The Gift

(TW: serious health issues and peril)

I hate goodbyes, but I love sugar too much.

With a handful of packets from the counter bin to replenish my office stash and mere steps from the cafe’s exit to begin the short walk to campus, I saw her.

“Hello, Andie! How are you?” I wanted to play her voice on a loop, and her bergamot scent spilled a nectar of longing laced with regret through my veins.

I didn’t want to reconnect, just to walk away again. The coward in me wanted to scamper away as fast as my 3-inch heels allowed. Instead, lost in the warmth in her golden whiskey gaze, I said, “I’m having a rushed, splendid morning.”

“I’m so glad to hear that.” She hovered a hand over my shoulder, a question in her eyes. “You have a few minutes to catch up?”

My heart thudded. I knew the sting of rejection, and I wasn’t used to this, when the thing I wanted most to happen actually occurred. You just have one of those faces, was the refrain, accompanied by an indifferent shrug or a bewildered grimace, when I greeted someone who’d forgotten me.

This was new, but I’ve never been good with change, or second chances, one of which I owed to Ann.

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“Order up! Venti iced chai.” A barista shouted over the hiss of an espresso machine, the scrape of wooden chairs on a sticky floor.

I meandered through the throng of sleepy-eyed students and young professionals at the pick-up bar. The rich aroma of earthy, exotic brews and pastry usually compelled me to find a table in the back, but it was a class day.

My laptop bag bumped the arm of a young man with a sleeping toddler on his shoulder. ”Sorry about that.” He smiled and stepped aside for me.

I wrapped my hand around the cup at the same time an olive-skinned hand, complete with a massive diamond glittering on an elegant ring finger, tried to grab my drink.

“Excuse me, this is mine.” Her dulcet tone belied the strength of her wrist.

I slid the cup out of her grasp. “Unless your name is also Sandra, then I think you’re mistaken, ma’am.” I angled the lid to show her my name in neat black flourishes.

Patty lowered the bill of her cap and stepped away from the register. “Sandi, we added your dash of ginger.” She winked at me before she turned to the stranger. “Ma’am, I think your order— venti dirty iced chai— is coming out next.”

“Oh. I guess it’s yours, then.” Her lips twitched upward.

I shook my head and resisted the urge for my usual snark while I picked through an array of sweeteners on the self-serve counter to slide out a handful of sugar packets, a stirrer and a napkin.

“Who puts ginger in tea? Isn’t it already sweet enough, with the other spices in there?” Her hair shone like glass after a drenching rainstorm and cascaded onto her neck, sheathed in a sleeveless gold blouse paired with a black pencil skirt. “You dropped this.”

I stuffed the napkin in my pocket and nearly fumbled my belongings, more slippery than a witty response. “Um, thanks for that.”

“You’re quite welcome, but I guess you’re gonna ignore my question.” She jiggled her cup and tugged the handle of a bulging sack of pastries.

“What do you care, since you obviously haven’t met a croissant or muffin you don’t like?” I tipped my chin at the bag as I held the door open.

She chuckled and matched my pace. ”Looks like you got me there. I’m Ann, by the way, short for Anja.”

I really needed to get to class, because my students expected a review before their final exam the following week. “It’s very nice to meet you. And, I use sugar only for my drinks, it’s my one bad habit. I add ginger, because it helps get rid of inflammation.”

“Oh, I never knew that.” Ann bumped against my elbow. “Well, I guess that’s one thing we don’t have in common.” And a belief in personal space.

Then, Ann grabbed my arm. “Would you like one?” She slid her hand into the bag and held up a croissant.

I’m sure my eyes widened, because I hadn’t eaten chocolate since before the diagnosis, and I was starving. “I shouldn’t, really.”

Ann shook her head, then reached over to unzip the side pocket of my bag. “I insist, Sandra.” She brushed her hands together after she stuffed the package into the compartment stocked with wipes and afternoon meds.

My boot heel skittered over a pine needle. Wreaths and half-strung white lights dotted the storefronts, and the clock on the old bank building read 8:37.

“Well, it's not poisonous, or is there another reason you’re looking at me like that?” Ann’s eyes swept over me.

I’ve been accused of wearing my emotions on my face, a liability in social situations, when I preferred to acknowledge others with a slight wave, subtle nod, or minimal meaningless chatter. “What? No, I- I’m sorry. What I meant to say is, thank you very much for the pastry. It’s actually my favorite.”

I made it to the crosswalk with almost 10 minutes to spare. “Ann, I appreciate the pastry, but I’m late.” I stretched the strap over my shoulder, with one eye on the traffic signal. “Maybe I’ll see you sometime. But I really need to—”

I’m still not certain how it happened, but the next thing I remember, Ann grabbed my waist and wrenched me out of the street. A car whizzed by, the horn an ear-splitting screech that matched the pounding of my heart.

“Oh my goodness! Are you alright?” Ann ran a hand over my cheeks and forehead.

A cluster of students and passers-by gathered, and it wouldn’t be long before one of the looky-loos posted how Dr. Martin almost got creamed by an SUV on the way to campus.

“I think I’m OK.” My ripped suit jacket reeked of oat milk. Ann held onto my laptop bag, so maybe I hadn’t lost everything at the worst possible time of the semester.

“You think so, but I'd feel better if you let me get you to an ER.” Ann wielded a phone while she scanned my head for injuries.

“No.” I rubbed my temple, which did nothing to stem the lightheadedness or soothe my sore neck. “I just need some pain meds, and maybe something to eat, another chai.”

"Let’s make sure that’s all you need.” Ann ran a hand up and down my arm, a grounding gesture.

“Do you have to get home, or go to work?”

Ann shrugged. “I can spare a bit of time. I was talking your ear off, so I feel kinda responsible.”

A once-over from a health center doc and a couple of extra-strength pain pills later, Ann typed away on my laptop at the back table at the nearly empty cafe.

“Looks like you’ve got a few messages from your students.” She sipped ice water while she scrolled. “Not too happy you canceled class today.”

“Well, you did that, but I could use a day off." I smiled and shifted my feet propped in the extra chair.

Ann slid a plate across the table. “I think maybe more than one is allowed following a near-death experience.”

The wrap was still warm, and cheese was another prohibited food, but what the hell? The honey ham paired well with the Brie, and the first bite was filled with creamy nuttiness.

“You are hungry!” Ann chuckled and touched her chin.

“Thanks." I balled up the used napkin, and she brought me another one. “Saving me yet again today. I’m not sure how to thank you.”

“Just go home and get some rest, I’ve had more than enough excitement until New Year’s.”

We stayed a bit longer. Ann told me about her husband who traveled for work and her twin teenage daughters, busy with activities that left her with little time for much else. She gave up her art when she married and visited museums when she stole a few minutes for herself.

I shared how scared I was when the specialist told me it was a treatable stage 2 and that I was done with relationships after my girlfriend left, claiming it was too much for her to handle. And how the surgery and treatments had worked so far, but terror-filled sleepless nights, alone in my luxurious, oversized bed were worse than any cure.

“I gotta do pickup soon.” Ann stored my device and cleared the table, and I realized it was after 3 pm. I finished the last bite of my very late lunch and nodded.

“Are you sure you don’t want a ride?” She handed me another brown bag filled with pastries, four more ham and Brie wraps, and a package of candied nuts.

Ann shooed my hand away when I dug a $20 from my wallet. “I have to give you something.”

She patted my shoulder. “You gave me more today. Please, rest and be OK.”

A few hours later, settled under my silky duvet, traces of citrus on my skin, I discovered a message from Ann.

Even if we don’t see each other again, I’m glad we met today. I never believed that saying about saving a life and owing a lifelong debt, because I doubt what most people say is wise. I believe in showing kindness to all, including a divine stranger.

Take care of yourself and enjoy the holidays!

I had no idea when she entered her number into my phone, but I whispered a prayer of thanks for this beautiful woman and her generous gifts of friendship and possibilities that I owed to Ann’s timely save.

Yet, I didn’t respond to her message. Maybe next time…

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I jumped at the jangle of the bell, ushering in a pair of sweater-clad patrons ready for their caffeine fix.

“Sandi? Are you OK? Do you have a few minutes to talk?” Ann handed me a sugar packet that slipped through my fingers.

“Oh. Thanks, Ann. I really should get going.” I ignored the buzz of my phone in my pocket. “I’m late, as usual.”

Ann offered a sad smile. “Well, duty calls, I guess.”

Just before she shouldered through the door, I said, “Ann, you wanna meet here tomorrow morning? Dirty chai and croissants on me?”

“Sure, see you then." I waved, grateful it wasn’t another goodbye.