April

They say forgiveness is the only way to heal. Well, before I can go about forgiving, I first have to acknowledge what happened that night, which is something I’ve put off for months. Although, now that I think about it, I have no idea who I’m supposed to be forgiving amidst all this remembering, but whatever. I suppose I’ll figure it out along the way.

3 months earlier

I must say, I hate gloomy weather. It’s so . . . oppressive. Or maybe repressive is the word I’m looking for. Whatever.

I jam my hands into my pockets and trudge through the snow to the coffee house down the block. I’m meeting my “friend” Adam for reasons I can’t fathom. I mean, he likes to say that we’re friends, but we’re not. I don’t have any friends. Whenever I think of someone as a friend I form hopes and expectations and I start to care about what they think of me, which always leads to dashed hopes, failed expectations, and hurt feelings. In other words, friendship is vastly overrated and not worth the effort.

Unfortunately, though, I have a hard time convincing Adam of this. In fact, I have a hard time convincing Adam of anything. No matter what I say, he is determined to view the world as a happy place filled with love and warmth. How delusional.

I reach the coffee house and pause outside the door. I’m seriously considering turning right back around and going home. It doesn’t make sense for me to be here, because I don’t like Adam. I can’t even respect him – he’s too optimistic for that. Optimistic and delusional.

So why am I here?

After vacillating for a few minutes, the cold forces me inside. Adam must have been watching the door, because as soon as I enter he stands and calls me over to a table in the middle of the room. I take off my coat and slump into a chair across from him.

He smiles and passes me a cup of coffee. “I was starting to wonder if you were going to show up.”

I shrug. “So was I.”

He laughs once, then stops. “Wait. Are you serious?”

I just look at him.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “That was a stupid question. You’re always serious.”

And cynical and pessimistic and disillusioned . . .

“So why did you come today?” he asks, curious. “I mean, you’ve made it clear that you don’t like me.”

“Well,” I return, “why did you invite me when you know I don’t like you?”

Adam smiles slightly and looks down at his hands. “Because, against all reason, I like you.”

I frown. “Why?”

He looks up, startled. “There has to be a reason?”

“Yes.”

He blinks. “Well, I like you because you are honest and blunt and, well, your pessimism amuses me.”

I narrow my eyes. “Everything amuses you.”

“And nothing amuses you.”

I shrug and stare out a window, but after seeing my reflection, I gaze down at the floor instead.

“You know what I think?” Adam says, leaning forward. “I think you do like me – that’s why you always agree to meet me. You can’t help yourself and that bothers you.”

I glare at him, annoyed. “What are you, a shrink? Shut up and drink your cocoa.”

He smiles and shakes his head. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

I grit my teeth and concentrate on not hitting him, though it would be immensely satisfying to do so.

“What are you thinking?” he asks softly.

I shake my head and concentrate harder. Then, without warning, Adam leans across the table and kisses my cheek.

I stare at him in shock. “What did you do that for?”

He laughs. “Why does anyone ever kiss anyone else?”

I don’t respond – there’s no need to. He holds my gaze and I see in his eyes a question, a choice. Can I let go? Can I stop being so hard and unfeeling and actually allow myself to be friends with him? Or more than friends if it comes to that? Am I willing to open up?

I bite my lip and lower my gaze. “I’m sorry Adam.”

Present Day

That was the last time I saw Adam. I’ve missed him every day since. Not that I’ve admitted that until now. And since I’m being so honest, I might as well come clean about everything. I was lying when I said I couldn’t respect Adam because of his optimism. It was his optimism that made me want to keep meeting him. The fact that he could see all the darkness in the world and still believe in love and happiness intrigued me as much as it irked me. He is the closest I’ve ever come to having a real friend, which, of course, is why I stopped seeing him.

I am such a stupid, stupid fool. But I’m not supposed to say that, am I? I’m supposed to forgive myself for being so stubborn and hard. But how do I do that? I guess I can start by not beating myself up over it anymore and just letting go.

I take a deep breath and exhale slowly, expelling all my anger and regret and remorse with the carbon dioxide. Almost immediately, I feel a huge weight rise off my chest, which surprises me because I didn’t expect to feel so relieved. And yet I feel more than relieved, I feel . . . almost happy. Almost.

Feeling much more cheery than usual, I walk outside and head down the block to the coffee house. In my opinion, there’s no better way to prove that I’ve completely forgiven myself than to return to the scene of the crime without feeling guilty.

I walk on the sunny side of the road.

The coffee house is half empty when I enter. Before I order my drink I do a quick scan around the room to see if I recognize anyone and whether or not I want to avoid them. I’m about halfway through my survey when someone on the opposite side of the room calls my name.

“April?”

I whirl around. “Adam!”

He crosses over to me, his expression joyous, surprised, and a little apprehensive. He stops a few feet away.

“How are you?” I ask, shy for the first time in my life.

“Uh, I’m good. You?” he says awkwardly.

I smile. “Better.”

He cocks his head to the side, not understanding the meaning behind my response.

“Do you remember the last time we met?” I ask.

“Yes,” he answers slowly, clearly mystified.

I hesitate before continuing. “Well, I’m . . . different from how I was before. I’m not afraid now.”

“Afraid of what?”

He is not going to make this easy for me. “Afraid of . . . well, you know.”

He continues to look perplexed. Whether his confusion is mock or genuine, I’m not sure.

A flicker of irritation shoots through me – I was really hoping to avoid this, but it doesn’t look like I can. Words aren’t working.

Hardly suppressing a sigh, I stretch up on my toes and kiss his cheek.

He blinks and stares at me in surprise. “Oh.”

Apparently, he didn’t know what I was getting at.

I raise an eyebrow and say “Is that all you’ve got?” in an attempt to hide my embarrassment.

Adam looks flustered and begins to stutter a reply. “Uh, no. I just – um, well . . . uh ”

I hold up a finger. “Not to sound cliché, but can we just forget all of this and start over?”

He exhales. “Yes. That would be good.” A short pause. “So, do you want to . . .” He motions to an empty table.

“Sure, but first I’m buying an espresso.”

He grins. “Still a caffeine addict?”

I shrug. “I guess I’m not that different.”

His smile softens. “I’m glad.”