Winter Jacket: New Beginnings (4 page)

She spotted me across the roo
m at our usual bank of chairs. “I’m going to strangle that groundhog,” she openly complained. She tossed off her wool overcoat with her usual dramatic flair.

“As if a rodent seeing
its shadow or not even matters,” I chuckled. “It’s not even February, Troi. We’re not gonna see green grass until April.”

Troian plopped down in her leather easy chair. Usually I sat by myself at a table for two, but when Troian and I hung out at Del Sol we always commandeered a corner location with comfortable chairs and our own c
offee table. “All the more reason to move full-time to California.”

“Don’t even joke about that,”
I complained with a sour expression.

Troian made a more than
comfortable living writing screenplays. She’d recently made the transition into writing for television, but the work was such that she could telecommute or take short trips to California where the studio was, while still keeping her permanent residence in the city of her alma mater, the small liberal arts college where I taught.

Troian ruffled her long, dark hair, knocking th
e melting snow from her locks. “Why do I even bother fixing my hair?”

“Because you’re high maintenance?” I teasingly guessed. She wasn’
t really – that was more her girlfriend Nikole’s
modus operandi
, which I found ironic since she was the one who played in dirt all day as a landscaper. Both of my friends were more concerned with their appearance than me. Unless I was teaching, I had no problem going out in my glasses instead of contacts, my hair in a ponytail, wearing clothes that could pass for pajamas.

Troian grunted, but didn’t take the bait. “You need a refill?”
She dug around inside her messenger bag for her money.

“I’
m good right now. I’ve gotta pace myself,” I said, covering the top of my coffee mug with a cupped hand. I had a long day ahead of me on campus; if I loaded up on caffeine now, I’d crash later.

“You’
re going first today,” Troian said when she returned with her coffee. We always started our coffee dates with a few rounds of a game we’d invented – Top, Bottom, or Switch. We made up stories about people’s lives – mostly about their sex lives – while they waited in line for overpriced coffee and cranberry bran muffins. It was fun and I justified it as not being mean or judgmental, but as being creative; fabricating back-stories and plots was part of my professional life.

“Guy third in line,”
Troian said with a jerk of her head. “Why does he look so pinched?”

I regarded the man
who stood in line, three people from the cashier. He was dressed professionally and he fiddled anxiously with his phone. Troian was right. He did look pinched. He looked no older than me, but his eyes were narrowed and his forehead was furrowed. There were two deep-set lines between his eyebrows.

“He fought with his wife
all morning,” I said. “They’ve got a pact never to leave for work angry with each other, and he’s thinking about calling her right now to apologize, even though he doesn’t think the fight was his fault. But he knows from experience that his wife thinks she’s always right.”

Troian nodded wistfully as she took a drink of her coffee.

“Woman in the yoga capri pants,” I assigned next. I had noticed the woman nearly right away. She was wearing a heavy winter jacket, but the bottom half of her legs were bare. “Why isn’t she wearing full-length pants? Doesn’t she know it’s Winter?”

Troian se
t her mug down on the small end table beside her chair. “They
are
full-length pants,” she announced with a grin. “They’re just not hers.”

“Oh, really?”

Troian nodded. “She stayed over at her girlfriend’s house last night and she had nothing to change into this morning. Her girlfriend is only four foot ten.”

“
Oh, so she took
your
pants?”

“Asshole,” Troian scowled. “I’
m five foot one. We can’t all be Jolly Green Giants like you.”

At five foot eight
, I hardly considered myself a giant, but adolescents hitting puberty were taller than Troian. I kept that observation to myself. Troian was sensitive about her height, but that didn’t stop me entirely from teasing her about it. “Top, Bottom, or Switch?” I posed.

Troian sat forward in her chair to
more closely inspect the woman standing in line. “Bottom,” she finally decided on.

I arched an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah? She lets her four foot
, ten inch girlfriend dominate her?”

Troian settled ba
ck in her chair, looking smug. “You’d be surprised what a Napoleon Complex translates into in bed.”

I nea
rly snorted coffee up my nose. “Speaking of which,” I said, regaining my composure, “your girlfriend just showed up.”

“Very funny.”
Troian wrinkled her nose, but didn’t bother to turn in her chair to look toward the door. Instead, she picked at my blueberry muffin even though I had every intention of eating it myself. “What kind of mutant just walked in?”

“I’m telling Nik you called her a mutant.”

“Hey, guys,” Nikole announced cheerfully as she walked up to our grouping of chairs. She must have been on her way to work; her dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her company’s logo peeked out from the opening of her jacket. “Fancy running into you two here.”

Troian jerked her hand away from my breakfast
muffin. She flashed a warning look at me. I grinned even wider. “Jackweed,” she muttered under her breath for my ears only. “Hey, babe,” she said louder, flipping her most genuine smile on. “I didn’t expect to see you until later today.”

Nikole’s head bobbed. “My client this morning had to reschedule, so I had some free time. I figured you guys would still be here pretending to work.”

“We work!” I protested valiantly. I kept out the part about how she’d just interrupted a game of Top, Bottom, or Switch.

“I’
ll be right back.” Nikole jerked her thumb in the direction of the coffee bar. “I need to get my morning fix. You two good on coffee?”

Troian nodded. “I’
m good, but get more for Elle. She’s being a pussy about caffeine today.”

“I’m already on my secon
d mocha!” I protested.

Nikole made a clucking noise. “Then I guess you need more.”

I had the strangest friends. Instead of encouraging me to drink more beer and make bad life-decisions, they were the breakfast mafia, pushing double caramel macchiatos and lemon poppy-seed muffins on me.

“So it’s my turn,”
I announced as Nikole strolled away to get me a caffeine drip.

“Oh, right.” Troian’s face became serious. “Ginger with the baby stroller.”

I spotted the woman with little trouble. The stroller was too large for the limited space of Del Sol, but she appeared determined to get her hot chai. I watched Nikole motion for her to go ahead of her in line, and the woman looked relieved.

“What about her?” I asked.

“What’s her life story?”

“The usual: stay-at-home mom, gave up her career for the promise of emotional fulfillment through children while her husband is out making the money. Now she only leaves the house for coffee or the charade of her book club which is just an excuse to talk to other adults and drink wine.”

“Wow. What’s eating you?” Troian eyeballed me warily. “Trouble in paradise?”

“No,” I insisted. “Everything’s fine.”

“So you’re not projecting yourself onto that chick?”

“Not at all – everything’s perfect.”

“Things with Hunter still good?”

“Yep.” I’d be lying if I wasn’t waiting for the other shoe to drop, however. In my experience, good things didn’t last long, especially when it came to my relationships. Happiness had an expiration date.

I dipped the tip of my finger into the design on my mocha and swirled it around, destroying the barista’s handiwork. “And, I should be hearing back from publishers soon about my next book proposal.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Since I’ve already got tenure I don’t have to worry about publishing with some stuffy academic press and can go with a trade press instead.”

“That’s great.” Troian
sat up a little straighter in her chair and seemed to be straining her neck to see something better.

“If I can get a trade press to agree to publishing in hardcover and paperback simultaneously, I might actually make money on this book.”

Troian hummed, but was clearly distracted. Her gaze and her thoughts were someplace else.

“So I told them I wasn’
t going to take out the pirates,” I said experimentally. “I’m more flexible about the pink elephants, but if I can’t have a big sword fight, then I’ll walk.”

Troian made another noise of agreement and nodded, but failed to com
ment on the absurdity of what I’d just said. She clearly wasn’t listening to me.

“What’s so interesting over there?”
I asked, finally giving up on the conversation.

“Nik is getting hit on.”

I twisted in my seat and spotted Nikole at the front register ordering her drink from our usual barista, Tony. He was your typical hipster coffee shop employee with interesting facial hair and a plunging v-neck. All that body hair must have been a health-code violation, but Del Sol was a little bit of a dive and nobody cared.

“You always think that
,” I laughed, turning back to my friend.

“Because it’s the truth,” Troian scowled.

Nikole returned to our seating area and sat at a vacant leather recliner. When she set her paper cup on the coffee table to take off her scarf and jacket, Troian made an unpleasant sound.

“See? What did I tell you
?” Troian’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t think the phone number on the side of her cup leads to a customer service survey.”

“Oh, it’s just Nik,” I dismissed. “She collects crushes like they’re Pokémon Cards.”

Troian wasn’t exactly the jealous type. She trusted her girlfriend explicitly. But I knew she didn’t trust the rest of the world to maintain their distance.

“I would like
to punch that kid in his giant Adam’s apple,” she said in a quiet, serious tone that almost had me convinced.

“Simmer down, lady,” I
cautioned. “Tony’s harmless.”

“Yeah, he will be
when I castrate him.”

Nikole made a shushing noise. “Don’t mind her; she’s all bark, but no bite.”

“That’s not what you said last night.” Troian sat back in her chair with her arms folded across her chest.

“
Anyway
.” Nikole raised her voice to change the topic. Troian had no problem advertising their sexual exploits, but I knew that Nikole was a bit more reserved, even if it was just me. “So someone’s got a big birthday coming up,” Nikole not so innocently observed.

“God. Don’t remind me,” I groaned.

“Why are you so weird about your birthday?” Troian asked, although I didn’t think she expected a forthcoming answer. “I’m still mad at you that you didn’t let us do anything for you last year when you turned thirty.”

“I just don’t like birthdays,”
I explained with a shrug. “I don’t like all the attention.”

“Does Hunter know?”
Nikole asked.

“
No. And she doesn’t need to know,” I threatened.

“
Well, now she does.” Troian beamed proudly. My stomach dropped when I saw her phone in her hands.

My
own phone immediately chirped with an incoming text message from Hunter: “Your birthday is TOMORROW? Why am I just hearing this, and from Troi?”

I made a frustrated noise
and shoved my phone in my bag so I didn’t have to look at it. “Why do you do these things to me?” I complained.

“You’re ridiculous,” Troian clucked. “Who doesn’t like birthdays?”

“Just wait until you’re an old lady like me,” I grumbled.

“
Right. Because you’re a total hag at the ripe old age of 31.” Nikole shook her head.

Thirty
one. God, when had
that
happened? I had never understood those women who stopped aging and just kept celebrating their 29th birthday over and over again; or not until it happened to me, at least. But I honestly didn’t feel a day over my mid-twenties. If only the date on my birth certificate agreed. I’d made my two best friends promise not to do anything over the top for my thirtieth birthday, and I would make sure my thirty-first birthday was the same.

“This isn’
t a Hunter thing, is it?” Troian asked. “Are you gonna be super weird this year because your girlfriend was born in the 1990s?”

“
You really know how to make a girl feel special.” It didn’t really matter how old Hunter was; I just wasn’t a fan of birthdays. It’s not like I’d done anything. It’s kind of like when someone compliments your name. I had nothing to do with that; they should be congratulating my parents instead.

“
Any cute students this semester?” Troian asked.

I flashed my friend a warning look.

Troian held up her hands, instantly retreating. “What? It’s ritual at the beginning of each semester. Just because you’re all domesticated now, I don’t get to ask that anymore?”

“You can ask; I’
m just not going to humor you with a response.”

“
You got married and became un-fun.”

“Whatever,” I scoffed.
It wasn’t the most eloquent retort, but I didn’t feel comfortable talking about attractive students anymore, not even with my best friend. I knew my reputation had been slightly tarnished over the fallout from Hunter. Now I felt guilty just admiring female students at the gym or when my gaze lingered a little too long standing behind someone at the drinking fountain.

“
You two fight like an old married couple. I swear, sometimes I think you guys are the ones in a relationship.” Nikole laughed, showing off a mouthful of straight, white teeth. Troian would have to staple her girlfriend’s mouth closed if she wanted to keep the baristas away. “I’m just here for sex and occasional cuddles.”

Troian reached across the divide to grab her girlfriend’s hand. She brought her wrist to her mouth and pressed her lips against it.

“Well I’m going to take off; I’ve got some work to do at the greenhouse,” Nikole announced, standing from her chair. She directed her gaze at Troian. “When can I expect you home?”

“
Soon. I’ll probably work from here for another hour; I’ve got a teleconference call later this afternoon, so I’ll take that at home.”

Nikole bent down to kiss her girlfriend goodbye. “Ok.
See you then.”

“Mexican for dinner?” Troian suggested. “I can pick up an avocado on my way home if you grab some cilantro from the greenhouse.”

Nikole pulled on her jacket. “Sounds perfect.”

“
You’re
perfect,” Troian countered with a goofy smile. Her grin was so broad and so wide I was almost afraid her head would topple off her neck from the weight of it.

“Puke,” I replied.

Troian stuck out her tongue at me, and Nikole laughed again.

“Behave you two,” Nikole admonished before she waved and left us to our work.

We spent the next hour lost in our own tasks. Today Troian had writing to do, and I had drafts of essays to provide feedback on. It was nice spending time with Troian because when we had these coffee dates, we knew how to balance socializing with actually getting work done. Sometimes I was actually more productive with her around.

“Professor Graft?”

My reading glasses made it hard to see features at a distance. Normally I couldn’t identify people while I wore them, but this student’s face was hard to forget even though our class had only met a few times so far.

“Loryssa.”

Half Egyptian and half Irish,
Loryssa Mubarak had exotic features mixed with a more mainstream beauty. She was model tall, which was accentuated today by her black leggings and long, oversized sweater that drooped on one side revealing an olive-toned, angular shoulder. Her long brunette hair with golden highlights was thick and voluminous like she was the spokeswoman for a shampoo company.

“
Hi. I apologize if I’m interrupting.” She spoke slightly accented English and looked between both Troian and me. My friend looked up from her laptop screen and openly stared at my student.

“Not at all. What’s up?”
I shuffled some papers around so she couldn’t see all the corrections I had made to one of her classmate’s rough drafts.

“
I just had a question about the reading for Monday,” she said, switching her weight from one foot to the other. “Do we need to have the entire book read?”

“Mhmm,”
I confirmed, trying not to sound too apologetic. The book was a quick read and students usually gave good feedback on it, so I didn’t really have a reason to feel bad about assigning the whole thing. It was college, after all.

Loryssa didn’
t appear intimidated or disappointed by my announcement. Instead she nodded and thanked me. “Okay. Well, see you in class later,” she said, breaking out a blinding smile. I gave her a half wave and she walked away.

“You are such a liar.”

I snapped my attention back to Troian. “What?”

“You told me you didn’t
have any attractive students this semester.”

“
Who? Loryssa?”

Troian rolled her eyes. “
No. That other gorgeous Glamazon you were just talking to.”

I was about to defend myself when I paused
, realizing something. “Wait. Is Troian Smith actually admitting that someone besides her girlfriend is
attractive
?”

“
I think lots of girls are attractive,” she countered haughtily.

“Sure. But they’
re all celebrities,” I pointed out. “That doesn’t count.”

“
You gonna be able to keep your eyes to yourself this semester?” Troian poked, deflecting the attention back on me.

“
My girlfriend is smart, funny, and gorgeous,” I ticked off with some satisfaction. “It’s the Holy Trinity. Neither Loryssa nor anyone else is going to distract me.”

Troian continued to openly stare after
Loryssa and her long legs as she walked out the front door of Del Sol. “When did
you
get willpower, Bookie?”

My dream from the previous night’s sleep flashed into my head. I apparently still had work to do.

+++++

I would have spent the rest of the day at Del Sol, trying to be productive, but I had office hours and an evening class, so I spent the second half of my day on campus.
The University was trying to attract part-time students and build an adult continuing education program, so new to this semester I was teaching a 3-hour writing class on Thursday evenings.

Outside my office window the snow
was still thick in places, but it was pulled back in other spots to reveal the yellowish-brown grass beneath. It was a depressing time of year when the weather flip-flopped between Winter-like conditions and Spring every other day. I liked snow, having lived in the Midwest all my life, but this time of year made me second-guess my choice in geography.

I took a step back to inspect my work.
My doctoral graduation diploma, centered in a dark-stained wooden frame, now hung on my office wall. I had delayed putting anything up on the walls for years after I’d been hired. It had been a strange superstition that if I made the space my own with personal belongings, diplomas, and pictures of the people in my life, that it wouldn’t remain my own for long. I often felt like a fraud despite the Ph.D. behind my name, like I’d tricked my University to pick me over all the other potential candidates, a graduate student in professorial clothing.

“
New frame?”

I spun on my heel at the unexpected voice. My boss, Bob
, the Chair of the English department, stood just outside of my office door.

“Looks nice.”

I didn’t bother admitting to him my superstition and that this was the first thing I’d ever put up on my office wall.

“How’s it going?”
I asked.

“You have a minute?”

“Of course.” I waved my hand at the vacant seat on the other side of my desk.

“Do you mind if I close the door?” Bob asked, looking uneasy. “There’s something…
sensitive
,” he said, trying the word out, “that I need to discuss with you.”