SATe [✔]

[15] solivagant

"I get it," I admit before I could stop myself. His head had cocked to both sides as he pursed his lips. Something told me he wasn't going to let it go with just that; his voice had gone mellow, soft-spoken words following.

"It was your first day on a job that you didn't even take. I'm worried, sure, but that's got nothing to do with you and everything to do with her." He glances at me, hoping for a glimmer of recognition to flutter on my face. It doesn't come, I'm trying my best to convey that I don't really get where he's coming from but acknowledging that he feels I do; despite it not being true.

"I get it, Perry." I opened the half-crinkled bottle of water and down half of the substance in one go. I had hoped to end this conversation here, but he decided to go one step forward and call me out.

"I just want you to stop walking on eggshells around me." He says, almost pleadingly. I can't help but stay silent after this; I suppose I was. My glances fuelled by wariness would have been noticed immediately. I don't know how to act. Around him. He seemed to care so deeply for Marie, and yet I was the cause of most of her grievances in the past few months alone. How could I feel any less than responsible for that?

I don't think he expected a response to that. Hopefully, he didn't. Because I didn't have one. As we pulled up to the Fredrickson Teashop, I regarded his opportunities to ask for confirmation as null and void. As soon as the car door was opened, I decided to completely forget the entire conversation.

The familiar April breeze goes by as I open the car door, mildly warm with a kiss of chill; Spring is fully in motion, opening the world with brighter blooms and a gentle pace, the clouds filtering faded rays of sun onto the pavement. The sky is baring a pale blue colour, the shade you'd find in a baby boy's room, or perhaps one of those chocolate eggs you'd find during an annual Easter egg hunt. Everything about it made me want to lie down in some grass and stare up at the clouds.

━━━━━━━━┛ ✠ ┗━━━━━━━━

Perry was anxiously twiddling his thumbs, leant as close to the table as he could manage. I had picked up a book, not caring for the contents; the words were blurred anyway, and I couldn't concentrate. It was early, and Georgia and I decided to meet as soon as we could. The machines had only just begun to warm when we'd arrived so we nestled into the corner of the café, the furthest right corner as you walk in the front door of this warm, wood-toned place that was burrowed in a lane you'd find yourself passing if you weren't careful.

It's quiet, and it's peaceful. I'd only been here a few times in the time I've lived in this city, but it always gave me a bright impression; the walls were colourful and incandescent string lights hung on each wall, lightening the variety of artwork they'd hung on the wall. There are a couple of couches covered in throw pillows and blankets and it's nice to just relax into them. I had ordered a latte, while Perry took one look at the waitress and growled the word coffee.

I will have my drink, perhaps a treat along with it, possibly a strawberry shortcake, or a tart; something that I can pretend is good for me. I have done this on each visit and felt guilty each time, despite realising that life is unpredictable and often fleeting. I might as well enjoy myself, be frivolous with my spending, gain some weight, that sort of thing. I felt that even more now I had my memories returned to me.

I can't help but listen. To everything.

The mumbled conversations, the gentle sighs, the almost inaudible weeping, the frustrated keyboard tapping, coffee orders - everything. I notice a lot more sitting here in the back; I've sat in different places before, and I can tell you nothing is the same; what you hear and see can change so rapidly just from how and where you sit. The back is often crowded by people who don't want to be hindered by others, the front windows are often where the young adults and their laptops sit, while the middle is where the elderly sit for a catch-up, or an interview takes place.