Page 3 of Because of Her

While we wait, I attempt to make small talk, but his flat monosyllabic answers wear me down. I hadn’t exactly expected it to, but the incessant chatter and giggles never quietens down. Eventually, it pulls my attention away from my failing date.

From this side of the café, the flowers and greenery look real, and I can’t help but wonder how the café keeps them looking fresh. Influencers and wannabes are taking turns snapping photos and filming ridiculous short videos. Girlfriends peer pressure their partners into lovey photos. The constant high-pitched laughter and ceaseless chit chat are like tiny needles in my brain.

By the time my food arrives with our coffees, I’ve given up trying to make any conversation with Mike. I wonder what I did wrong before our date even began, and the more I wonder, the more my head fills with self-doubt. I thought the sundress and boots were cute together, but maybe I should have worn something ‘prettier’? Or was it my comment about children when we were chatting last night?

I try my best to shut out the wave of insecurities, instead, looking around, I take mental notes of things I could incorporate in my boutique, perhaps something similar to the café’s floral wall. At this late stage in the season, I’m willing to try anything to bring in some extra customers and spread awareness of my company. Whilst contemplating the small posies on each table, I add cafés to my mental list of companies to approach for weekly deliveries.

“Hey, um, how much longer do you think you’ll be?”

Ah, so he can speak in full sentences.Such a shameit was for a rude question, I’m not even halfway through my food; my egg still waiting to be split open so I can test the yolk.

He leans back in his chair, thick arms rested up with his hands linked behind his head. He looks firm in a way that seems uncomfortable to touch, and his grey tee strains across his obscene muscles.

“Not long I think,” I reply, furrowing my brow. “Have somewhere you need to be?” I add a laugh, attempting to keep the conversation light-hearted.

“Ah, yeah actually.” He strokes a hand through the ends of his long, blond hair before bringing it down to check his watch. “I’m meeting someone in twenty minutes for lunch.”

We haven’t even been here for more than an hour, and he’s already close to being late to another commitment. Even if I hadn’t been five minutes late, we would have been pushing for time.No thanks.

“Not like a date,” he adds, somehow raising his shoulders even closer to his ears. “Just a girl I’ve been chatting to.”

“Chatting to, like me?” My stomach twists and I no longer feel hungry.

“Well, yeah I guess.”

“Oh.”

I can’t believe I fell for the thought of a brunch date. I thought it meant our day was open to extend the date if we felt we clicked, but Mike obviously had other ideas.

“You don’t have a dinner date as well, do you?” I spit out.

His lack of care the whole time we’d been here, the noise that still won’t stop, and my sudden anger, swirl like a storm inside me. I press my lips together, holding it all in until I can calm myself enough to avoid making a scene.

An icy lump is forming in my throat. The longer he sits there sipping at his coffee without answering me, the more my skin crawls. I stare him down, waiting for a response, not wanting to be the pathetic single girl I already feel like.

“Oh my God, you do!” I blurt out when the pressure of silence becomes too much. I push out my chair, standing up as I run my hands down my face. “Have fun Mike, this was … interesting.” I pull twenty dollars from my purse and slam it on the table. As I storm away, a heavy sigh escapes and I wonder if I’m overreacting.

The anger settles as I make my way to the nearest tram stop. It’s not Mike I’m upset at. Well, I am, but it’s more than that. We hadn’t spoken about the idea of spending the afternoon together, and not once did either of us hint at the idea of us being any kind of exclusive. Maybe I was … am, overreacting to a guy whose only crime is playing his cards.

But I’m over my dates crumbling. Each time it happens, I spiral, and can’t help but think of all the times people I care about, or love, leave me. It’s irrational, it was just a date, I barely knew him, but I think it regardless. It hurts, and all I want to do is find my person. For real this time.

Arriving home, I slam the door behind me as hard as I can and dump my bag so it lands on the floor with a thud. Following suit, I sink to the ground and bang my head against the wall behind me.

“Argh,” I moan, as loud as possible, banging my head again for dramatic effect.

When my flatmate Amira doesn’t call out with sympathy, I kick off my shoes, allowing them to clunk into the wall on the other side of the hallway. I wince, thinking about the damage I might have caused. To the shoes, not the wall. They’re nothing fancy, but they are my favourite pair of boots and with the winter season coming, I can’t afford to replace them.

“Aaargh.” I try again, with more force this time. I’mmopey, and I know it. But if there is one person I can act like a spoiled brat around, it’s Amira. I really,really,wanted my date with Mike to go well. There had been so much promise, and it feels like a kick straight to the kidney for it to have gone so bad.

“I’m not coming down there for you to bitch about your date, you can come here,” Amira calls out from our open plan, kitchen-slash-dining-slash-living area.

I crawl my way along the hallway and reach up to pull myself onto the couch.

“That bad?” Amira asks as she sits down next to me and pulls my feet into her lap.

She’s still in her pyjamas, her legs wrapped underneath the oversized sleep tee. Her long brown hair is tied into a braid that rests over her shoulder, and although her eyes are always dark, there’s a shadow about them today. She’d been out to dinner with her parents last night, coming home late. She was still asleep when I left this morning, but I know how draining conversations with her father are for her.

“Did I tell you I turned down a job for this date?”

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