I blow out the tea candle and the image of me vanishes. I run a hand through my wet hair. My clothes are dripping onto the hardwood floor. Maybe I should have wrung them out a little before I came in. Thankfully this corner of the café is dark enough to keep me unnoticed.
I take a few deep breaths to calm myself, and glance around the room. The woman at the table near me is reading a book. I don’t want her to overhear the phone call, so I wait a little. She is sitting alone, dressed all in black, and I wonder if she works here. Maybe she’s reading on her break. She sips her tea slowly, making me anxious. It isn’t until she gets up to leave that I breathe easier. I pull out my phone. It’s almost nine. How did it get this late? This is the first I’ve been aware of the time since I left the house. There are no new messages or missed calls. I guess no one noticed I was gone.
I set my phone down on the table and pick it up again. I do this several more times until I lose count. The smell of caffeine and chai singes my nose. Now that I’ve made it out of the woods, and am thinking more clearly, the thought of calling Sam again seems ridiculous. Whatever happened out there was probably all in my head. At least, I think so. Have I completely lost it?
I must have, because I pick up the phone again and dial his number.
The call goes through. I hear the first ring and hold my breath. But he picks up almost instantly.
“Hey … I was waiting for you.”
The sound of his voice floods me with relief. I bring my fingers up to my mouth to contain a sound. I don’t know whether to feel confused or relieved or a mixture of both.
“Sam—” I say his name without thinking.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d call back,” he says. “Thought you might have forgotten.”
“I didn’t forget. I wasn’t sure where to go.”
“Where did you end up?”
I turn my head and look up at the stained-glass transom above the door without thinking. From inside the café, the mosaic letters reflect backward in gold and blue lantern light.
“Sun and Moon.”
“The café where I used to work?” he asks. I almost forgot. It’s been a while since I’ve been back here. Sam goes quiet for a moment, and I feel him listening to the background noises through the phone. Suddenly I become aware of them, too—the sound of stools scratching against wood floor, the clink of a spoon on a ceramic plate, the low murmurs of a conversation from across the room. “That’s where I first talked to you. You were sitting in the back of the café. Do you remember?”
My mind flashes back to that day. A black apron, the steam from a warm latte, a paper lily on the front counter. Sam brought over my drink before I could order and we talked for hours. That was almost three years ago. This is the same table, isn’t it? The one in the back, by the window. I almost didn’t notice.
“You used to order a honey lavender latte. I still remember. You never order that anymore, though. You drink coffee now. At least, you try to,” he says with a laugh.
It feels like yesterday we were sitting here together. But I can’t think about this right now. “Sam…” I say to bring him back.
“Remember that time you wanted an espresso to finish your paper, but I said it was way too late for that?” he goes on, almost reminiscently. “You kept insisting, so I made it anyway, and you couldn’t sleep the entire night. You got so mad at me…”
“I wasn’t mad at you. I was just cranky.”
“Remember the concert, that night I got my guitar signed? We ended up at the café, too, isn’t that right? We shared one of those half-moon cookies … you know with the white icing? The ones you said don’t look like moons at all? Remember that?”
Of course I remember. The memory is fresh in my head, sending a flutter to my stomach. I was wearing his denim jacket, the one I threw out this morning. We were soaking wet from the rain. Exactly like I am right now. My heart is pounding. Why is he bringing these things up again? These memories. I don’t think I can’t hear any more of them. “Why are you doing this?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“Reminding me of all this…”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Sam—” I start.
Something interrupts me. A shoulder with black sleeves emerges as someone pulls a chair around, taking the table behind me. At the same moment the door swings open as another couple comes in, folding down an umbrella. It’s getting too crowded in here. I turn back to face the window, and lower my voice. “I wish you could tell me what’s going on,” I say. “How do I know if this is real?”