A Cup of Coffee

Thank you to blackrandl1958 for her editing skill.

Nothing new here. Several writers have done stories about the fallout from a character's actions. This is my attempt.

"I don't speak your crazy coffee language. Just give me the two biggest cups of regular coffee that you serve," I said to the young barista at the Starbucks that was in my neighborhood.

The kid looked to be about 20. Hell, they all looked to be about 20. Shit, I could barely remember when I was 20.

It didn't take him very long to pour me two cups of coffee after I paid him in cash. He had to make change, and stumbled doing that. He grimaced as he was counting the money. I knew he was upset with me for not paying by credit card, like everybody else does. Sue me, I'm old. I own it.

I took my two cups of coffee and my 57-year-old ass to an empty table in the back of the café. I waited about two minutes before she walked in, looked around for me and headed over to my table. I've got to admit I was pissed at how good she looked. She was the same age as me, but looked 10 years younger. She had obviously been hitting the gym and was down about 10 pounds. The golden blonde hair still came from her hairdresser.

I didn't do the polite thing and stand as she approached. Fuck it. She was lucky that I finally agreed to meet her five years after our divorce.

"Couldn't you have picked some place that knows how to brew a good cup of coffee?" I asked with more than a little tone of disgust in my voice. "Jesus, Traci, these kids couldn't make a good cup of regular coffee if Juan Valdez was here teaching them."

She gave me a nervous grin as she sat down in the chair across from me.

"I don't want to fight, Ben. I just want to finally... get some closure. I screwed up so badly. I sort of knew it then; I definitely know it now. I took you for granted. I mistook kindness for weakness. I let 'we' become 'me' because I was a selfish bitch," Traci said.

"I sit in my apartment at night by myself watching something on TV. I couldn't even tell you what. I'm by myself. Got nobody to talk to. I miss our conversations, especially the inane ones. I miss the little things, the touches, the smiles. I always thought we'd be together to the end. Even when I was doing what I did, I still thought we'd be together to the end.

"I never considered that I'd get caught. I was taken in by a skilled seducer...

"No, that's not right. He was a skilled seducer, but I wasn't taken in. I went willingly, because I was stupid... and selfish."

She said all this while studying her cup of coffee. She never once looked up at me.

I was staring silently at her while she lifted her cup to her lips. How many times in our 27 years of marriage did I kiss those lips? How many times did she slide those lips over my cock? I suddenly realized she was staring back at me.

"You asked to meet. It's your story to tell," I said.

"I've asked to meet you many times since you filed for divorce. Why now?" she queried.

"Because it took me all this time to get to the point where I could talk without feeling like I want to strangle you," I said. "I loved you completely, probably still love you somewhat. You betrayed that love... for what, some cheap sex? You betrayed my trust. What did I do to deserve that?" I answered.

"Not a thing," she answered softly. "It was all on me."

I'd like to pretend I was over it by this point and didn't need answers. I'd like to pretend that, but it was far from true. They say the opposite of love isn't hate; it's indifference. I wasn't over the hate yet on the way to indifferent.

"Okay, then, tell me how this happened. Tell me why it happened," I said.

"The why is easy," she started. "I had just turned 50, feeling a little old, a little unwanted. You know, when I walked into a room, men's heads didn't turn as much as they used to.

"I know. I know. You always told me and showed me that I was beautiful to you, but sometimes we women want to be validated by... other people.

"I guess Edward could see that I was needy. We had been co-workers for years, and occasionally talked, but all of a sudden, he became my best buddy. We were talking almost every day, and the conversations had started getting deeper, more personal. He was a good-looking guy, and several of the single women in the place had been out on dates with him and rated him highly. I knew he was a player, but I figured I was in control of this situation. Apparently, I was wrong."

"So just like that you threw us away?" I asked, feeling my stomach start to roil.

"Well, it didn't happen quite that quickly," she answered. "We did a few lunches, a dinner or two when I told you I was working late, lots of coffee breaks. I knew where he was leading me, and I went there."

"How long, Traci?" I rasped.

"About a year, I guess," she replied. "When he finally got me into bed, it was exciting. He was new, different and it was so wrong. I guess that was why I got over my guilt pretty quickly. Plus, if you didn't know, how was it hurting you? I never gave you any less. I never did anything with him that I didn't do with you.

"I know it sounds trite, Ben, but it really was just sex. It was fun, but there was no love. Never would have been."

"So you're telling me that 'fun' trumped our marriage vows. Perfect," I sighed.

"It would have run its course and you wouldn't have been any the wiser if it wasn't for the block busybody. We'd still be married and we'd both be much happier. Why couldn't we have just gone back to that point?" she said.

The only reason I caught her was because my retired neighbor, Ralph Gordon, called me one day to report that my wife and a man had gone into my home in the middle of the day, and he didn't think it looked right. I jumped in my car and walked in on Traci and Edward fucking in my marital bed 20 minutes later.

I interrupted the pair by clubbing him on the back of his head with the side of my fist, causing both a concussion as their heads collided. I screamed at the cowering duo for another five minutes before I walked out the door.

"Because we were done the minute I knew you were cheating. An 'I'm sorry' doesn't quite wipe out the damage done," I said.

"I made a mistake, a big mistake. I know you've made mistakes. Did you have to go nuclear? We could have gotten past it," Traci said.

"Not hardly," I rasped. "We were married for 27 years. Whatever gave you the impression that I would give you a free pass for a year-long affair?"

"Okay, so that was five years ago. You're alone. I'm alone. The kids are pissed at both of us. Why can't we try again? We had 27 good years together," she said.

"To be accurate, we had 26 good years together. That last year certainly wasn't good from my standpoint," I commented.

"You knew what you were doing was wrong, whether or not I found out about it," I added.

"By the way, what happened with lover-boy after I left?"

She sipped her coffee for a second. She saw me watching her intently, but she still couldn't stop herself from flinching.

"He moved on to someone younger and prettier a few months later. I told you, it was just sex, not love," she answered.

"Just some recreational fucking with someone else's wife," I said succinctly as she looked up at the ceiling fan. "Did I deserve that kind of disrespect from you?"

"No, you didn't," she whispered.

I got up and got us each a second cup of over-brewed, bitter coffee. Somehow, the coffee seemed to fit the conversation.

Traci and I had been cordial the few times we were together at family events in the last five years, but I had never been alone with her and talked. Lord knows she tried to get me to talk to her, but I weaseled my way out of any potentially dangerous situations, for both her and me. I still wasn't sure I wouldn't wring her neck if we were alone, or just break down into an embarrassing puddle of tears. Sometimes that varied by the minute.

Surprisingly, the one place I didn't miss Traci was in the bedroom. Considering I never looked at another woman in that way for my entire 27-year marriage, I had no clue about the "nocturnal habits of the 50+ American male." I assumed it would be slim pickings for someone like me... just an average-looking, averaged-size guy who made average money and wasn't hung like a donkey. Nobody was more surprised than me when single women started coming out of the woodwork... and many of them weren't shy about what they wanted from me.

I had never realized that single women over 50 outnumber single men by a considerable margin... and that many single men over 50 seem to gravitate toward younger women, leaving single women over 50 with a dwindling supply of men. Add in the "decency" factor, and the odds are stacked heavily in favor of 50+ men who are not afraid to meet and talk to strange women. That's never been a problem for me, so I had as much female companionship as I wanted. Who knew?

I also had my choice as to what kind of female companionship I wanted: short or long-term. Not every woman out there was looking for her next husband. Some, just like some men, were only interested in the variety pack. Me, I dated both types. I didn't specifically look for the next Mrs. Ben Arniston, but I wouldn't turn her down if she magically appeared in front of me.

The only thing that was off the table was a Traci Arniston redux. Been there, done that, had my heart ripped out of my chest and got the T-shirt.

"So why are you alone, Traci?" I asked. "You still look great. Finding a man shouldn't be a problem for you. You're obviously not shy about meeting men..."

She gasped, and for the first time I felt bad about insulting her.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," I commented.

She huffed, but then admitted I was right.

"Maybe I don't want to meet another man. Maybe I've come to the conclusion that I met the right man, gave him away and now want him back," she said.

"I know I did you wrong... horribly wrong, but I also know you are a good man who believes in forgiveness. I know you do. I know you as well as anybody."

It took all of my self-restraint not to raise my voice in the café.

"You're not a stupid woman, Traci. Did you never consider what would happen if you were caught?" I snarled through my teeth.

"No, I never considered

getting

caught," Traci said. "We never should have done it at our home. That was the only time we did it there. Edward had been busting my chops for weeks to... do it in our bed. Your bed. I knew what he wanted. I just finally got weak and gave in to him.

"I guess in reality Ralph was being a good friend to you ratting me out. I know a lot of people wouldn't want to get involved.

"In the cold light of day, 'I'm sorry' doesn't even come close to cutting it. God, I was so arrogant, in so many ways.

"But all that said, Ben, I want you back. I need you back. Please, Ben. I'll beg if I have to."

I just shook my head as Traci scrutinized my face looking for an answer.

"Please, Traci, don't embarrass both of us. How about putting my feelings ahead of your own at this point, exactly what you should have been doing five years ago. Actions have consequences. You forgot that," I said.

Traci sniffed as tears threatened to drop from her eyes.

"You're right... again," she said. "I won't bother you again."

There was a time when that forlorn look would have induced me to get up and crush her with a heartfelt hug. I did feel a pang of pain, for both of us, as I watched her rise and leave the building. I sat there watching her go and then looked blankly at the door until a well-dressed fifty-ish woman walked over to my table and placed a salted caramel latte in front of me.

"I know you hate our coffee, so I want you to leave on a tasty note," the woman said with a bright smile on her face.

"You didn't tell her, did you?"

"I didn't want to crush her soul. There was a time I wanted to, but someone... has convinced me I'm a better man than that. I still have my doubts," I said.

The woman sat down on my lap and gave me a gentle kiss. I absentmindedly looked at the engagement ring on her left hand. Sandy Caruso and I would be married in two months.

"I don't. And unlike the last Mrs. Ben Arniston, that good man will always come first in my life," she said. "I know what it's like to lose a good man. I watched one wither away in a hospital from cancer 10 years ago. I'm always going to put my man first," she said, giving me another kiss.

I noticed several of the café staff members grinning as they watched their boss and me kiss. The staff had never met me before because, as I said, I don't drink Starbucks coffee, even if I was in love with the franchise owner.

I never gave karma much thought until I met Sandy on a bike ride about two years before. I hadn't ridden a bicycle since I was a kid, but once I got divorced, I had a lot of spare time on my hands. I was a regular at a gym, but I wasn't much into cardio. I had brought up the possibility of Traci and I getting bicycles and starting to ride, but she had no interest.

Once I was on my own, I decided to get a nice road bike and hit the roads. I mostly rode alone, but every now and then I did an organized ride. I wasn't so good at finding the John Henry signs, though, and was off-course on this one ride when this woman rode up alongside me and asked if I was on the ride. She giggled musically when I said I was.

"Then you need to turn your ass around and head back with me, because you missed a right turn about a half-mile ago," the woman said.

I did as she instructed and when I first turned around, she was just up ahead of me. I watched a more than decent ass in Spandex bike shorts pedaling strong.

"Hey, genius, stop watching my ass and get up here so we can talk like adults while we ride," she demanded.

We rode together for the next 36 miles and we told each other our life stories. I told her about my cheating wife and she told me about her late husband, who died from cancer. We both talked about our adult children--we each had two--and our grandchildren--she had three but I only had one so far.

The ride was 52 miles. The longest I had gone previously was 35 miles, but having a riding partner who was both pretty and interesting made the miles fly by.

We had a date the next night, even though my leg muscles were incredibly sore. We were exclusive two weeks later, and slept together on our fourth date. My days as an older playboy were over.