Winter 2021 | Occasus | Issue 11.1

Coffee and Cream

“You took him back to a no-kill shelter, didn’t you?” Eva’s voice blared over the speakerphone. Leysa set her mobile down on the dresser and yanked out a tissue, sending the rest of the box tumbling on its side. “So they’ll find him a home. Sis, you’re stalking a dog!”

Leysa had checked the shelter’s website twice daily since she returned Bexley. After a few days, his profile disappeared from the “Adopt Me!” page. She began to worry.

“Not stalking,” Leysa honked her nose into the tissue, balled it up, and let it drop to the carpet. She flexed her feet and pressed her finger to the white crescent of one big toenail, “I just miss him, that’s all.”

“You had him less than a week—that’s already too long. Who lets a 24-year-old get a full-size coonhound? In an apartment. Nuts!” Leysa grumbled at the age reference. Ever since Eva turned thirty, she’s been lumping twenty-somethings together as a collective group of incapable brats. As if she’s so superior, Leysa sniffed.

Leysa felt the rough stubble on her calves. The dark bruises on her thighs had turned mostly yellow now. I didn’t know what I was doing, she thought as she massaged her skin, moving the blood around. An image of Bexley’s long snout flashed through her mind. Her skin still felt the pinch where his teeth caught hold. At the time, she had mistaken the mouthing for rough play. This could have been worse. They were nips, not bites, but still painful.

Leysa pulled her towel off and flung it on the bed, “I never had a dog before.”

“I know!” Eva puffed out a sigh, sending static through the speaker, “How would you have time for him? You work two jobs.”

“Part time...”

“That’s worse! Anyways… Hey! Don’t you have a hot date today?”

“Uh…” Leysa turned toward her closet. The laundry hamper resembled a super-sized muffin with striped socks sprinkled over the sides. Her long-sleeved shirts were buried in the mound. “We’re meeting for coffee,” she said, pulling a white camisole off its hanger.

“Since when do you drink coffee? Okay, are you coming to Dad’s tomorrow for dinner? Come for once. You can tell me all about it then.”

“Not in front of dad!” Leysa wiggled her hips while hoisting her jeans up and around her bum. The camisole’s smooth polyester caressed her torso as she adjusted its straps. She examined her figure in the mirror then frowned down at the long jagged scar on her right arm. I’ll have to wear a jacket, she supposed.

“Your secret’s safe with me, lover girl,” Eva sent kissy noises through the phone. “Besides, dad has his own crap going on. I don’t think he’s seeing Deanna anymore. Just come!”

Leysa felt a small thrill pulse through her--no more Deanna! Sudden remorse overtook her glee at the thought of their dad moping into his dinner plate. Yet again the fourth chair at the table would be vacant. “Yikes! I’ll think about it,” Leysa and Eva said their goodbyes.

Leysa punched her arms into her jacket sleeves, whirled it over her head and pulled it snug around her shoulders. As she scrambled out and turned her key in the bolt, she checked her phone for the time. Not bad—I’ll make it, and she ran down the stairs pausing only to delicately turn the exterior door handle before she pushed her way outside.

As Leysa approached the coffee shop, her stomach tingled. She looked about the plaza, checking for any sign of her date. A red Camaro rumbled up and parked at the 2’fer-1 Pizza. Its patchy-skinned driver tumbled out and plodded toward the pizza place, plucking bills from his wallet. Giggles poured from the Swirla Mae next door as two pixie-girls danced their way out, each cradling a sugar cone topped with a soft serve swirl.

Leysa’s scar felt itchy under her nylon sleeve. Her mind fluttered back to the incident. That was the year Eva was allowed to drive on her own and began sharing their family’s second car with their mother. When they still had one.

On Fridays, Leysa looked forward to having Eva pick her up rather than having to endure the boisterous bus kids. “Hey there hot mess,” Eva would say while Leysa heaved her backpack into the Impala’s rear, plunked herself in the passenger seat, and slammed the door.

The day of the incident, Leysa remembered rubbing out penciled attempts at dividing fractions and working up a headache in the fluorescent classroom lighting. A metallic glint teased across her desk. Their silver Impala was crawling into the bus lane. Yes! Eva’s really early today. She let her eraser drop to her desk and searched the classroom. She spied Mr. Williams crouched over Noelle’s desk, pointing to a hieroglyphic scribble on the smartboard. Noelle grinned and blinked up at him. Ew—He could be a while, Leysa harrumphed and turned back to the window.

She tried to see inside the car. The Impala driver had springy red hair, not Eva’s dark ponytail--It’s Mom! Is she here to sign me out? The car seemed to be rolling slowly forward without stopping. How come she’s not coming in? Her mother was looking, or so it seemed, but Leysa couldn’t tell where her eyes were focused.  She saw her mother’s hand press against her lips before she extended her palm in Leysa’s direction. The car revved away.

“Mom-mee…” Leysa cried out. Startled classmates’ heads turned and watched her jolt from her chair and dash out to the hall. Her feet drummed by the teacher’s lounge, sped past the principal’s office, and skid around the corner to reach the foyer. Leysa jammed her right fist through the main door’s glass, forcing her way outside.

Red Camaro guy came out carrying an extra large pizza and started up the engine. Leysa’s underarms felt sticky inside her jacket. She unzipped it and fanned herself while surveying the Starbucks patio. A plump woman sat under the only umbrella for shade. From her bosom, a chihuahua’s beady eyes followed a morsel of banana loaf as it dropped to the ground. A scattering of sparrows picked it over then fluttered past a man reading a newspaper. He slurped his coffee and shuffled the paper.

Leysa felt a sudden tap on her shoulder. She spun around and met with a snug embrace, “Paola!” Her hair smelled of vanilla and was soft against her cheek.

“Hi Leysa,” Paola held Leysa’s hands as they each took a step back and examined one another. Paola’s smile was electric.

“Sorry I’m late…” Leysa realised she wasn’t, in fact, tardy for their meeting at all. “Huh, should we grab something?” She turned her chin toward the Starbucks, indicating the door.

Paola giggled and squeezed Leysa’s hand, “Yes. Let’s!”

Inside, jazz mingled with the espresso machine’s whirrs. The barista greeted them with a smirk, eyes darting expectantly toward the empty tip jar.

Leysa whipped out her debit card. “Would you like to order first?” she asked Paola who was ogling the pastry display.

“You go ahead,” Paola answered, admiring the brownies and cake pops.

Leysa ordered one coffee. It was when Paola stepped up to the counter and asked, “Can I’va water, please,” that Leysa realised she was drenched in sweat. Paola hugged her ice-cold water with one hand and deposited coins in the barista’s tip jar with the other--kerplunk. They slid out the door to the patio. Leysa pressed her fingertips to her cup’s edge, forming an air cushion between her hand and the scalding liquid.

Outside, the plump woman’s attention was engrossed in taking selfies. Her chihuahua kept sentry, letting out a sharp, Yip, as they walked past. The man at the next table closed up his newspaper and fanned himself.

Leysa plopped her coffee cup on a table near the patio’s edge and shucked off her jacket. It was only as she flung it over her chair that she caught sight of her bare arms, Oh dammit! Too late—Paola was already sliding her cardigan off, placing it over her chair, and puffing a sigh of relief.  Maybe she won’t notice, Leysa hoped.

“This is Pierre,” Paola announced, holding out her cell.

“Your dog?” Leysa leaned-in to get a closer look, flattening her palms on the tabletop. The screen showed a brindle French bulldog sporting a navy bowtie.

“We’re besties,” Paola slipped her phone back in her pocket. “Got off to a rough start, though. Stubborn little guy!” She chuckled and tapped her finger on Leysa’s wrist.

Leysa’s cheeks flushed. She tried not to think about Bexley.

“Does it hurt?”

“Huh?” Oh, crap! She means the scar.

Paola was now pressing her fingertips across Leysa’s forearm. She asked, “How did it happen?”

“It’s not as bad as it looks—I mean, I’m okay,” Leysa’s forearm had a toothed line of shiny scar tissue rolling up it like a lightning bolt. “Y’know how some doors have a mesh between the glass?” Leysa flexed and tried to take back her arm.

Paola closed her fingers around Leysa’s wrist and studied her face, “Like, to stop break-ins?”

“Yeah, well, to keep things from going through,” Leysa took a breath. “Growing up, my school didn’t have that—just glass.” Leysa looked out toward the street. The pavement had a wet, sweltering appearance. “I was in a hurry to… get outside.”

“It’s serious. Your parents must have worried!” Leysa hadn’t considered that before—someone at her school must have called her father. Mr. Williams tied his belt around her arm to stop the blood while they rushed her to emergency. Her father was there when she first came-to after the surgery. Her father and sister sat alongside her bed in the recovery room.  Mom’s suitcases, Leysa realised, were already packed and gone.

“My dad,” Leysa recalled, “told me I could have whatever I wanted for dinner after I got out of the hospital.”

Paola grinned, “And?”

“…and I said, ‘Let’s get sundaes!’ So, y’know, we did.” Leysa remembered how they had stopped for ice cream—just the three of them. She licked the chocolate drizzle off her spoon while their father fidgeted with his wedding band. Their silence was broken only when another customer asked to take the empty chair from their table. By then, their sundaes had turned to soup. Yeah, it’s serious. Dad must have worried. “I haven’t had one since,” she added.

Paola’s eyes twinkled and focused on something over Leysa’s shoulder. “Just a minute…” and she walked off. Leysa wasn’t sure if she should look back, get up and follow her, or just leave. She stared at her coffee, watching a bee circle the cup’s edge.

Ping! Eva’s text message popped up on Leysa’s phone, “How’s it going, hot mess?” Not sure, she wanted to say, but didn’t text back. Paola’s cardigan still hung on her chair.

Leysa logged-in to check for updates. A photo of Bexley snoozing on a recliner appeared in the newsfeed. “Happy in his new Fur-Ever home,” said the caption. Good. What did people do before social media? Leysa typed her mother’s name into the search engine. Nothing. I’ll never know. She pocketed her phone. A wet ring was forming around Paola’s ice water.

“I wasn’t sure which one you like best,” Paola called from behind. Leysa looked up as Paola plunked two objects on their table. That electric smile of hers was back in full, “I hope chocolate is alright.”

Leysa blinked and looked at the table between them. Two sundaes from the Swirla Mae.

“Oh!” Leysa leaned back in her chair and laughed. They each picked up a sundae and clinked them like champagne flutes. Leysa wasn’t sure just then if her face was moist with sweat, or something else. No matter. She’ll be going to her dad’s tomorrow, after all. And she’ll tell him all about it. For once. It’s a start.

Pauline Shen is a part-time student pursuing studies in creative writing. She completed her B.A. (psychology) and B.Ed. (intermediate-senior) at The University of Western Ontario.