No editor this time around, so please forgive any errors.
"Dammit, Emma, where are you?"
The conductor was climbing back onto the train as it lurched into motion. A lithe figure in a long, flowing skirt scampered down the steps and leaped onto the platform.
"Typical", I thought, then chastised myself for a lack of generosity. Her father had never been good with time either, so I suppose she came by it honestly. We had originally planned for me to meet her train nearly two hours ago. As so often happened, later texts explained unexpected complications and an eventual request to come to the station not one, but two trains later. Ah, well. I guess the mother of a 21-year-old should expect to be low on her daughter's list of priorities.
As she walked towards me, I was once more struck by what a lovely young woman Emma had become. That beauty was even more evident when her face lit with a radiant smile. "Hi, mama. Thank you for picking me up. Sorry I'm late."
We were crossing the station parking lot when Emma exclaimed in delight at hearing the long, drawn-out whistling call of a whipbird, followed by the distinctive cracking sound that gives the creature its name. "I know we must have them in Wollongong, but I never hear them there." Emma has struggled a bit with homesickness, so it's wonderful to have her greeted this way upon her homecoming.
The next instant, we saw the flashing white of a pair of cockatoos wheeling overhead. Their piercing shrieks ripped the relative quiet of the small town morning. Emma grimaced, "We certainly have plenty of those and I'm not sure I'd miss them if we didn't."
She began chatting animatedly about goings-on at uni when she halted mid-sentence and mid-stride, looked around and asked, "Where's the car?"
I pointed to a row of vehicles to my left. "Just over there. We'll come back for it later. Right now, we're going to walk into town, okay?"
"Sure. Where are we headed?"
"Ever been to The Magic Bean?"
"Um, nup. I've passed by it, but I don't think I've ever been inside."
"When the two of you were young", I referred to Emma and her close-in-age sibling, Eleanor, "you may recall that your father was not immoderately involved in your day-to-day care."
Emma chuckled at the understatement. I went on, "Between looking after you, working part-time, taking care of the house and, in my copious spare time, finishing my thesis, it seemed as if I rarely had a moment to catch my breath."
It was a warm spring Saturday and the sidewalks of the main street were generously populated with passersby. As we made our way to my favourite coffee shop, I conjured a sliver of my past for my daughter. "It didn't happen often, but on those days when I could steal the time, I made a beeline for The Magic Bean after I'd dropped you two off at school. As soon as I crossed the threshold, it felt like my blood pressure dropped ten points. No matter how stressed I was, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and scrumptious baked goods granted me peace."
As we neared the café, I drank in the sunlight and the view of pedestrians in their vibrantly coloured, form-fitting attire. The occasional comely physique on display provoked a pleasant frisson; a reminder of how long it had been since I had attended to my needs. I would address that as soon as Emma was on the train back to uni.
"Usually", I resumed, "I could only afford to while away a half an hour or so, but I was thrilled to have it. On rare occasions, I would luxuriate in the calm for an hour or so, nursing a couple of cups of coffee, maybe indulging in a croissant or even having brekkie. Sometimes, I'd read the paper; other times I'd people-watch or eavesdrop on the conversations of other patrons, imagining what their lives might be like. Any and all of it provided much needed serenity in a life that sometimes seemed unmanageable."
I looked sideways at Emma, who had been silent for most of our walk while I raved on. Her expression was pensive. "I'm sorry you had such a hard time, mum. I guess I never realised how difficult it was for you..."
"No worries. That's all done and dusted now. I only told you that so you'd know The Bean is kind of special to me. I thought it would be nice to introduce you to my old haven."
Though the café was in the heart of town, it wasn't on any of the main streets. Confused? Imagine a square city block with----instead of alleys behind the buildings----an enclave consisting of a few small businesses with their facades turned towards the interior. Each of the four streets comprising the exterior of the block had a passage between a couple of the buildings that allowed pedestrians to reach the interior. A driveway was placed in the centre avenue so that automotive traffic could gain admittance to those shops as well. It made for an area of the town that was accessible, yet snugly tucked away from the noise and pollution of traffic.
As we approached the entrance, I suddenly realised that I hadn't been to The Magic Bean in a couple of years. Now that the children are grown, my thesis finished and a bad marriage behind me, I'm nowhere near as stressed as I used to be. I hoped it hadn't changed much in the interim; I'd feel rather foolish after the buildup I'd given it.
I needn't have worried. As we stepped inside, Emma and I were immediately wreathed in alluring aromas. A quick reconnoitre revealed that the layout of the place hadn't changed at all since I was last there. Just as before, the canary yellow walls lent a cheery ambiance to the big room. The dark wooden tables and chairs were spaced at intervals that allowed conversation without infringing on the chats of nearby diners.
We each ordered lattes and a light brekkie, after which we found a free table. We had arrived at a good time; between the morning rush and the lunchtime scramble. Emma was filling me in on the details of a job she'd begun only recently. It seems she was getting stalker vibes from one of her male co-workers and she wanted my advice. Before I could answer, a waiter arrived with our coffee. I looked up to thank him and was met with a closeup view of the most sublime paragon of manhood I've ever beheld in the flesh.
His eyes were what I noticed first: smiling, a glittering burnt sienna, and fringed by impossibly long lashes. A dark mane of lustrous hair framed a face whose symmetrical contours seemed designed to seduce my gaze. As if that weren't enough, nature endowed him with a bewitchingly proportioned physique which he had the good sense not to cover too modestly. God bless tight tees.
I don't know if I can convey the effect he had on me without gushing more than I've already done. I certainly could enthuse further with no effort whatsoever. I'm embarrassed to say, I stammered and blushed like a schoolgirl. Emma rescued me with an appropriate "thank you", after which he gave us a jaunty smile, said, "No drama", in a warm, liquid voice and strode back to the kitchen. I was mesmerised by his retreating figure. The broad, muscular shoulders and upper back, the nipped in waist and a real stunner of an ass that his jeans did nothing to disguise. Christ. That 'frisson' I mentioned earlier? It had transformed into something considerably less subtle.
Luckily and surprisingly, Emma didn't seem to notice my discomposure. She was venting now about one of her core curriculum professors who possessed an unintelligible accent. In the meantime, I was shocked at how rattled I'd been by the proximity of that young man. A fellow young enough, it suddenly occurred to me, to be my son. On the heels of that thought, it crossed my mind that my reaction to him was anything but motherly.
As Emma regaled me with campus tales, my attention was lured magnetically to his movements. As if needing to confirm the comeliness my eyes had previously reported, I could hardly bring myself to look away. While I was engaged in this not-so-surreptitious ogling, a part of me was puzzled by my reaction to the waiter. I turn up at my gym six days a week. In that environment, I take notice of a steady parade of handsome blokes and splendid builds. While I do indeed appreciate the eye candy, I'd never come undone like this.
Oh my. He's coming this way again.
Of course, you dolt.
He's bringing the food.
