“Welcome to Starbucks,” a peppy, fresh-faced girl greets my mom and me. We’ve decided to stop for a coffee before I drive her home, our heads still buzzing slightly from the champagne.
After we order, we’re making our way to a table in the corner when I think I see a familiar face. Before I can get the words out of my mouth, my mom cuts me off, “Isn’t that Callie, your old college roommate?” She scrunches up her nose as if trying to decide.
“I think.” I study her as she stands in line, rubbing her protruding belly as her two children demand cake pops and Cotton Candy Frappuccinos. Through gritted teeth, she barks, “For the fiftieth time, the answer is no,” the lines around her eyes deepening as she says it. But her kids’ begging is relentless, and when they reach the cash register, Callie finally gives in, mumbling something about how they should just take all the money in her wallet and buy whatever they want because they always do anyway.
She leans on the counter as her children feast on their treats, her younger one dropping the cake pop on the floor before picking it up and shoving it furiously into her mouth, Callie just shaking her head in defeat as she attempts to wipe the face of her son, who pulls away dramatically. Callie finally looks up and catches me watching her, her pale cheeks reddening as she recognizes me, me hoping my thoughts aren’t written across my face. These kids look nothing like the little angels I’d seen on Facebook last week, running down the beach holding hands.
“Callie?” I say hesitantly as I advance toward her. She gives me a weak smile as she nods and pulls me in for a hug, holding it for a beat too long.
But when she steps back, she’s recovered, grinning widely and making jokes about her kids being obsessed with sugar because she never gives it to them normally. I am amazed how quickly she has transformed from a normal tired mom with unruly kids into her Facebook persona. That even here, in real life, she feels like she can’t show me, an old friend, her true self.
It had been so long since we’d shared a dorm room, so many years since we’d even had a live conversation, that it didn’t feel right for me to tell her that it was okay, that she could bitch at her kids and I wasn’t going to judge her. I knew she’d never understand how, after everything I’d been through, seeing her act like a human being made me like her so much more. So instead I tell her what I hope she needs to hear, that she looks beautiful and her kids are adorable, as she politely shuffles her brood out the door, mentioning something about a birthday party at the trampoline place down the street.
“Whew!” my mom sighs after Callie is gone. “She really has her hands full with those two. The exact reason why I only had one.” She laughs.
“It was really good to see her,” I say as we sit down.
“I’m not sure she’d say the same about seeing you—she seemed pretty embarrassed. Almost like she wanted to crawl under the table when she saw you watching her.”
“I know,” I say, taking a sip of my coffee, thinking about how I would’ve felt if I had run into her in Starbucks the morning after I got back from Maui, when I felt like a shell of myself. I probably would have reacted the same way she did, assuming she was going to judge that I had come so undone, that I had fallen so far from where I thought I’d be. Not unlike Callie, I had often spent a fair amount of time manipulating the way others saw me on Facebook. Now I wondered if we’d both be a lot happier if we spent more time cultivating relationships with the people right in front of us.
? ? ?
The smell of garlic envelops me when I walk in the front door. I slip off my shoes and follow it into the kitchen, where I find Max opening a bottle of red wine. “What’s all this?” I ask as I look around, the table set, a pot of something that smells delicious simmering on the stovetop, chopped tomatoes, basil, and garlic on the cutting board for his signature bruschetta.
“Do I need a reason?” He smiles and kisses me.
“No, I just wasn’t expecting—”
“Exactly why I did it. I knew you probably didn’t eat today because you were with your mom . . .” He pauses and I nod my head to let him know he’s right. “And I thought I’d surprise you with your favorite—eggplant Parmesan and bruschetta.”
“Thank you,” I say, happily accepting a piece of bread from him. I take a bite and close my eyes as it melts in my mouth.
“It’s been too long since I cooked for you,” he says as he mixes the garlic, basil, and tomatoes, sprinkling salt and pepper before spreading the mixture on the toast he just pulled from the oven. “Too long since I’ve done a lot of things,” he adds, and I know last night is still on his mind—that the bruschetta is a peace offering.