Picking up the Pieces

I was unsure whether I should head over to the café on Wednesday morning. The floor needed to be grouted, and there were still plenty of little things to do before the coffee makers, display cases, and a bunch of other stuff arrived on Thursday and Friday. But it didn't feel like my café any more. And at that moment, I was unenthusiastic about spending time with its true owner.

Looking back now, I understand Sylvia's sudden change of heart when we were making out in the back room. I was young, and things had been moving awfully fast. But my 14 year-old self was feeling confused, angry, and a little betrayed. I couldn't figure out if she loved me or even liked me, or if all our good times had been a big lie. I had thought I loved her, but now I wasn't even sure of that. I still lusted after her; that was certain. It was a big tangle of thoughts and emotions for a teenager to sort through.

Though my mother was home that morning, I obviously couldn't talk to her about my dilemma. For that matter, I couldn't talk to anyone. It wasn't like I was down because some girl at school didn't want to hold hands; I was moping because a woman twice my age had abruptly changed her mind when we were about to have sex. I'd have to deal with it on my own.

I got up late and hung around the house, hemming and hawing. Around 10-something, I finally decided to forget about Sylvia, find some friends, and go shoot some hoops. Halfway down the block, tho, I changed my mind again. Running away from a problem was the easy way out, but it was also the immature way. Sylvia had treated me as an equal, as an adult, and dammit if I wasn't going to try to act like one, whatever the consequences. So I turned my bike around and pedaled down to Main Street.

It was a little after 11 o'clock when I gingerly pushed my bike through the back door. Pearl Jam blared from the CD player, almost drowning out the sound of metal scraping on ceramic tile. Sylvia had started grouting without me.

She hadn't gotten much done, tho; she was still working near the front. Somehow, she heard me come in over the loud chorus of "Release" and turned, her face breaking out into a smile full of joy and relief. In that moment, my anger at her melted away. However, my confusion meter went up yet another notch.

"Hey, Ben, I'm so glad you're here! It's slow going without my teammate," she said, forcing cheerfulness and ignoring the late hour. "There's a grout float over there with your name on it!"

I responded with a thin smile and a shy "Hey there" and got to work. Instead of enjoying each other's company as usual, we toiled away on opposite sides of the room, speaking no more than necessary. The employee/employer feeling was back in full force. I didn't like it, but I was unable to generate any chit-chat, and neither was Sylvia.

Well, to be fair, she tried to start a conversation once or twice. I wouldn't take the bait, answering in single sentences, playing my old cool & quiet game. I wasn't mad any more, but the trust just wasn't there. I couldn't figure out what she wanted from me. On that strange day, I don't think she knew, either.

We took longer than we should have to finish the floor. It was late afternoon by the time we'd wrapped up and cleared the way for the next day's deliveries. I did my part cleaning up and headed for the back door. "See ya," I mumbled with a half-hearted wave.

"Ben!" she called plaintively. It reminded me of when she'd called me back to ease my discomfort after the ladder incident, and I swallowed hard.

I stopped without responding, turning my head but not my shoulders in her direction, body language saying loud and clear that I was still poised to go.

"Ben, we're still friends, right? I'd like that a lot. I like you a lot. Ok?"

Her words sounded good. I felt the need to be cautious, tho. "Ok," I responded simply, "I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow, Ben." She looked kinda sad but hopeful in my last backwards glance.

I arrived on time on Thursday, hoping to thaw the chill between us. It didn't work at first, but we gradually started talking more as the morning wore on, both of us trying to feel out the updated parameters of our relationship.

And we were very busy. We'd decided (we decided together) that the grand opening of the newly christened Coffee Key Café (we named it together) would be the following week. With a deadline finally looming, we noticed every little project yet undone and industriously moved from one to the next.

We didn't have much privacy to talk after lunch, as workmen arrived to install our kitchen equipment and the display case, and others delivered and unloaded more furniture.

I got busy putting together the "some assembly required" high tables and stools while Sylvia directed the installers (she gave them a whole lot more commands then she did me, I noted).

It was pretty late in the afternoon when we were alone again. Sylvia had moved on to interior decorating, happily humming along with her ever-present music while she hung up plants and pictures and put up little knick-knack shelves and such.

I wondered about her decorating tastes. As she worked, a retro feel came through loud and clear. Sylvia put up old movie and music posters, pulled lava lamps out of boxes, and arranged an old coffee table, chairs, and a sofa into a living room configuration straight out of the Brady Bunch (I'd seen reruns). It was kinda cool, but like nothing else I'd ever seen in town.