Holy shit. I stared into the mirror and realized that last night I wore my shoes to bed but decided to take my pants off, so that was one big question mark. I had wildly messed up hair, wine stains on my shirt and I wore a black fleece jacket I didn't own. The most horrid assumptions came to mind.
"NO FUCKING WAY!"
I screamed at my reflection. Oh come on, I wasn't THAT drunk. And all that crap about 'not remembering' is bullshit excuse made by cheap girls ashamed of their stupid mistakes. Unless they've been drugged. In which case, I'm sorry for calling you cheap, whoever you are. I was on my way downstairs to check if there was anyone else in the house when I stopped at the thought. Nah, nobody would drug me just to get in my pants. I continued walking down the steps, stopped just before the kitchen entrance and peeked inside. I did the same in the living room. I gasped, "The bathroom!" I rushed back upstairs and checked the tub. I was all alone, and the house keys were on the foyer which meant I showed myself in properly like always. The hallelujah chorus played in my head. THANK YOU, GOD!
I showered, brushed my teeth and put on a violet t-shirt and blue-but-almost-gray faded jeans that still smelled of fabric conditioner. I sprayed on some light cologne, changed the bed sheets and was relieved to have successfully washed off the man smell from my room and my body. Hanging the jacket on my bedroom doorknob, I sat on the bed staring at it and pondered on how this unfortunate turn of events came to be. I remembered leaving, sure, but only bits and pieces of it. I could have sworn I picked up my cardigan, not this. It was from my seat. The porch. My... A sudden flashback came rushing in. I recalled how I took off my cardigan right after lunch, inside George's house, placing it on top of my dining chair. Dining chair, idiot. I sighed aloud and buried my face in my hands, accepting my defeat. But wait a minute. Why didn't Adam say anything? Was he drunk, too? I decided to call him after I've had breakfast. Should I even bother to get my cardigan? It's two hours away. Seemed like a lot of effort just for a small item, so I quickly brushed it off and went downstairs to make pancakes. Flipping the last one onto my plate, I checked the time. It was 8:30. A little late, but not bad I guess. I finished all four pieces in record time, surprised at how hungry I was. The kettle was whistling when I checked my jar of coffee. Aw crap, I'm out of coffee again. I turned the stove off, went upstairs to put on my cream-colored sweater, slipped into my black doll shoes and hurried back down, eager for that first sip of bitter goodness from the café just five minutes away. It's cheaper to make your own coffee, sure, but the store was further down the road and I needed caffeine quick so I decided to go for over-the-counter just this once. I got the keys from the foyer table and went out the door. Adam was there.
"Shit! You scared me. How long have you been standing there?"
"Good morning to you, too. Now give me my jacket, please."
Oh, and I'm being rude? "I was gonna call you, by the way. Jacket's inside, but I haven't washed it yet." I gestured towards the door behind me. He smiled and said, "Don't worry about it. Here's yours." He was hiding my cardigan behind his back before he handed it over. "I took the liberty of removing the orange peels, I hope you didn't plan to keep them," he continued. This is so embarrassing. Why do I keep doing this to myself? "Thanks," I replied. "Sorry about the jacket. I swear I thought I picked up my cardigan. I'll just get it real qui... you know what, maybe you should wait inside, yeah?" Adam nodded. "Okay. Thank you." He was right behind me as I was unlocking the door. It's that awful man smell again. What is that, that thing they call aftershave, is it? We walked into the foyer, I took my sweater off and hung it on the coat rack. Adam was looking around when he said, "Nice place. I like it." I chuckled. "You don't find it cramped at all? Most people do." He looked at me sharply. "Why would anyone say that? Are all your friends over six feet tall?" I laughed. What friends? "Thanks. Glad you like it. Living room's over here. You can wait by the couch if you like. Jacket's upstairs." Adam walked into the living room and sat down. "Great, thanks." I headed towards the steps when I stopped and turned back. "Oh, um. I just ran out of coffee, sorry. Uh, there's water in the kitchen. Just go right across if there's anything you need." He smiled. "Got it." I hurried up and got the jacket from the doorknob, folded it on the bed, found a small paper bag in the closet and put it inside. Yes! It fit perfectly. "I got it," I called out as I was going down. Adam was already standing by the living room entryway. "I found a paper bag for you. I noticed you weren't carrying a bag, so... I hope that's okay." He opened it and looked inside. "I'm sorry, I should've washed it last night. You sure you want to take it with you now?" He looked up at me and smiled. "Yes, I'm sure. Thank you for going through so much trouble to package this. I seriously expected you to just throw it at me and shut the door in my face." We both laughed. That would've been much easier, wouldn't it? "Aw, come on. I'm not that rude. Where are you getting your impression of me anyway?" I gestured to get a sweater from the coat rack and stopped when I realized I already had one on. I arranged the jackets, pretending that was my first intention. Adam didn't notice and I was relieved. He chuckled and said, "Nah, I'm just kidding around. Where are you headed?" I tied my hair back into a ponytail and answered, "Small café just around the corner. Wanna come with?" His eyes lit up. "Sure."
I discovered a small, private café in one of the houses at the corner of the street during one of my short walks. I loved the fact that almost nobody came in except for maybe two or three people at a time, and that's how it caught my eye. One time I saw a couple walking in and I thought they owned the house, but then three people came out at the same time and they all passed each other without even a single glance. I wondered about it so I checked it out and learnt that the place was a cozy and quiet coffee shop.
We ordered two cappuccinos and two blueberry waffles with cream, which I knew to be their bestseller combo. "At least 10 people order it every week," said the barista, who was also the owner, the janitor, the waiter and sometimes even the patron. Jazz music played softly from a small radio at the counter. "How'd you find this gem?" Adam asked, looking around at the log cabin interior. I shrugged and replied. "Just happened to notice people coming in and out one time when I was taking a walk." He nodded. "Nice." I cannot wait to get that cappuccino. Our table was adjacent to the glass window overlooking the street and the sunlight generously streamed in, illuminating Adam's light brown eyes as he looked out the window. I chuckled. "You are so... BROWN," I told Adam, as I observed his brown hair and brown shirt and brown eyes. He laughed, saying, "I'll take that as a compliment, thank you. But, what the hell?" I just kept laughing. Our orders arrived and I rubbed my palms together in excitement. I took that long-awaited sip of coffee and angels sang. Damn, that's good. I closed my eyes as I savored the bitter sweetness of it and when I opened my eyes again, Adam was staring at me fervently. "What?" I asked. He tried to suppress a smile. "I can't help it. I'm gonna tell you." Huh? "Tell me what?" I was confused. He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table, fingers interlaced and said, "Did you notice anything peculiar about you this morning?" I put my cup down. "What do you mean peculiar?" He leaned back and crossed his arms. "You know, besides wearing my jacket when you woke up." I kept quiet, rummaging through that morning's memories for anything out of the ordinary. Let's see... I ate pancakes like a wild animal, I woke up with no pants on, smelling like a man. I got impatient at the little runaround game he was playing. "Look, whatever it is, just spit it out." He chuckled and said, "Okay. But don't hate me." I rolled my eyes. "Go on." I was afraid of what he was gonna say but I pretended to be ready for anything. "Were you," he paused, "or were you not... wearing pants this morning?" He looked at me with wild eyes, anticipating. W-What? How? Oh god. I cleared my throat. "S-Surprisingly I woke up with no pants on, sure. So what!?" He was giggling now. Oh my god. Don't tell me there's more to last night than what I think I know. "See, you were surprised," he continued laughingly, "but I wasn't." Suddenly I saw myself being crushed over and over by a giant boot, reduced to a messy splat on the ground. I covered my face with my hands. "Oh Lord, just tell me what happened." Adam stopped laughing and said, "Okay. So right around 7 you told us you wanted to go home, right?" I remember that clearly. "Right." He continued, "But then you said you were gonna go to the bathroom first, so you went inside the house and we waited for you on the porch." Shit. I don't remember going to the bathroom. "And you were taking a while so Marilyn decided to check on you. But instead, she found you lying on the couch and no matter what we did you never woke up. We had to check if you were still breathing." I glared at him and said, "Ha-ha, don't be so dramatic." He chuckled and continued, "Okay, eventually you found some consciousness to limp around a little bit but we had to help you get into the car, and we found out that Peter didn't know he was supposed to drive you home so he'd already left by the time we were outside. I offered to drive you home and have Marilyn show me the way." I don't like where this is going. AT ALL. "And when we got to your house, Marilyn had to fish for your keys in your pockets and the moment we got inside you started taking your pants off." He was trying not to laugh, pressing his lips together. I felt ashamed. I imagined rapidly peeling my face off like cling wrap, crumpling it with both hands and hurling it as far as I can like Olympic javelin. "I'm so sorry." It was so embarrassing that I started to find it funny. I chuckled and Adam smiled. "So," he continued, "I waited outside and Marilyn took care of you the rest of the way. She was very gentle with you." And then I remembered where my pants were that morning, neatly folded on the bedside table, which is something I've never done before. All the pieces came together. Keys on the foyer, Adam knowing my address, how they managed to overlook the fact that I was wearing his jacket. Of course they wouldn't notice. My pathetic drunkenness distracted them too well. Oh, Marilyn. You're an angel. Sorry for the unsolicited striptease. We must have been quiet for a while until Adam broke the silence. "You okay?" He had a vague expression. "I'm okay," I answered with a forced nonchalance. We were silent for two seconds and then we burst out laughing.
We spent almost two hours in that café talking about each other's back stories, how different the weather is compared to where he lived, his farm, my poetry and my cat, Nikita whom I left back home in my sister's care. I told him I just resigned from my assistant editor position at a not-so-popular monthly teen magazine in order to establish my own identity as a poet, and that I moved close to the beach hoping it would be the key foundation for my budding artistry. He told me he was an architect working for a local firm near Central, that he originally wanted to be a writer as well and that he also lived alone in an apartment with his two German shepherds, Victor and Hugo. "Are they miserable?" I asked jokingly and he laughed out loud. I was more interested in his writing preferences so I quickly followed it up. "What kind of writing did you want to do?" I asked him. "Screenwriting or scriptwriting, maybe. I wanted to work for the film industry. But my father was an architect and he persuaded me to follow in his footsteps." He was very animated when he talked, always with the hand gestures to emphasize a point. "It's not that I hate it. I actually love my job, it's still an art that involves scribbling perfect lines." I laughed, he grinned. "But I still call it a job when I'd rather say passion." I nodded, completely understanding what he felt. "Right, tell me about it. I loved working for the magazine, too, and almost all of my friends worked there. But day in and day out of make-up, boys, fashion trends and emergency pimple remedies just cut me off from the real world. There was just always something missing, you know?" Adam nodded, and then his expression changed. "I've been meaning to ask," he said, "how... were you named after Plath? Did that steer you towards being a poet, or...?" I chuckled, saying, "No, I was named after my grandmother. Um... I have to admit, I got curious about her work since we shared the same name and I've loved reading books since I was little. It was mostly novels at first, classics. But then I stumbled upon Edgar Allan Poe and I loved him, got curious about poetry, and then... everything else followed." I stirred my coffee and Adam spoke. "I occasionally read poetry, actually." Seriously? "Poe's a little dark, isn't he?" He asked. "Yes," I replied, "mesmerizingly so." I looked up and found Adam staring intently at me.