Coffee and Meringue “What is it you want?” She said, and, for a moment, I didn&a

Coffee and Meringue

“What is it you want?” She said, and, for a moment, I didn’t have an answer. 

The one question that I should be able to answer, the one question this all hinged on, and I was stumped. What is it I wanted?

So I sighed. A light shrug, even, before leaning back in my seat and sliding my finger around the rim of the coffee cup.

“I want to be comfortable. I want this to make sense, and for it to make sense in a way that isn’t tiring me out all the fucking time. I don’t want to be lazy, or to give up trying; I just want to know that she wants to be here, and that being here works. On a fundamental level, just works. 

Because I’m done being forced to be the responsible one, to make every little decision at every little step of the way, pretend that I’m psychic, that I have every answer, when I’m bluffing half the time. And she knows I’m bluffing, which is the worst part. I want to be able to let an easy smile walk across my lips, and I want to just relax. I want the knots in my shoulders to melt away, and the second guessing to fade into nothing.”

And she sipped her Earl Gray, broke some meringue into dusty segments, and popped on in her mouth. Her own shrug, rolling easier than mine.

“I think that’s your answer then. But that speech wasn’t for me.” I couldn’t help smile at that.