Another Cup of Coffee

The scene in front of Etienne was becoming depressingly familiar. His fiancee was asleep at the table, the polychromatic chaos of her hair spilling over her face. This time it was a methods paper and her portfolio spread out around her, last time had been a research paper, the time before mock lesson plans. A very large (and by now very cold) mug of coffee lurked near her elbow.

Etienne tried, once again, to suppress as spurt of anger. If she wasn't in class, she was at that arcade, rarely dragging herself home at anything resembling a decent hour. It gave her little time to finish her schoolwork, and virtually no time with him. Taking a deep breath to squash his resentment, he gently shook Diana awake.

"Mmph wuzza merket?" she stirred sleepily, then bolted upright as her mind woke up and reminded her of her unfinished work, just missing knocking heads with Etienne as he leaned over her.

"Easy, baby, easy. You can finish up in the morning. Come to bed, now." He tried to pull her into his arms and lead her to the bedroom, knocking over her coffee in the process.

Diana slipped past him into the kitchen to grab a towel and mop up the mess. "Go back to bed, love. I'll be there in a half-hour, tops." She uprighted the mug, placing it out of the way near the edge of the table and sighed. Her paper was ruined; she could only hope she had remembered to save a copy somewhere - maybe on Sasha's system.

"You said that two hours ago!" he repiled shortly, his bottled up frustration and resentment finally slipping free.

"I have to finish this. It's due first thing in my 8 o'clock class, and I have to meet with my advisor before I go. I won't be long."

"If you spent less time having an affair with that Tor'Ielle and more time on your classwork—"

"You did not," she interrupted him with a voice like the Martian winds, "just say that. I cannot believe you just said that. Ryan is a 16 year old boy—"

"Man"

"Boy," she repeated firmly, “who just lost his father—“

“A year ago!”

“Eight months. He lost his father and foster sister, the only real family he’s ever truly known, less than a year ago! He’s being forced into an incredible position of responsibility without his normal supports, and you want me to stop being there for him. To stop being his friend; stop trying to provide him with at least some small measure of the support he’s lost. To stop helping him feel his way into his new roles—“

“What roles! What responsibilities! It’s an arcade; what are you doing over there?” At her hesitation, he lashed out again. Damn it, Annie, what aren’t you telling me?” The mug jumped as his fist hit the table, tipping off the edge and shattering on the floor.

They stood there and stared at each other in the sudden silence that followed, each seeing the hurt and sorrow in the other’s eyes and knowing their own part in it. It was Diana who dropped her eyes first. With shame, she saw the pain and worry, knew her part in it, and could not trust herself to answer the questions there.

“I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?” There was no anger in his voice now, just concern. “Don’t shut down on me now, love. You know I would never abuse your trust. Please, Annie, tell me what’s wrong.” He tilted her chin up to look again into eyes shining in their grief and fear. He hated pushing her, hated the pain he saw and his contribution to it. “Baby, please.”

“I can’t!” She cried in frustration. She let him pull her into his arms, tears finally spilling over. “I want to, but if I’m wrong– It’s not just my secret to tell. Not anymore. I’m sorry,” she finished in a whisper, her voice muffled slightly in his chest.

He led her to the couch and cuddled her until the worst of her sobs had eased, both mourning what they knew was coming.

“The night Ielle died, I made a point of asking if you’d be home for dinner, remember? We both had things we wanted to talk about before we made anymore wedding plans.”

“I remember. I was going to tell you. . . It wasn’t a car crash, you know, that – that killed Michael.” Even after all this time, she had a hard time saying the word.

“I figured that.” When she looked at him in surprise, he continued, “There was too much anger, and it was too focused, for an accident. But what made you tell me now?”

“I. . . if I can’t tell you the full truth, I can – I need to at least stop lying to you.”

“That’s the crux of the matter, isn’t it? You can’t trust me. Don’t,” he put a finger to her lips, “try to defend or explain yourself. I understand. I think. But. . .

“This isn’t going to work, is it,” he finally stated. I hadn’t – I mean I’d hoped–” he broke off, not finding the words he wanted.

“I love you. I may always love you. But before that night, before. . . before everything happened, I. . . I thought it was cold feet. I mean, you were so damn sure. But I was wrong. I’d decided to tell you, that night. I did love you. I just didn’t want us to make a mistake.”

“But you didn’t tell me.”

“You were so devastated when you walked in that night; I couldn’t do that to you. I thought that this would change things, that we’d work through it. But it didn’t, and we aren’t. It took a bit longer, but we’re still just drifting further away.”

At length, Diana replied, “Michael stopped me, the night before. . . He wanted to talk to me about. . . something, and about you. He wasn’t sure about you, and he wanted to know that I was.

“But I wasn’t. I hadn’t realized, until talking to him, but I thought about what he’d said all night, and all that day until. . . And then Ryan needed me to be strong, and Sacha needed me, and everyone needed me to be this pillar. . . So I needed you.

“Michael’s death just postponed the inevitable, didn’t it.”

Etienne didn’t respond, just held her close.

In fact, he would have *stayed* a boy until he did something drastic (like grabbing Di and kissing her) that forced her to see him otherwise.