Page 49 of Kissing is the Easy Part
“Ginger latte. It’s not bad.”
“No.” That look of controlled irritation is hard to miss. “For the history presentation. You must have some ideas already.”
“Oh.”I chuckle. “I thought we were supposed to talk about what each of us has to do, andthenI can start.”
“What?” He pulls back. “I didn’t expect much, but showing up empty-handed?Impressive.”
“Hello, did you mention anything about bringing research? I rely on clear instructions. You set up the meeting, so it’s your responsibility to communicate what you expect to achieve. Obviously, we approach things differently.”
“That’s an understatement. Why bother meeting if you came unprepared? You’re wasting my time.”
Hard to believe that the last time we were here, all I wanted to do was kiss him. Now I want to smack my purse over his head. “Forgive me for not being well-versed in silent academic telepathy. Please, wow me with your brilliance.”
Without further words, Sean turns on his laptop and it whirs to life. This guy has a folder full of files already, all in order, and I pray he won’t go through each and every one of them. He clicks one open, and a dashboard with a taxonomy system pops up, where he’s already highlighted key terms on medieval history.
I try concentrating. Ireallytry. But five minutes in, I yawn.
He frowns. “All-night party catching up to you?”
I wave a hand. “Go on, go on, I’m listening.”
He starts again. It’s barely eight in the morning, but the place is filling up. In the back, a lady is adjusting the lapel of her tailored wool coat. Two tables away, a girl’s beige calfskin shoulder bag hangs off the back of her chair.Would that color work on me?Maybe with a monochrome look—camel coat, cream knit, gold jewelry.
Sean snaps, “Nice of you to zone out after I did all the work.” For someone who’s sleep deprived, he sure has a lot of energy for biting my head off.
“Look, I’m sorry, but your presentation is tedious. And for the record, I don’t like this arrangement any more than you do, so you and your 4.0 GPA can quit acting like it’s myhonorto be paired with you. Be mad at Josie.”
Sean goes still for a second. He lets go of the mouse and leans back in his chair. Then, in that maddeningly calm voice of his, he says, “I know you’d rather not be my partner. So how about this? I’ll do everything myself. I’ll write the paper, put your and Josie’s names on it, and I’ll handle the presentation alone. You just show up on the day, wear something hot, and we’ll call it equal contributions.”
It takes everything in me not to dump my ginger latte onto his lap.
Or laptop. Whichever hurts more.
“You’re so condescending.”
He exhales. “I’m getting coffee first.”
I stifle another yawn. “While you’re at it, get me a vanilla latte. I’ll Venmo you.”
He walks off, and out of habit I check out his butt before catching myself. I whip my head in the opposite direction. A guy at the next table pulls out a chair and sets down a leather duffel bag.
Thebag.
The exact same one I tried to give Sean last Christmas. I even posted a bunch of photos of my gorgeous boyfriend holding expensive leather, only to delete them later (along with every other picture of him on my account).
Now my gorgeous ex-boyfriend sets a mug down on the table—hard—breaking me out of my reverie. In retrospect, it’s no wonder we broke up. Every time I wanted to offer him something nice, i.e. a night at my parents’ lake house, a romantic date with a carefully planned itinerary, or a gift I spent hours picking to match his style, he made me feel stupid.
Sean pulls out his chair and sits down. The café hums with conversation, the clinking of cups, the occasional hiss of the espresso machine. It’s all so normal, exactly like before.
“Do you ever think of how it was when we were together?” I ask.
Sean pauses, midsip. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Do you?”
He sets his coffee down. It takes him a long time, then finally he says, “I try not to.”
“So you do.”
