Coffee & Contempt

Listen to it instead!

Ever since 3rd Grade when he told me that my beloved paper-mache dog looked like a pig covered in its own poop, I have hated Simon Owens. Yes, I know hate is a strong word, but the torment I suffered from him for the rest of elementary school and most of middle school deserves the word.

I hate him.

You might be wondering, Danielle, what’s bringing this up? Surely you’re still not this mad at this boy for a childhood folly?

Yes, I am.

But you bring up a good point (and kudos for using the word folly), because, no, I haven’t been harboring resentment for him for the past ten years. I haven’t been letting this anger burn, simmering just beneath the surface. I haven’t been festering my hatred, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. I haven’t even spoken to him since middle school.

So what reignited this flame? What has erupted the dormant volcano? What has awoken the hibernating bear? I know you could go on. Please don’t, I get your point. Why do I suddenly care?

You see, I have purposefully and successfully avoided any interaction with Simon. I took classes I knew I would never find him in. I skipped out on after-school projects he might have been involved in. I didn’t attend a single sporting event, especially the ones that he played in. I maintained absolutely zero contact with him and did such a great job, I had actually forgotten I was avoiding him.

My first mistake: Taking a job at a local coffee shop I knew he frequented, the summer before our senior year.

Our first interaction in three years went like this:

Me: Hello and welcome to Ella’s Coffee. What can I (*realizes who it is*)... get… for… you…

Simon: (*staring at his phone while texting*) I’ll have a large coffee

Me: Yup (*hoping he doesn’t look up*)

Simon: (*looks up*) Danielle?

Me: That’ll be $2.87

Simon hands me three dollars.

Simon: Keep the change (real generous of you…)

Simon leaves, thank god.

My second mistake: Holding off on a required class until my senior year.

When I walked into Mr. Young’s physics class, Simon was the first person I saw, laughing with his fellow jocks and pretty boys and paying zero attention to me. I slid into the back row, as far away from him as I could possibly get.

Which brings me to my third mistake: Not realizing that he had already put his stuff down and I was sitting right next to it.

And that, my friends, is how I ended up lab partners with my tormentor, Simon Owens, for an entire semester and how I remembered how much I truly hate him.

Every single moment I had to spend with him, every word I had to utter, every sound I had to hear him make only brought all of these memories flooding back. That time he tripped me on the playground and I fell face-first into the rocks. That time I accidently scored for the other team in gym class and he wouldn’t let me forget it. That time I nervously presented in middle school and he heckled me the entire time. I relived each and every moment as though they had just happened. As they became fresh and raw in my mind, I hated him more and more.

I mostly hated how he didn’t even seem to notice. For him, it was as though all those years of mutual disgust never happened. Like it was a pile of dirt on the floor and he just swept it away.

During our labs, I would speak to him as little as possible or not at all if I could manage it. And sometimes, if I understood whatever experiment we were working on, I would sabotage it just so he would get incorrect results. At work, when he came in for coffee, I would take his order and then pretend he didn’t exist, no matter how long he stood at the counter, waiting for me to acknowledge him. The same went at school - if I passed him in the hall, I ignored him completely. Sometimes, if I felt particularly considerate, I would glare or snarl at him briefly as we passed.

Despite all of this, he still talked to me every day. He carried on conversations as though I was participating in them (which I rarely did). He tried to be funny, charming, even thoughtful on occasion, as though his new attitude towards me would just make me forget all the reasons he’s horrible.

Even worse, his visits to my coffee shop became more and more regular. He began to stay in the dining area where he would work, read, and waste time as I became forced to help him with anything he needed. As though I existed only to be his personal servant.

Which brings us to today.

Yes, I am irritated. Yes, I am annoyed. Yes, I really just want to yell at him to go away and then storm off. But I can’t do that because I’m at work, he’s a customer and I really don’t want to get fired. So instead, I’m whispering how much I hate him under my breath and hoping that no one hears me.

But Danielle, what could he possibly be doing to make you act like this?

I hear you, but let me explain. It’s Saturday and he’s been here since we opened FIVE HOURS AGO. He just won’t leave. He’s eaten two bagels, one fruit-yogurt parfait, one english muffin, one chocolate muffin, one banana nut muffin and an entire breakfast meal of scrambled eggs. I don’t even remember how much coffee he’s consumed. He’s hit the restroom at least twice that I’ve noticed. And every time he comes up to order something new, he lets other customers go ahead of him just to force me to be the one that takes his order. Super annoying.

Surely (SURELY) he has better things to do on a Saturday than sit in a coffee shop and pester me. He has friends - many of whom actually like him - that he could bother instead.

Oh crap, here he comes again. I want to bail on the counter, but he’s already locked eyes with me and unfortunately there’s no one else here to take his order. No other customers for me to help. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

“Hello, sir,” I say just hoping to piss him off. “How can I help you?”

He sighs as though I’m the one bothering him and leans against the counter - the only barrier between us. He’s staring at me to the point where it’s kind of uncomfortable. Then, in a voice so low I can barely hear him, he asks, “Why don’t you like me?”

Okay, I admit, I didn’t see that coming. I stammer for a few seconds, trying to get audible words out of my mouth and failing.

But he doesn’t look away. He just stands there, leaning towards me, waiting for my answer. An explanation I didn’t think he needed. I mean, isn’t it obvious?

I glance around me, just to make sure that everyone is out of earshot. Then, as a double measure, I lean forward and whisper as rudely as I can manage, “I’m trying to work here, Simon.”

His hands fall to the counter and he leans to match me. He smiles and oh, how I hate him and that smirk. Then he replies just as quietly, “You know, that’s the first time all year you’ve used my name.”

I open my mouth to deny it, to contradict him, but it’s true. And that only irritates me further. It’s so self-centered of him to notice when people use his name.

“Well, Simon,” I emphasize his name, just for good measure, “Will you please just go a-”

But I can’t finish my satisfying telling-off because he interrupts me. With his mouth. On my mouth.

The shock of the experience overwhelms me more than anything. I am unable to respond, unable to push him away, so i just stand there, letting him kiss me. His hand brushes up against my cheek moments before I hear my manager yell, “Danielle!”

I jerk away and bolt straight up as though nothing has happened. Except I can still taste his coffee on my lips and the warmth of his hand lingers on my face.

“You, boyfriend,” she says before I realize she’s talking to Simon. “Save that for later, she’s working.” I sideways glance at him and can see that he’s just as embarrassed as I am. While blood fills his cheeks, I shift my weight from foot to foot, praying for this moment to just magically disappear.

He grips the nape of his neck and looks away. “Uh, yeah, right. I should go.” Then, as quickly as he had come here, he’s gone, leaving me standing there, wondering what in the seven hells had possessed him to kiss me.

Another customer walks in, giving me zero time to process anything. So I pretend that nothing weird just happened and take his order.

The next girl in line, however, doesn’t want to order anything. “Are you really dating Simon Owens?” she asks me a little too curiously.

“Um, no,” I respond immediately. This, my friends, is how rumors get started. First your boss thinks he’s your boyfriend. Then a random girl assumes you’re dating and tells the world. I needed to set the record straight. I am not (nor have I ever wanted to be) dating Simon.

She frowns, somehow disappointed in my answer. “But you’re the one he likes, right? You’re Danielle?” She points to my name badge as though I didn’t know my own name.

How do you respond to that? No, I’m not her. It must be a different Danielle. After all, we hate each other, we always have. I can’t be the one that he likes.

But he literally just kissed you.

WILL YOU SHUT UP? I know he just kissed me. I was one of the participants. I’m still trying to process it. There’s no way, absolutely no way (right?) that he could legitimately like me.

“I don’t know about that,” I finally answer after she’s been staring at me without a response. Apparently that sufficed because she squealed and skipped (I’m not lying, she skipped) back to her friends.

Oh, rumors are going to fly.

Keeping my eyes on them, the rest of my agonizingly long shift goes like this:

Me: *pretends everything is normal* What can I get for you?

Customer: orders something

Me: *fake smiling and only half-listening* Thank you and have a great day! *hope I put in the right order*

Me, thinking over and over again: He kissed me. But I hate him. He kissed me. But I hate him. He doesn’t like me. But he kissed me. And I hate him. I hate him, right?

Repeat five million times

When the clock finally strikes two, my stomach growls at me and I still have no idea what to do about Simon. He hasn’t come back for more coffee (thank god), but I don’t know if he’ll be back tomorrow. At the very least, I will have to see him on Monday in physics. And, uh, we will be doing a lab too.

No escape. Especially because, when I finally do step outside, I see him sitting in his car across the parking lot.

He hasn’t seen me yet, so the way I see it, I have two options:

1- sneak away as quickly as possible and hope he doesn't spot me

2- get this over with

Before I fully make my decision, my feet start walking towards him. Curiosity wins. After all, he HAD kissed me, but for the life of me, I still can’t figure out WHY.

Simon finally notices me as I reach his car and I watch him straighten, fix his hair and smooth out his shirt. Then, as my hand grasps the door handle, he reaches across the passenger seat to lock me out.

Fine, that solves that problem. A mistake, it was all a mistake and I can go back to hating him forever.

But then instead of locking me out as I expected, he pulls the lock up and sits back in his seat. He’s unlocked it. He’s letting me in. He wants me to get into his car.

Crap. No choice now. I open the door, get in, close the door and wait for him to start talking. He says nothing. In fact, he doesn’t even look at me. His hands are gripping the steering wheel so tightly that I can see the whites in his knuckles. He stares determinedly forward, as though driving through intense traffic, except we’re not moving and I’m beginning to wonder what people will think if they see me in Simon Owens’ car.

“So…”I begin mostly to break the silence.

Then, before I can think of what I should say next, he blurts out, “I love you.”

“What?” My instant response. At least it’s appropriate.

Finally he turns to look at me. Now, though, he’s lost all his normal charm, his energy, his excitement. Instead I see a man who’s serious, determined, and a little bit afraid. His whole body shifts to face me and then he’s talking, faster than I can keep up.

“I’m sorry. I know, I know that this isn’t the ideal time to tell you. But if I didn’t tell you now, I’m not sure if I ever would have. I mean, I already ruined everything by kissing you, so what did I have to lose?”

I furrow my eyebrow and stare back at him. “You love me?” I make him repeat it, because I’m still not sure I believe he actually said it.

“Yes. Very much.”

I shake my head as though that will make him take it back. I had a hard enough time trying to grasp the fact that he might like me, but love? No way. “Since when?”

He smiles, that charm slowly returning to his face. “Good question. I figured it out about a month ago. Remember that lab we did where you put holes in all of the balloons so nothing would stay in them like they were supposed to?” I nod and cringe a little, embarrassed that he knew it was me. “The grin that covered your face kind of made my heart leap and that’s when I knew.”

I frown. “What, that I was ruining all of our experiments?”

He lets out a hearty laugh and I can’t help but let a faint smile escape through my lips. “No, Dani. I knew that I loved you. That I would do anything to see you smile like that all the time.” I let that sink in. He had been extra annoying lately. “To be honest, though, I’ve probably been in love with you for ages. Probably before I even understood what love was. 6th grade, at least.”

This is where a spit take would have happened if I had anything in my mouth. “Middle school? No, you hated me in middle school.”

He raises an eyebrow at me - something I didn’t know he could do. “Hated you?”

“Yeah. You tormented me. Made my life absolutely awful.”

He frowns and turns away from me, his hands returning to the steering wheel and rubbing it with his palms. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I just didn’t know how to tell you… tell you… that I liked you.” He turns to face me. “And then you disappeared. Until this summer when I ran into you here,” he gestures to Ella’s Coffee.

“Well, I do work here.”

He laughs. “But I had thought you had moved away or something and then suddenly you were back in my life.”

“Well, I had gotten really good at avoiding you. Until recently, that is.”

“Avoiding me? Wow, you must really hate me.”

His knuckles clench against the steering wheel again, but this time I reach over to pull his hand off. He jumps a little at my touch, but lets me remove his hand. “You’ll become permanently attached if you keep gripping like that.”

I would let go, but he’s holding my hand now. He waits a moment, considering my reaction, and then raises my hand to his lips and kisses my fingers. I don’t try to pull away and he doesn’t let go.

He lowers my hand, but continues to hold it. My guess is that he’s afraid if he lets go, I’ll book it out of here and I’m not entirely sure that he’s wrong. Then, almost begging, he asks, “What can I do so that you’ll stop hating me?”

That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? It’s one that I’ve never wanted to answer before. I was quite content to hate him for the rest of my life. But now, do I want to stop hating him? Have I already stopped hating him? Do I want to like him? Do I like him?

I hardly know how to answer, my mind whirling with questions and contradictions. There is only one thing right now I am certain of and that’s my empty stomach. So, with a slight sigh of resignation, I respond, “Well, for starters you can get me some food.”

On cue, my stomach growls and he laughs. Maybe it’s a sign, but for the first time, I don’t want to punch that smile off his face. “Have you eaten?”

He shakes his head. “No, I haven’t left the parking lot. I wasn’t sure when you’d get off.”

Awe, that’s adorable. No, it’s not. It’s weird.

“So you waited for three hours? If you turn out to be a creeper…” I pull my hand out of his and reach for the door and hope drains from his face. But then I grab the seat belt and strap myself in. “So help me, I will terrorize you. Let’s grab some lunch.”

With the excitement of a puppy, which I admit, is kind of adorable, he starts his car and puts it into gear. “I know just the place.”

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