looked sharply handsome as always, his black hair freshly trimmed short to match the baby-smooth skin of his cheeks. Timothy was one to maintain his appearance, spending far too much time in the mirror for what I always thought was such a negligible improvement.
There were two cups in front of him.
"Effie!" he said excitedly. We hugged in the most platonic way possible and then sat down.
"Hey, Tim. How are ya?"
"I'm great. Learning to get around. I got you an Americano."
"Oh?" I asked. That whole learning to get around bit seemed like somewhat of a red flag, but I did my best to not make any assumptions. "Thanks," I said. I took a sip and then set the cup back down.
"It's such a big place. I'm just not used to it. How is your job?"
"It's fine." I wanted to say more, but I also didn't want to give him the opportunity to get re-attached. It seemed like my omission of further details seemed to rub him the wrong way.
"Listen, Effie," he said. Yep, I was right.
Oh, God. Here it comes .
"Yeah?"
"I want to try again." He looked so enthusiastic, so full of hope. I swallowed a lump in my throat.
"Tim, I don't know if that's—"
"I'm living here now, Effie! I took a job here for you !" His enthusiasm reached a peak; I almost fainted.
Chapter 6
I never believed in happy endings. No, it wasn't a lack of optimism or an excess of negativity that had found a home inside my body. Neither, really. The world seemed too complex for anything to be broken down into such simple terms as happy or sad . Everyone wanted happy and no one wanted sad.
Was there something in between?
Could anyone have a journey that went on for years that was perfect every single morning? Perfect mornings that led into perfect afternoons and then concluded with perfect evenings? Top it off with perfect nights and you've got more perfect than you know what to do with.
Can so much perfect actually be perfect?
Okay, so maybe that meant you needed some blemishes to really appreciate what you had. Imperfections, trials and tribulations. It would bring people closer together, uniting them through their shared challenges. I had not stumbled upon some magical wisdom or anything else—this was life .
People tried to get along.
I agreed with that notion. Did that mean that many people out there weren't actually happy with each other? Yeah, sure. Probably most people I knew fell into that category. My parents were the same way—happy until the real world made very clear what it was and what it was about to do to them . They got along and were close, but I didn't feel like much magic remained, if any.
When I was young, I imagined myself with some magical prince, a man that would provide for me and take care of me while I did stuff around the house for him. Quite the sexist fantasy for a prepubescent gal. I didn't have any ambitions then, no desire to pursue a career or anything else. I was also about seven , so upon reflection, it wasn't such a big deal.
Timothy was the traditionalist in my world. He had been the heavy weight that brought me down, leaving me stranded and confused. Family this, family that. It's gotta be this way because it always has been. The dreaded fallacy of tradition . I ran away from him because he wasn't healthy for me. He needed a woman like my former, emotionally under-developed, seven-year-old self. Notice the use of the word former —that just wasn't me anymore.
"I can't be that for you," I said for the second time. Timothy's fingers wouldn't stop moving, a sign that he was very nervous. I kept trying to ignore it, trying to ignore that telltale sign that things were going to get messy.
"Effie, I came here for you. I gave up the other job, the one that was close to my family. I moved away because I wanted you , not them." His tone was centimeters away from harsh .
"I didn't ask for it." I took a sip of my Americano and slammed the cup down on the table louder than I had intended, most likely sending the wrong signal.
There were two cups in front of him.
"Effie!" he said excitedly. We hugged in the most platonic way possible and then sat down.
"Hey, Tim. How are ya?"
"I'm great. Learning to get around. I got you an Americano."
"Oh?" I asked. That whole learning to get around bit seemed like somewhat of a red flag, but I did my best to not make any assumptions. "Thanks," I said. I took a sip and then set the cup back down.
"It's such a big place. I'm just not used to it. How is your job?"
"It's fine." I wanted to say more, but I also didn't want to give him the opportunity to get re-attached. It seemed like my omission of further details seemed to rub him the wrong way.
"Listen, Effie," he said. Yep, I was right.
Oh, God. Here it comes .
"Yeah?"
"I want to try again." He looked so enthusiastic, so full of hope. I swallowed a lump in my throat.
"Tim, I don't know if that's—"
"I'm living here now, Effie! I took a job here for you !" His enthusiasm reached a peak; I almost fainted.
Chapter 6
I never believed in happy endings. No, it wasn't a lack of optimism or an excess of negativity that had found a home inside my body. Neither, really. The world seemed too complex for anything to be broken down into such simple terms as happy or sad . Everyone wanted happy and no one wanted sad.
Was there something in between?
Could anyone have a journey that went on for years that was perfect every single morning? Perfect mornings that led into perfect afternoons and then concluded with perfect evenings? Top it off with perfect nights and you've got more perfect than you know what to do with.
Can so much perfect actually be perfect?
Okay, so maybe that meant you needed some blemishes to really appreciate what you had. Imperfections, trials and tribulations. It would bring people closer together, uniting them through their shared challenges. I had not stumbled upon some magical wisdom or anything else—this was life .
People tried to get along.
I agreed with that notion. Did that mean that many people out there weren't actually happy with each other? Yeah, sure. Probably most people I knew fell into that category. My parents were the same way—happy until the real world made very clear what it was and what it was about to do to them . They got along and were close, but I didn't feel like much magic remained, if any.
When I was young, I imagined myself with some magical prince, a man that would provide for me and take care of me while I did stuff around the house for him. Quite the sexist fantasy for a prepubescent gal. I didn't have any ambitions then, no desire to pursue a career or anything else. I was also about seven , so upon reflection, it wasn't such a big deal.
Timothy was the traditionalist in my world. He had been the heavy weight that brought me down, leaving me stranded and confused. Family this, family that. It's gotta be this way because it always has been. The dreaded fallacy of tradition . I ran away from him because he wasn't healthy for me. He needed a woman like my former, emotionally under-developed, seven-year-old self. Notice the use of the word former —that just wasn't me anymore.
"I can't be that for you," I said for the second time. Timothy's fingers wouldn't stop moving, a sign that he was very nervous. I kept trying to ignore it, trying to ignore that telltale sign that things were going to get messy.
"Effie, I came here for you. I gave up the other job, the one that was close to my family. I moved away because I wanted you , not them." His tone was centimeters away from harsh .
"I didn't ask for it." I took a sip of my Americano and slammed the cup down on the table louder than I had intended, most likely sending the wrong signal.
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