Blind Date

“I broke my promise to him,” Annie admitted, rubbing the rim of the mug and sucking the sweetness of cream off her finger to chase the bitter taste of the words from her mouth. “I listened to my sisters, and I turned on the light. I haven’t seen him since.”

Dita wiped her mouth with her napkin. “Yes. I know.”

“You know?” Annie met her eyes, feeling like someone had punched her in the stomach.

“Yes.” Dita tucked her napkin under her saucer. “He told me about you. Do you think I invite every girl who calls looking for him out to coffee?” Annie gripped her mug, her eyes wide. “How did you know it was me? The story about the reunion…I only gave you my first name…”

“Caller I.D., dear.” This time Dita’s eyes were smiling, but her mouth was not. “Isn’t the modern world a wonderful thing?” Annie sat back in her chair, feeling warm and woozy. “So can you tell me where he is?”

Dita shrugged one shoulder. “In a manner of speaking. I can tell you where he will most likely be.”

Annie’s mouth tightened. “Now I know where Eric got all his mysterious bullshit from.”

Dita laughed, and this time it was like silver heat. “Perhaps.” Annie rose, snatching for her purse. “Excuse me a moment.”

“Of course, dear.”

Annie’s purse strap snagged and pulled the chair, bumping the table edge as she tugged. She gasped as she watched the two paper bags totter and tip.

She moved to catch them, but the rich, glossy beans spilled onto the floor. She stood stooped, transfixed, her hands still out to catch the impossible flood, her eyes wide and mouth agape.

Dita’s eyes met hers. “Well…that’s a mess.”

“I’m so sorry!” Annie swept the beans up with a fist and began to put them back into one of the bags. “I’m sure he has more. I’ll pay for them. It was my fault.”

“Please, don’t mix them,” Dita cautioned her, shaking her head.

“I’m sorry.” Annie dropped the bag, her whole body feeling like a bright red apology as she crouched on the tile floor.

“These are still usable,” Dita explained. “He only gets a shipment once every three months.”

Annie surveyed the scattered disarray of mixed beans. “I’ll pick them up, then.”

“That would be kind of you. I’ll be back to help you in a moment.” Dita smiled down at her as she stepped carefully through the widespread litter of beans. “And please, cocoa in one, coffee in another. Yes?” Annie nodded, her head pounding. It will take forever to sort all these! She sighed, lining the two bags up on the floor and squatting down. She glanced at her watch. She was supposed to meet a client in half an hour. There wasn’t anything else to do but begin putting the raw, light-colored beans in one bag and the dark, aromatic beans in the other. After a few moments, her back began to hurt and she carefully cleared a spot to sit, cross-legged on the floor as she sorted.

The tile felt cool under her bare legs. Good thing it isn’t winter anymore.

She remembered how cold the tile was in her sister’s kitchen that night. She could see Eric’s hands, and she could feel his mouth, burning against her neck.

Annie looked toward the alcove where Dita had disappeared. They’re probably both back there laughing at me. Her face reddened at the thought.

At least no one is likely to come in! She glanced at the front door. She hadn’t even seen anyone pass by the window. She began sorting one bean at a time-light, dark, light, dark-into the bags. This seemed to be taking too long, and she reconsidered, making a pile of each on the floor first, sliding her hand through the mixed beans like a divider, light over here, dark over there. Although it was still tedious, the chore moved along faster.

Aside from her embarrassment, Annie found herself starting to enjoy the task. It was hypnotic, and even pleasant, creating order out of chaos. The monotonous routine became a gentle rhythm as she sorted. Her mind began to wander, randomly focusing on her past. Memories of her sisters flooded in, their love for her, their protection. Nothing was ever good enough for “our Annie.” She was too beautiful, too perfect.

Annie recalled the last man she was involved with, flushing at the memory.

Craig was a great guy with a truly generous heart. They’d met during one of her sisters’ many attempts to find her the perfect man, this one a “speed dating” routine. It was once again her sisters’ influence that had convinced her that Craig wasn’t “the one.” She had broken up with him two years ago on their advice-all because he was “just an elementary school teacher” and, as Chloe had put it,

“financially limited.”