The weather the next day was miserable and bleak. Ominous clouds loomed overhead, threatening to drop a monsoon of rain upon us in the blink of an eye. Excluding the morning regulars like Susan and George, the cafe was consequently vacant for the majority of the morning. The lack of customers gave me time to run across the road to the pharmacy and grab some painkillers. Even though I hadn’t experienced any stomach pains since last night with Grace, I figured it would be best if I had some on standby, just in case another bout of pain assailed me again.
Cathy was out back organising finances, so Alex and I held down the front of house—me taking the orders and Alex making the coffee. It was nice to have a bit of time for just the two of us because I got to learn more about the mysterious barista and the gallery of tattoos displayed across his arms. He initially joked that if he told me he would have to kill me but, after some carefully placed chocolate pastries, courtesy of resident chef Joe, I was able to coax Alex into divulging the story of the woman on his right bicep. It was a woman from Slovenia whom he had met whilst travelling on the Trans-Siberian Railway. She was running away from an arranged marriage that was set up by her father. After learning the horror of what she had lived through, he smuggled her through Mongolia all the way to Beijing. They got married there and lived together for three years before her father found her location. He sent out a hit man and Alex’s wife was killed later that week.
The sheer shock and grief at the story Alex told me lead to tears escaping my eyes and, before I knew it, I was apologising profusely. However, even with his back to me, facing the coffee machine as he worked, the shudder of his shoulders told me enough—he wasn’t crying, he was laughing!
Although I demanded that he turn around, it was only after he finished pouring the coffee that he finally placed the cup on the counter and faced me. Tears were running down his face in pure amusement. My mouth slackened and my eyebrows rose in confusion. Crossing my arms over my chest, my impatience grew with his lack of explanation, but Alex only laughed harder.
Oh, come on Marle, you have to admit that was funny!
Without a flinch I just stood there, gobsmacked, until a hint of a smile ruined my attempt at a cold demeanour.
You asshole, I joked.
Walking closer to him, I grabbed a tea towel and wrapped it around my hand.
He saw what I was doing and repeated: You have to admit that it was funny!
I shook my head again, smiled and replied: Tell that to the tea towel.
He only had a second to ponder my words in confusion before I released one end of the tea towel and whipped it towards his legs. Upon contact, Alex winced in pain, then laughed even harder and added: Wow, someone missed their morning coffee!
He nursed his leg. His skin turning a soft pink hue where he was whipped. I smiled.
So, if she’s not your dead wife from Slovenia, then who is she? I pressed for an answer.
Alex released his leg to stand up straight before he shrugged his shoulders and answered, just some woman I met in France when I was nineteen. I was young and drunk. Nothing else to it really.
When he turned back around to the coffee machine to continue working on the orders, I leant over and picked up the coffee he finished earlier.
I liked the mysterious barista vibe you had before, I informed him.
Chuckling again at his own joke, Alex simply resumed making coffee.
My poor Slovenian wife, he chuckled.
Having learnt not to ask Alex about his tattoos, the rest of my shift flew by without a hiccup. Arriving home, I kicked off my shoes at the front door and proceeded to walk through to the kitchen, sorting through the mail as I went. Noting nothing of interest, I placed the mail on the counter and relished in the surprise that Grace had been grocery shopping. With all that had gone on, restocking the fridge slipped my mind. It was little tasks like that that Grace maintained to a fault. Regardless of the storm that she was waging through, she always found a way to juggle it all.
From behind my back a voice said: Wow, do they not feed you at the cafe?
With a mouth full of bagel and my hands holding salmon and cream cheese packaging, I swung around to see Grace standing by the entryway into the kitchen.
Like a deer in the headlights, I mumbled: You know that bagels are my Achilles’ heel.
Muttering something along the lines of ‘you hungry hippo’ under her breath, she proceeded to walk past the kitchen and towards the veranda. She collected her running shoes from outside and turned back around to face me.
Did you want to join me for a run along the beach?
Dangling her shoes up as a way to entice me, I swallowed my last mouthful of salmon bagel and asked: You do know that if we’re running on sand, then you won’t need your shoes?
She sat down on the couch to start lacing up her runners and said: The sand has been ice cold the past two days. Looking over Grace saw my confusion, waved over her shoulder and said: By all means, you’re welcome to go barefoot and risk it, but I would heed my advice if I were you.
Licking the remnants of cream cheese from my fingers, I nodded okay and turned to go change.
Does that mean you’re coming with me? she asked.
I turned back around to face Grace and rubbed my stomach for emphasis before saying: Someone ate one too many Nutella-stuffed croissants this morning.
Grace shook her head and said: Go get changed, would you?
I saluted her demand and spun around to wobble down the hallway. Feeling the weight of a million bagels trying to be digested, a part of me wanted to lie down in the sun and wait until my stomach stopped grumbling but I knew that I needed to run. I needed to keep my legs moving, otherwise I was going to turn into a hippo, especially at the rate I was eating now.
I pulled a shirt over my head and slid my feet halfway into my runners as I dashed out of the house, slamming the door behind me. Sitting in silence as Grace pulled out of the driveway, I felt oddly clammy. Like the feeling of overheating before you faint, the temperature in the car started to rise. Whispering ‘not today Satan’ in my head, I twisted the air conditioning to full blast at the lowest temperature setting and reclined my chair. Grace looked over to where I sat with one leg pulled up as I tried tying my shoelaces and said: We really should book you in to see the doctor.
I closed my eyes in frustration, then switched legs and continued to tie my shoelaces. Aware that I was intentionally ignoring her, Grace nevertheless spoke again.
Hear me out, Marle. Whether you decide to keep the child or not, you still need to see a doctor to assess your own health at least.
Knowing that her reasoning came from a place of love, I simmered down and acknowledged what she was trying to say. With both shoes firmly on, I leant back into the seat and agreed that I would look into it tomorrow. Satisfied that she was finally getting somewhere with me, Grace smiled and her shoulders visibly relaxed.
I’m proud of you Marle, she said. And it’s not as if you’ll be doing this alone. I promise I’ll be with you every step of the way.
We pulled into a car park right by the sand and she killed the ignition, rotating in her seat. Grabbing my hand, which rested on the middle compartment, Grace looked pointedly into my eyes.
You and me, Marle.
I could feel a wave of emotion rising to the surface, threatening to burst a dam of tears from my eyes so I just squeezed Grace’s hand in return.
I know.