Cafe

A Story by Rueger

A sweet story about opening up to another.

Cafe

“I feel like I always have to prove myself. It’s not that I’m masking who I am, really, but cleaning up the messier parts of the picture.” Mic brushed the edge of the coffee mug with her thumb, picking up some of the sweet foam, then licked it off. A leaf fell from the tree behind her and onto the iron cafe table.
Anne sat up in her chair and leaned in close to Mic across the table. A gust of wind blew her long brown hair across her face. She was studying Mic. Her hand reached up instinctively to place the rouge hair behind her ear.
“Why do you feel you need to hide so much?”
Mic laughed and looked up at the cloudy sky hovering close to the tops of the trees surrounding them. She ran her hand through her short, dark hair.
“I guess I’m just a perfectionist.” She looked back down at her cup.
“No, really.”
Mic avoided her eyes. “I’ve built up a reputation of being really strong, or this image of myself as the fearless leader.” She stopped to consider her words. “It’s hard for me to be vulnerable with people. If I’m vulnerable, then I’m also weak.” She paused again. “That’s not it. People don’t think of me as vulnerable, so it’s hard to show it. Plus I just have a hard time trusting someone that much.”
“Can you cry in front of your other friends?”
“Sometimes. Not often. I really don’t cry that much. Mostly alone.”
Anne shook her head softly, “You know me, I cry all the time. In fact, I want to cry just hearing that you can’t.”
“Don’t pity me, Anne.”
“I don’t. I just feel bad.”
Mic glared at her, and cocked her head.
“What? It’s not pity. I’m trying to understand you.”
Mic chuckled to herself and picked at the chipped black paint on the edge of the metal table. A sigh turned into a yawn, and she scratched her head. Anne reached over and placed her hand on Mic’s.
“Some day you’ll find that it’s a lot easier to stop hiding. That’s when you’ll be able to find the right person for you.” She smiled and gently squeezed her hand.
Mic flinched out a weak smile. “I don’t know. It feels weird, nothing feels right.”
Anne looked worried, “What do you mean?” She brushed her hair back from her face again.
“Well, like your hand.” Anne quickly withdrew her hand back across the table.
“It feels nice, and I know you’re just being reassuring, but I don’t know what to do. I feel like I kinda shut down.”
“Mic, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you don’t want to be touched.”
“No. See, that’s just it. I like to be touched. I really like it, but I can’t do it in return.” Mic looked around the cafe’s porch. There were several couples sitting around them.
“I don’t mind being touched.” She looked back at Anne. “I don’t know, I just don’t know what to do when it happens. It doesn’t happen very often.”
“What do you mean, what to do?” Anne giggled.
“Like how to touch back, without being weird about it.” Mic laughed, too. “Some romantic I am. I can’t even touch a woman.”
“I think you’re fine as a romantic. That just makes you a bad lesbian.” They laughed together.
“I think I must need help. I wonder if that would be crossing the therapist/ patient line, you know, touch therapy.”
Anne snickered, “You never know. You might get a date out of it.”
“F**k you.” Mic laughed, wiping a tear from the corner of their eye.
Anne smiled at Mic. “I think you’re being silly. If you want to touch someone, then do. If you don’t, then don’t. Just do what comes natural.”
“That’s it. Nothing comes natural. I feel like a big moron, especially with women I’m attracted to.” Mic felt her cheeks flush quickly. “I actually try to not touch them. I don’t want to scare them.”
“But you told me that you like to be touched, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t you think that they might like to be touched, too?”
“I don’t think about that at the time. I’m usually a little preoccupied with not making a fool of myself in other ways.”
Mic reached down to take a sip from her mug. “Damn, this is cold now.” She motioned to the cup.
“Okay, beyond this touching thing. Why are you afraid of opening up?”
“When did you become my therapist?” Mic stood up and carried her mug over to the bussing tray by the door into the cafe. Anne watched as her friend negotiated the narrow spaces back between the tables.
In a heavy German accent, Anne said, “Then as your touch therapist, I command you to sit down and continue talking to me while holding my hand.”
“What!”
“Yeah. If it’s weird, then you just need to get used to it.” She held out her palm. “Here, we’re going to talk about whatever, and you’re going to hold my hand.”
Mic slipped into her Hannibal Lector voice, “People will think we’re in love.”
“I’m serious. Who cares what these people think. Do you know any of them?”
“No.”
“Are you planning on asking any of them out?”
Mic rolled her eyes and let out a loud breath. “Well, you know that one over there is kinds cute. No, I’m not.”
“Then what does it matter?”
“It doesn’t. This is weird. You’re weird.” She pointed at Anne.
“Are you embarrassed?”
“No.” Mic huffed.
“Then come on.” She pressed her hand closer.
Mic watched the hand extend toward her, palm up. Anne was wearing a thin silver ring on her middle finger. “Okay, fine.” Mic tentatively reached out across the table and placed her palm face down on Anne’s. Her hand was warm and soft.
“I hope you’re happy,” griped Mic.
“Oh greatly. Anything to torture my friends.”
Mic laughed and laid her head down on her outstretched arm.
“Now, is this so bad?” Anne ruffled the short hair on the back of Mic’s head with her other hand.
Mic lifted her head, “Yes.” And placed her head back down.
Anne continued to run her fingers through Mic soft hair. “Okay, it’s time for torture number two. You have to look me in the eyes.”
Mic raised her head halfway up, and glanced at Anne as a laugh rumbled out of her throat. She sat back up in her chair, cleared her throat, and fluttered her eyes at Anne.
Anne shook Mic’s hand, “No, do it right. This is practice, remember.”
Mic laughed again, looked up at the sky, then focused and looked back down at Anne. Her eyes we glowing; her whole face was glowing. Anne was smiling at her and Mic couldn’t help but smile back. She felt her cheeks burn red, then looked down at the table.
“I feel like I should be asking you out or something.”
“Maybe you should.”
A chill ran down Mic’s back. Anne? Mic couldn’t look back up. Her cheeks were really burning now. She felt Anne squeeze her hand once more.
“Are you okay?”
Mic sheepishly raised her head to look at Anne. Her smile grew across her whole face. Mic wrinkled her brow and squinted at Anne, “Do you want me to?”
Anne wove her fingers through Mic’s. “I wouldn't be opposed.”
Mic sat up, cleared her throat, paused, looked down at the floor, then up again at Anne. She was waiting quietly, softly stroking the top of Mic’s hand with her thumb.
“Are you sure?”
Anne broke the quiet of the porch with her laugh. “I wouldn’t ask you to ask me if I wasn't.”
Mic took a deep breath…exhaled hard…lifted her eyes to Anne’s… shut her eyes…waited a few seconds…then reopened them.
“Anne,” she paused. Mic’s hands started to sweat. “Will you go out with me.”
“Yes.” She smiled. Anne leaned across the table and motioned for Mic to do the same. Mic furrowed her brow again and slowly stretched her body down across the table.
Anne whispered in her ear, “that wasn’t so bad.” Mic could feel Anne’s breath on her neck, and a shock of goosebumps erupted down her back. Anne leaned in closer to kiss the side of Mic’s cheek. Mic turned her head to look at Anne, then closed her eyes as she felt Anne’s lips press gently to hers.