our place, but I obviously don’t live there anymore, and you do, so yours now, right?’ I laugh a bit.

‘Fair enough. I mean yeah, you could come around whenever. I don’t know that we needed to have coffee then I guess, especially since you don’t drink it anymore, I guess.’ She has slipped back into her chair now and is sipping her hot latte. The tulip painted on the top with foam is warping as the coffee slips between her lips.

‘I also just wanted to talk to you. For closure I suppose. We dated long enough that perhaps we need a chance to get everything off our chests. Just say everything that we left unsaid last time. To be honest, it is okay now, but the way you treated me was quite cruel and I deserved better. You can’t help having no feelings; I can’t fault you for that. But you could have told me sooner, or not asked me to move in, or even when you cheated, you never had to ask for my forgiveness if you didn’t want it. right? If you didn’t want me anymore, why did you work so hard to fix everything only to end things a year later because you didn’t have feelings for 4 years? How does that make sense?’ I take a deep breath because maybe I have said too much, but it is true. On that Tuesday morning, as I chewed slowly on the blueberry muffin that I baked fresh – I even put the sugar crumble on it because that is my favourite, I was so excited about it – she told me that she hasn’t loved me for a long time, perhaps ever.

Why would you ever say that; she never needed to say that. She could have said we are moving in different directions or that she doesn’t see it working long term. But she turned our whole relationship into a lie and then is somehow mad now that I don’t miss it?

‘Bethany, you know it wasn’t like that. I never wanted to hurt you. You are an amazing person. And I really thought I loved you, I mistook comfort for love and that was my mistake. But I am not some asshole who took advantage of your love, I just didn’t know I didn’t want it.’ She is using the tone she uses when she thinks I am being dramatic. I am glad that she has done this; a tingle of familiarity washes down my spine, like wasps trapped in my vertebrae. She always saw my emotionality as a weakness, when I cried, she became frustrated, defensive, and pedantic. She doesn’t realise what a gift it is to be reminded of her failures.

‘You don’t get to decide if you were an asshole, Ariana. I do. But maybe you are right, maybe this wasn’t worth doing.’ I am falling into myself now. The tears are coming and I didn’t think they would. I cannot remember anymore what the point of this was. When I sent the text I knew I needed to see her, just to show her I am still a functional person. Everyone tells me that she asks about me. Worry in her eyes, she has corralled all my friends at various times to check in, as if I am a wounded puppy. But I didn’t want or need her care, she lost the right to my emotions when she kicked me out of our flat.

I stand up and grab my bag. Ariana stands up too and she has her brows tensed in concern, but 4 years has taught me to look past that to her nose. She scrunches it when she is pleased with herself. She wanted to see me hurt, to prove to herself her worth. I wanted her to see me strong and unbothered. I approach her and she extends her arms to hold me, but I duck past and stroll for the door. Ariana looks around hesitant but then shouts after me.

‘Bethany… we shouldn’t leave things like this. I mean… we loved each other. We were in each other’s lives for 4 years. Maybe we could just like… I don’t know…’

‘Ariana, I loved you for 4 years. And anyways, we aren’t leaving things like this, I am coming by next week to grab the rest of my stuff, if you could leave it by the door.’

I step out the door and leave her behind me. It feels suddenly silly to have cared at all what she thought of me and who I become. She may regret parting ways but probably only for the same reason she picked me in the first place, because she should have loved me. I don’t believe in our life I ever could have been the one for her and that hurts but not quite as much as I thought it might.

…

I press my palms flat against the table. The coffee has gone lukewarm. I want to cry but I can’t figure out why. I look toward the door, half expecting her to come back in. To say she forgot something, or that she didn’t mean it, or that we should try again, properly this time. She doesn’t. She isn't the same girl that I left, the girl who used to leave snot trails on my black leggings.

I pick up the iced coffee she didn’t want and take a sip. I nearly gag at the sweetness. She always liked things sweeter than I did. I used to think that meant something. Outside, the light shifts. People pass by the window in pairs and groups and small, contained lives. No one looks in. No one is looking for me.

I check my phone, not because I have anything to check, but because it feels like something I should do. The only notification is the increasingly irate Spanish practice reminders.

There is no message from her.

There won’t be.

I realise, then, that there is nothing left for me to fix. And without that, there is nothing left for me to do here at all. I leave the second coffee on the table, untouched. For a moment, I consider taking it with me. But it isn’t mine.

It never really was.