Ugh, this coffee is awful. I take a third sip of my latte. I don't even like lattes, but someone once did; I don't even remember who. I am sitting in the same crowded cafe as usual—well, at least as usual since I moved to this city. I'm alone, sitting at a small round table made of a combination of marble and wood. It usually isn't this noisy, but I don't mind. Either way, I'm lonely; whether it's in a room filled with three or thirty people, no one notices me. Sometimes I come here just to people-watch. To appreciate human connection, of course—not my own, which stayed back in my hometown along with my childhood. That may be a lie, but that's a lie I chose to believe. Look at that group of friends at table two; they must be having fun. I think to myself, slightly pitying myself, but my mom tells me that's not a good approach. Don't get me wrong, I'm fine; just after everything that happened, I stopped expecting that connection in my own life. Maybe a warm smile from a stranger isn't meant for me. I look down at my homework while Nirvana blasts in my headphones, rethinking why I even chose a major with so much Latin, when suddenly, I see someone tapping on my table. I remove my headset and look up at a wavy-haired blond woman carrying a backpack and a ridiculously large piece of cardboard. "Sorry to bother you, I was just wondering if this seat was taken."
At seven a.m., my alarm is ringing and urging me to get out of bed. I have an eight a.m. class today; I don't even know why I chose to take it. I get up, get ready, and go down to the dining hall. I sit alone as I do every day. I don't know if that's because it's a quarter past seven in the morning or because no one wants to sit next to me. I decide not to question it too much. I've been at college now for eight months, and so far, I don't have a single friend. I stopped thinking about potential love already in October, unlike some of my colleagues who, instead of eggs and toast, like to eat each other's mouths for breakfast. When I came to college, I thought it was going to be a fresh start, that I wouldn't think about her anymore. I was wrong. That may be my issue, the reason I don't have any friends, but that's not something I'm ready to accept, let alone fix. I sit in my intro to political science class in my usual seat. Dead center of the hall, surrounded by at least two empty seats next to me in all directions. The professor decided that today is the day to talk about failed and fragile states. Not even a third cup of coffee could keep me focused enough to do the work. The next couple of classes were a blur; in forty-five minutes, you will be sitting alone in the cafe pretending to study, the only thought keeping me sane all day.
"Sorry to bother you; I was just wondering if this seat was taken." Yes, I thought to myself, but to say that out loud would be rude. "No, no, go ahead." She sits down, setting down on the floor what must be at least $400 worth of what I assume are arts and crafts materials. "Ugh, I'm so tired. I haven't slept in two days; my model is nowhere near finished, and the deadline is tomorrow." She groans as she takes off her jean jacket. "Sorry, but do I know you?" "Oh, sorry, I don't think so. I'm Esme. What's your name?" "My name is Finley, but my friends call me Fin." She doesn't need to know that that's a lie; the only person who ever called me that was my childhood best friend. "What are you working on?" "Just some homework for Mr. Fisher's class." She stares at me in confusion, her eyes asking me to elaborate. "Latin." "That seems fun. I wish I had Latin as a subject in my major." Now it's my turn to stare in confusion. "I'm in architecture. That's why I'm hauling around my life's worth in craft materials. By the way, what are you drinking?" "A latte with two shots of espresso." "Great, I've never had one here. Be right back." I didn't get to tell her it's awful, but that's on her to find out. She comes back, a large, caffeinated drink in hand, and sits down. "Ok, I really need this." I watch her take a sip, foam sticking to her upper lip. She pulls back, coffee still filling her mouth. I can't really tell if she likes it or not. She swallows and stares at me as if waiting for me to say something. All of a sudden, a sharp laugh hits me in the face, making me smile for the first time in what seems like years. "Do you really enjoy this stuff?" "No, not really." "Then why do you drink it? And why didn't you warn me?" She continues to laugh. "Memories." Her laughter dies down, but her smile doesn't falter. I must be imagining it, but it stirs something in me, something I haven't felt in ages, and it makes me smile back. "So, um, sorry to bother you, but I couldn't bear standing anymore. I should get going. Here is my number if you ever want to drink god-awful coffee with someone again." She starts getting ready, putting on her jean jacket, and picking her materials up off the floor. "Good luck, Fin, with Latin? Hope to see you again." I wave goodbye, and just as fast as she appeared, she fades into the crowd of people that she came from.
The rest of the so-called study session was spent in a limbo of bright colors, time that seemed to stop, and a feeling I wasn't so sure I should feel. Warmth. That was the first time someone I didn't know smiled at me in probably years. Yet it still felt familiar. It felt like I was seen, not just as a random stranger on the street; it felt like I was seen for something else. Esme's phone number sat on top of Mr. Fisher's transcripts of the Odyssey, a book I used to read for fun. I spent the next few hours contemplating calling it. Next thing I knew, Leonardo, the cafe's owner, was tapping me on the shoulder, telling me they were closing. It was ten p.m. I gathered my belongings and headed for the door. On the walk back to my dorm, I passed by the architecture department, which is famous for the all-nighter culture of its students. I guess it's always been there, but I never noticed it. "Hello? Who is this?" Before I even realized what I was doing, Esme was on the other side of the line. "Hi, it's Finley, or Fin, sorry. The guy you sat with today at the cafe." "Oh, hi, Fin. Sorry, I don't have your phone number memorized." "What are you doing up? Don't you have a final tomorrow?" "Yeah, I'm working on it, but honestly, it's a disaster." She sounds weary. "Listen, I grew up working with my hands. I could be of help; that's, of course, if you want it." "That would be great, but you should study the Odyssey if you have an exam tomorrow on it." I didn't even realize she paid attention to what I was working on. "No, I don't have an exam; I was just trying to get ahead on work." Another lie. "Well then, perfect; I could really use the help." "Excellent, where are you?" "In the architecture building, in the studio." "Very well, I will be there in five." "Fine, see you then." She hangs up first. I don't even know why I'm doing this; I'm exhausted. I meet her in the studio, and we get right to work. The model isn't a disaster, but to her it probably is. While holding two panels of hard stock paper upright, waiting for the glue to set, I see it and realize why I came. We worked all night and finished the model just in time to grab another horrible latte at Leonardo's right as he opened. She went to her final, and I went straight to bed.
I woke up at around three p.m. For some reason, the first thing I did was text her. Her final went great; she received a lot of applause for her work and mentioned she had a little help from a good friend. Good friend. What an odd thing to say about me. In the following weeks, I realized I started to seek her company; I started looking for that smile in the crowd, at the mandatory school assemblies in the gymnasium, and especially at Leonardo's. What scared me even more was the fact that it was always there. It was in the crowd, on the far-left side of the bench in the gymnasium, and across from me at Leonardo's. We started meeting up at that table until the end of the semester, every day after we were done with class. We talked about life and about how her ex-boyfriend from high school shattered her heart, though I never fully opened up about my past. I helped her with every model, and she listened to me talk about the political systems of ancient Greece and Rome, always offering to test me before an exam. I thought I would mind my alone time at the campus cafe, pretending to study while drinking a cup of coffee that only tasted like memories and sour espresso, while longingly watching other people socialize, being interrupted by someone. Turns out I prefer being interrupted by someone. But not anyone, only her. For some unknown reason, I also started noticing the warmth and smiles of other people—but never ones like those of the girl from the architecture department. I was no longer sitting alone in the majority of my lectures, and I made a couple of friends in most of my classes. Even though I had a lot of fun with all of them, I would never go to Leo's with them. Esme once said that Leonardo's is too long a name for a cafe, so now we call it Leo's. We started studying together. She usually sketches, and I regularly conjugate verbs in a dead language that only people in the Vatican still speak.
Soon enough, June crept its way onto campus. You could feel it in the air. The unbearable heat mixed with the scent of sweat, alcohol, and tears of joy from students either graduating or celebrating the fact that they passed and were advancing a year in September. Two weeks before the end of the semester, Esme and I were sitting in our regular spot, now drinking homemade peach lemonade instead of cholesterol in a mug. "I met someone. His name is Josh, and I think you would really like him." For some reason, I thought it was always going to be just Esme and me. Josh. The name kept looping in my mind. Out of all people, why him? I spiralled silently for so long that the next thing I knew, Josh from my intro to psychology class was sitting across from me, hugging Esme and greeting me like we were old friends. "Hey Finley, what's up? Es told me you guys were friends, and I just knew I had to hop in on one of your "not-so-coffee" hangouts." "Hi Josh. Yeah, not much; I just finished with all my classes." "Really? Lucky, I have till the end of the semester." The conversation kept flowing normally for the rest of the afternoon. But still, the only thing I could focus on was his arm around Esme. Why did he call her Es? She already has a normal short name. Why do I feel jealous? It's not like I'm in love with her or something. I left Leo's that evening feeling drained from keeping my actual thoughts from anyone hearing them except God and me, I guess. The next couple of days, Esme and I didn't really talk. She was done with model making for the year, and I was done with dissecting ancient ways of living. I spent that time realizing that I was actually in love with her, being angry at myself for getting so attached to something evidently non-existent, drinking the same kind of latte that Julie, my childhood best friend I fell in love with, showed me, and reading the Odyssey that was never even on my syllabus. Third lie. I kept rereading the story of Odysseus and Calypso. The story of unrequited love. I wanted to be angry with her, blame her, make her the villain that she never was. But neither was I. After a few days, I called and told her I was really happy for her and Josh, because I really was. "I got worried; you disappeared for the last few days. I just figured you needed some time to process everything," she said. And she was right. We kept being friends; we talked all summer over the phone since she went home to California, and I went back upstate. Next semester, we became a trio, Esme, Josh, and I, but we forbade Josh from interrupting our not-so-coffee retreats at Leo's.
As time passed, I had more friends. They knew Leo's was off limits, but we had other places we hung out. I stopped drinking lattes completely and started drinking cold brew, much more my style. The copy of the Odyssey that I always thought was my comfort was left behind at the bottom of a dresser drawer in my childhood bedroom when I went back onto campus in late August. I think I've learned enough from it. I no longer felt like I was alone, like the world was trying to crush me. I also realized that just because Esme doesn't love me in that way doesn't mean I'm unlovable or that she is any less important to me. I moved on. The other day, I caught myself truly smiling for no reason at someone completely new at Leo's. You see, in the beginning, I didn't realize that Esme's smile wasn't a promise, a promise of love or forever. It wasn't love, but a reminder that love is all around and that I can accept it and have it. For me to realize this, I needed something. I needed that smile to make a difference.