This Mess We're In
You asked her to meet you here. She's late and you arrived early, which means: you wait. And wait. The waitress pours you more coffee, and you know you must look like hell from the pity in her smile.
(How could you do this to me?)
Amy sits across from you without a word of greeting. She doesn't even meet your eyes until she's ordered her coffee. "You been waiting long?" she asks.
"Yes."
"You're supposed to say no," she smiles. "Keeps the other person from feeling bad."
"That's not our biggest problem."
"The pictures? They're no big deal."
You blanche. Your voice rises. "No big deal?"
"Yeah, Donna. We're two people over the age of consent, not cheating on a spouse, not fucking each other in the street. I was holding your hand for Christ sakes. If we were candidates for office running in conservative areas, we'd have a problem."
"This wasn't supposed to be something everybody knows."
"Half of D.C. knew already."
(I loved you.)
A half-sob escapes before, "He didn't."
A strange look passes over her face. Satisfaction at a slap she'd been expecting. She shakes her head, says in a monotone, "If you didn't want to hurt Josh, you shouldn't have fucked me."
You place your hand on your forehead. "What are we going to do?"
"There's no we here," she exhales.
And you don't know what is here.
(Just leave.)