The Conversation by Andrew Patch

Her smile sets off my spidey sense. A tight faded scar instead of the usual intoxicating topography of white pearls bordered by full scarlet lips.
    No, this was a smile that resented surfacing.
    I sit down, spilling my coffee. Cursing my clumsiness as the ebony liquid scalds pink skin. She says nothing, inspecting her phone. Another bad sign. She despises people who shield themselves with phones in social situations. I mop at the coffee, waiting for the silence to break.
    Finally, ignoring my gaze, she takes a sip of latte.
    Eyes meet.
    The she pulls the trigger.
    ‘Steve, we have to talk.’

#

He wanders into the cafe. My heart is pounding, I feel sick. Part of me wants to chicken out. But its too late, he’s on his way over, sauntering with bravado.
    Sitting down he spills his coffee, like he always does in a way that once was endearing. Yet I have no words of sympathy. I check my phone again, the text is still there, five simple words that changed everything:
    [Steve cheated on you.
    Pete]
    I can see he’s confused, wondering why I look so drained. Crying all night does that.
    I take a sip of coffee, waiting for the words to come.