Rearview

Evan stared helplessly at the space between Jenny’s sweater clad shoulders. Her black hair tumbled over her back as she ordered, pointing to the day’s coffee special. Last summer, all they drank were cherry slushies. So many, that Jenny’s tongue radiated cherry red permanently.

The barista beamed at her. When Evan closed his eyes, he saw Jenny’s smile - lips framed by two dimples. If he ever saw it ever again, it wouldn’t be for him. Not anymore.

Fingers twitching, Evan turned and feigned interest in the merchandise. For one moment, he could pretend not to notice her. He pinned his sight onto a white porcelain mug and turned it in his hand.

A grinding screech followed by the aroma of ground coffee beans. Evan jolted and the mug almost tumbled to the wood floor. His attention snapped to the front.

Jenny’s sweater – it was lavender.

The one she wore the night he left.

The grinding of the cafe faded, the lights overhead dimmed and he was back in his 2006 Toyota Corolla. The ceiling of the car peeled off like a bad sunburn, tickling the top of his head. Jenny sat in the passenger seat, still gripping a half-melted slushie. He played with his rearview mirror, adjusting, readjusting, adjusting again. In the end, he avoided his reflection altogether.

“This isn’t going to work,” Evan said.

Jenny wrenched her head off his shoulder. “Lots of couples go long distance in college,” she protested. “Mia and Marcus are doing it.”

“I can’t.”

“Why can’t you?”

What could he say? She was going to college, he was stuck in town. They both knew it was over. Might as well end it before it hurt. He swallowed, but his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

In the end, he only shrugged.

His car door banged as Jenny raced out. Another explosion when she slammed the front door of her parent’s house. Evan watched the pink curtains of her bedroom. He prayed they would part for him, knew they would not. That part of her did not belong to him anymore.

Sighing, Evan started his ignition. He drove away from the front porch swing where they had their first kiss, the mailbox they hid notes, away from who they were before tonight. His resolve ebbed out of him mile by mile, like a leaky engine splattered all over the road. The lights of the streets whipped by, and the overcast day had turned into a night without stars. When he switched on his turn signal at the intersection, it blinked over and over.

“Turn back, turn back, turn back,” it urged with each flashing click.

“Next,” called the barista.

Evan blinked.

“Next!”

He was the only one left in line.

As Evan stepped forward, his eyes found Jenny’s. When they met, her face was always on the cusp of a smile, even at sincere moments. Laughter had danced in the light of her eyes, tugged at the edges of her lips. Now – her mouth was drawn.

Evan briskly made his order, gestured at whatever drink was chalked on the board. With his head down, shoulders slumped, he went to face Jenny at last. Hope scalded and ached inside his stomach.

“It’s been a while,” she said.

“Too long.”

She looked him up and down. The scent of fries permeated every thread of his uniform, and the rest was soaked from cleaning dishes.

“Not long enough.” She pursed her lips and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “So, why did you do it?”

He fidgeted with his collar. “Do what?”

“We never fought, and then you dumped me out of nowhere.”

He opened his mouth to answer, then clamped it shut. “No – I…I…” The words got tangled around his lips.

“I see you still are incapable of expressing your feelings.”

Jenny started to push past him and abandon her order. He touched her lightly on the shoulder before she got to the door. Her sweater was soft beneath his fingertips. It took effort to let go.

“Wait. I – I miss you.”

She knotted her fists at her sides. “You are unbelievable, you know that? You broke up with me. Now you say you miss me?”

“I loved you,” he said softly.

Her eyes grew and her forehead wrinkled. Then she shook her head, as if she could shake the words straight out of the air. “But you gave up.”

Just last week, Evan approached his manager about a new serving position, but when it came time to give his memorized speech, the kitchen’s double doors swung toward the dining room. He watched the customers through the sliver of light, eating, talking, laughing. He told his manager they were out of cheesecake and retreated.

His inaction already cost him Jenny. How much more could he bear to lose?

“What can I do?”

“Apologize.”

Evan was silent for a long time.

“I’m sorry.”

Jenny’s face softened. “Thank you, Evan.” She looked down at the floor. “And for the record, you were right. It hurt what you said – that this couldn’t work. But we weren’t meant to be.” She met his eyes. “But I don’t want you to give up on your life.”

“Jennifer!” the barista called out. She retrieved her drink, and stood before him, holding the coffee cup with a stranger’s name.

Evan got his drink soon after. “It was nice to see you again.” He smiled. “Jennifer.”

“It was good to see you too.” She returned his smile – small and quiet, a mature reflection of the girl she once was. “Good-bye, Evan.”

“Good-bye.”

He inhaled deeply. Took a step back. Another, until the shadows of that night evaporated from him. In the car, Evan’s eyes traced Jennifer in his rearview mirror, until her vehicle sped out in the opposite direction.

He turned his gaze toward the open road. As he drove, the past grew smaller behind him. By the time he reached the diner, he couldn't see it at all.