I'm sipping it slowly, thinking he's stood me up, that I made a mistake. Wouldn't be the first time.
We women know we're the prize of Creation. Sure, some of us might think we fall short of the ideal, don't meet the standard suggested by this world, perhaps believing ourselves too fat, too thin, too tall, too short or just plain ugly. But there's bound to be a man out there somewhere, a soul who will show interest nonetheless. It's just a matter of patience, of waiting.
Many years ago I learned to keep my ears open and my mouth closed. That made me feel more intelligent, reserved. More importantly, it also meant I could listen to what a man's words revealed about himself, his personality, about how he really regarded me.
This guy Ross seemed warm and pleasant last week when we met in the local library. By chance, we were both asking the library assistant about requesting the same novel, a newly published CRIME & DETECTIVE thriller reckoned to be a real page-turner. We then spent a good ten minutes comparing and chatting about our favourite authors. He said he had to go away for a few days on business but did I want to meet up. Of course, I said yes.
And so here I am, dressed to the nines, apparently stood up, on my second coffee and over-caffeinated. He's twenty-five minutes late. I arrived ten minutes early. How can I enjoy the rest of my afternoon after such a humiliating disappointment?
Though he wore no ring I begin to imagine he's married, maybe considering cheating on his wife. He looks in his mid-forties, so that wouldn't be an unreasonable guess. Maybe he has kids who have now flown the nest? Has he let down other women?
Picking up my coat and purse I head for the ladies room. There's bound to be a free cubicle where I can sit a few moments and reorientate my mind, shake off my increasingly bad mood. But this guy will receive short shrift from now on. I don't like excuses.
There's a mirror on the inside of the cubicle door. It's at eye level from where I'm sat. The woman looking back at me forms a smile - one that appears sardonic at the mouth but becomes wistful where it meets the eyes.
F*ck it, what am I doing here? I've got friends I can hang out with. I apply a fresh smear of lipstick. You look a million dollars - any man is a fool to pass you up.
Back out in the bistro I see Ross sitting at the table I just vacated. Looking dejected, his head hangs low and his eyes are closed. The roses he's holding point down at the floor.
"Hello," I say, putting hand on shoulder, kissing his smoothly shaved cheek, sucking in his soft man-flesh.