January 17th

Lizzie and Lincoln almost fell in love on Monday, January 17th, 2022 at 5:18 p.m. She was grabbing a pre-work coffee, and he was grabbing a post-work milkshake.

If Lincoln had left the office a few minutes earlier, he would have been in line right behind Lizzie. He would have been close enough to notice the pin on her tote bag that read “read food, eat books” with a picture of a worm. He would have laughed to himself and spent a few seconds wondering if he should tell her he liked it. He would have been looking at her bag when she opened it to grab her phone, accidentally picking up a piece of notebook paper and letting it fall to the floor. He would have picked it up and handed it to her. She would have thanked him by insisting on paying for his drink, biting back a laugh when he ordered the triple chocolate deluxe shake. He would laugh too, and explain that he stopped drinking coffee three years ago and the only thing that worked for the withdrawal was a chocolate milkshake. He would ask her name and she’d say “Elizabeth but my friends call me Lizzie”, and he’d ask if he could call her that, too. They’d get their drinks, and she’d say she had to run, and he’d say let me buy you a coffee tomorrow.

Lizzie’s night shift didn’t start until 6, but she came from a military family where on time was considered late. She leaves her apartment for work at 5 every night, even though it’s only a 20 minute walk. If she had left a little later, she would have been standing next to Lincoln while they waited for their drinks. The barista would mix up the names and call out Lincoln’s name for Lizzie’s drink. He’d take the cup, smile, and yell ‘Lizzie’ as if he worked there. She’d smile, too, and take the drink. They’d share a laugh when the barista called Lizzie a second later for Lincoln’s drink. She’d giggle over his childish milkshake, topped with whipped cream and sprinkles. He’d think about how he liked making her laugh. She’d write her number on his plastic cup and dash out the door.

If they had met on January 17th, Lincoln would call her the next day during his lunch break at 11:03. She wouldn’t answer, because she’d be sleeping off the night shift. But she’d text him at 3:48 to say sorry, and then he’d ask what she was doing that night.

They’d have dinner at an Italian restaurant on 53rd Avenue. They’d have two glasses of wine each, split an appetizer, and be stuffed on breadsticks before the main course. She’d tell him about her job, and the long hours, and the annoying patients, and the heartbreak. But she’d tell him about the good parts, too. He’d complain about his job, a cushy 9-5 with an even cushier salary, but the world’s worst boss and clients that made his head feel like it would explode. They’d talk about their families, their hobbies, and their dreams. Lincoln is the youngest of four, Lizzie is an only child. Lincoln runs, but he hates it, and Lizzie likes to read. Lizzie wants to work the day shift and Lincoln wants to get a new job.

After the second glass had blurred the edges of the candlelight, he’d ask her about the piece of paper that fell out of her bag. Why it was so important that she bought a stranger’s drink in gratitude. Her smile would fall, her bright eyes growing dim and he’d wish he hadn’t asked. “It’s my birth mother’s phone number. My lawyer found her last week and I’ve been holding on to the number while I build up the courage to use it.”

Lincoln wouldn’t know what to say, but he wouldn’t need to say anything. He’d put his left hand over her right, which was curled into a fist on the tabletop. He’d gently unfurl her fist and knit their fingers together. Lizzie would look at his deep brown eyes and wonder how she had managed to live without him this long.

They’d get ice cream after dinner. She’d order a dairy free sorbet and he’d get an extravaganza covered in chocolate and caramel sauce. They’d walk a little, their cheeks growing pink in the night air, fingertips going numb where they held the cold bowls. As they waited for a light to turn green, he’d point out the Big Dipper in the sky. Lizzie would look up and pretend she could see it, because she liked looking at his face as he stargazed.

That first date would feel like it was their 40th. After they tossed their empty cups, Lincoln would slip his hand into hers as if it belonged there, and she’d press her shoulder against his as they walked. He’d walk her to her door, kiss her goodnight, and promise to call in the morning. She knew that he would.

On January 17th, Lincoln left the office at 5:13 and walked six minutes to the coffee shop that had just opened on Martin Street. He stood behind a surly old man, who complained about the prices and made a point of clicking $0.00 on the tip screen. Lincoln ordered his drink, sat quietly and alone at a table while he waited, and then walked out, exactly the same as how he’d arrived but with the addition of a triple chocolate deluxe shake.

On January 17th, Lizzie left her house at 5:02. Her train arrived just as she got to the station. She got off at Martin Street at 5:18, walking to the new coffee shop only three minutes from her hospital. She stood in line behind a sharply dressed man. Then she waited by the pickup counter until they called her name.

A tall stranger held the door for her as she stepped outside. She turned left and he turned right.