The small French bistro was their favorite brunch spot. It was the same as ever:: tables packed with young couples and families, the din of happy conversation reverberating off of the tin walls. An excess of heart-shaped decorations lined the walls and hung from the ceiling, a not so subtle nod to the holiday they were supposed to be celebrating.
Although everything seemed the same by all outward appearances, there was something different between them.
There seemed to be a force field around their cozy little corner table, one that was resistant to happiness and inane chatter, to the hand holding and gazing into one another's eyes that usually took place when they ate there. Instead, it encased Dani and Georgette in a bubble of tension that was growing more claustrophobic by the minute.
She took a sip of her tepid coffee, glaring at him while he busied himself with his iPhone and acted as if she wasn't there.
"Tell Obama I said hey," George said as she leaned forward over the small wooden table. Her smooth brown face was impassive when Noah looked up at her, but there was that glint in her dark eyes that had become too familiar over the past few months.
"What?" he asked, his cornflower blue eyes flashing behind his black-framed glasses.
"I figured you must be texting with someone important since you keep forgetting that you're not sitting here alone," she said nonchalantly, one hand gripping her coffee cup while the other reflexively pushed at her mane of long, tightly curled hair, forcing some of it behind the shell of her ear.
He leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his dirty blond hair, a sigh escaping his lips.
"Can we not do this again, George? Or at least not now? I thought today was supposed to be fun."
George put her coffee cup down and shot him an exasperated look.
"Noah, we have to face the fact that something is wrong. Sometimes in relationships you have to talk about things, even if it's hard--"
Just then their waitress appeared, dropping the check onto the middle of the table. Both of their eyes flew to her, but the pretty brunette looked only at Noah when she said, "I hope you enjoyed your meal."
"It was great,' he said, smiling and putting his phone away.
"That's an awesome shirt by the way," the waitress said as she touched his shoulder unnecessarily, her hand lingering a few seconds too long.
"Thanks," George bit out as she stood and snatched her heavy winter jacket from the back of her seat. "I bought it for him from H&M. Maybe you can get your man one for Valentine's Day instead of feeling up on mine. "
She slid into her jacket and stormed out the front door, leaving Noah with the bill.
Noah apologized to the waitress as he paid and headed out, reluctant to get into yet another argument. Things had been so solid between them from the very beginning. They didn't have stupid arguments and they hardly ever bickered. But for the past few weeks there had been an unspoken tension between them. Everything he did seemed to bug George, and she generally looked down in dumps whenever they hung out.
He saw her talking to woman he didn't know on the corner. The woman handed her a cigarette and a lighter. George lit the cigarette and nodded her thanks as she handed the lighter back. When Noah reached her, she fell into step next to him, her hand jerky with agitation as she bought the cigarette to her lips.
"I thought you hadn't smoked in three years," he said quietly.
"It was a good run," she said exhaling, "but some things weren't meant to last."
Noah didn't respond. He looked straight ahead at the sidewalk that stretched in front of them, avoiding puddles of slush when he could.
"What is going on, Georgie? Why don't you just talk to me for once instead of getting mad?"
She tried to keep her voice even when she replied, but she could hear how tremulous it sounded.
"I get mad because when I try to talk to you, you don't listen. You ask me to just put my complete faith in you, but when it comes down to it you don't even want to bother having a real discussion. You don't want to put in the work, like this is a game to you or something."
Noah stopped and looked at her, a sneer marring his face. Worse than the sneer was the hurt George saw in his eyes. She wanted to hug him. She also wanted to push him. The whole situation seemed surreal to her, as if she was observing another couple arguing in the street.
"Is that what you really think? That this is a fucking game for me?" his voice was harsh with anger and it shocked her for a moment, but then she remembered that she was supposed to be mad at him and not the other way around.
"I don't know," she said cooly. "Why don't you ask your new best friend in the restaurant?"
"I don't believe this shit. Is this about jealousy?" he exclaimed. Noah had explained to her countless times that he wanted to be with her, and only her, and he couldn't understand why she kept pushing this issue.
"No Noah, this is about the fact that you can spot a black guy looking in our general direction from 50 paces and I'm supposed to feel bad about it, but whenever we go somewhere and some white chick is in your face pretending that I don't exist 'She's just being friendly.'"
"I think you're projecting just a bit--"
"I'm projecting?" George exclaimed, taking another furious puff of her cigarette and then threw it to the ground. She felt buzzed from the nicotine, and not in a pleasant way. She felt like she should yell at him, to get his attention any way she could, but her anger had already burnt out. Now she just felt tired and sad. She looked at Noah.
His hair hung down over his glasses and his lips were drawn tight. Even though he was angry, she knew he was already thinking about when she would acquiesce and he could get back to pretending nothing was wrong.
"I can't do this anymore," she said, not realizing it had been out loud until his eyes snapped to hers, wide and unreadable.
"George--" he reached for her hand.
"No." She backed away from him.
She knew if she felt his skin on hers then it would be over. She had to act now, while she was still strong.
"I'll...I'm gonna go.."
"Are you kidding me? Will I see you tonight at least?" he asked.
Her mouth opened and closed.
"Tonight? Right now I'm not sure about 'ever again'," she said.
She turned and jogged off, heading back toward her apartment.
Noah stood frozen in place for a moment as George's figure retreated into the distance. Fear surged through him and he longed to run after her, but anger masquerading under the guise of common sense stopped him.
Fuck this, he thought as he turned and stomped in the direction of his own apartment. Is it really worth dealing with all this craziness? She can come apologize to me if she wants to talk. I should have known from the beginning she'd be nothing but trouble...
*****
Spring, the year before
Noah couldn't help but notice her ass. He was minding his business, endorphins still running high from the soccer game his team had just won , and then there it was.
She was on all fours in the middle of the park. Wearing a short black skirt. Her underwear were blue with white stars, and as he closed the distance between them he realized they were Wonder Woman bottoms. She was reaching under a bush for something, unaware that her smooth thighs (he was somehow sure they were smooth) were attracting the attention of every guy within a one-block radius.
Just as he was about to pass her, some primitive part of his brain took control and redirected him. Before he knew it he was on the ground next to her. He had dropped his gym bag and was on his knees peering under the bush , too.
Her head snapped in his direction and he flashed her a grin.
"Nice undaroos," he said.
She sat back on her haunches and looked at him, unsure if he was a threat. Her small hands rested on her thighs.
Her skin was the color of toasted almonds. She wore a black shirt that showed a hint of her generous bosom. Her hair was unstraightened, and when she sat back it fluffed out around her face like a soft frame, focusing your attention on her big dark eyes and full lips.
"What are you doing?" she asked in the tone of someone who has limited patience and was trying to mete it out slowly.
"I'm seeing what the deal is with this bush," he said sitting up with a crooked grin on his face. "It's not burning, it's not singing, but it has you so interested that you're flashing half the borough."
"Oh!" she cried, pushing down at the back of her skirt, and then shrugging. "Too late for that I suppose."
"I'd say," he chuckled.
"Well, you owe me a dollar. This peep show isn't free."
She was back on all fours before he knew it, this time making a strange 'psst'ing noise. She looked up at him and Noah felt his heart skip a beat.
"There's a kitten under here," she said. "I saw him run under but he's backed up against that tree and won't come out. I would just crash through and grab him, but I don't want him to run off. Or have a kitty heart attack."
"Why don't you use your Lasso of Truth to pull him out?" he asked.
She rolled her eyes.
"Or," Noah rooted around in his duffel bag, pulled out a plastic bottle, and held it up to her. "This should do the trick," he said as he unscrewed the cap.
She sat back again
"Muscle Milk? Is that safe? Doesn't that have growth hormones or steroids or something in it?" she asked.
He held up one arm and patted his lean, but defined, biceps.
"Hey, I need those steroids more than this cat does, but I'm willing to share."
He poured a little of the drink into the palm of his hand and held it near the edge of the bush.
