I hate drinking hot coffee. The way you can only take little sips so that you don’t burn your tongue. But instead of asking for ice I let my spoon sit in the cup, hoping that it will absorb some of the heat.
Angela hasn’t said anything this morning. When I suggested going out for breakfast I received only a weak smile. I know I need to ask her, and I know what her answer will be. But I’m scared… if only there was more time.
She leans forward onto the table so that it looks like she’s reading the menu. But I know she’s not, she’ll order pancakes with chocolate chips and maple syrup. She leans forward only so that I won’t be able to see her face. I take one of her hands in my own and run my thumb across her knuckles.
“Do you think we made a mistake?” Still holding her hand she doesn’t move for what seems like forever. Finally she begins to nod, just before she starts to cry. She takes her hand away to wipe away the tears. I slide my chair around the table and wrap my arms around her.
I whisper into her ear “Let’s go.” She keeps wiping her face and nods again. I leave a few dollars on the table and we walk out trying to hold each other as close as possible. I try to think if there’s any way to make this easier, but I know there isn’t.