Law of Attraction

I glance out the picture window to the open-air mall, crawling with people. They are shuffling along the bricked avenue under the intensity of the Colorado sun, seeking out the shade afforded to them from the large trees that grow along the interior walkways. Locals, dressed in the fashion of yoga-class-meets-nature-hike, stride past with purpose. They are easily discernable from the meandering groups of tourists going from store to store, yearning to spend hard-earned cash on over-priced clothing and artsy trinkets. 

I sigh, the pit in my stomach burning from anxiety and the second double-shot espresso I’ve had since sitting here. I decided to arrive early, because she is always early, and the thought of beating her at her own game sounded appealing. But the intended arrival of ten minutes early turned into twenty, which turned into leaving my house forty-five minutes before our meeting. Counting down to this day, I re-played our past conversations and played out new ones, each pass leaving me feeling beaten and bruised. Now, I sit in the very posh coffee shop with a desperately full bladder, worried that the moment I leave the table she will arrive, and all my careful planning will have been for nothing.

I squeeze my thighs together tightly, but no amount of willpower will stop the body’s natural response to as much coffee as I’ve consumed today. My eyes burn from urgency, and I’m sweating, even in the air-conditioned room. I shift on my seat, cross and uncross my legs several times.

“You’re being ridiculous,” I tell myself. And so, in the fastest manner possible I rush to the ladies’ room.

Returning, much relieved, I spot her. She is sitting at a small table, closer to the front of the bustling café. She sits facing the door and I mentally check this off my list of tactics I know she will employ against me.

“OK. Two options, Becca. Grab your stuff and go to her, letting her set the terms of the meeting. Or sit and look so occupied, she will think you didn’t see each other when she came in, once she realizes you are already here,” my inner voice counsels me.

“What am I? A child?” I challenge back. “Is this high school that I should pretend I don't see her?”

So, I’m sitting with my pen working furiously over my notebook, head bent low at my table, when I hear her voice trill across the café.

*

She had asked to meet me, after a terrible fight followed by two years of radio silence. I paced my kitchen for a full day, deciding whether I wanted to allow her back into my life. Geoff cautioned me against it, in his gentle way. He reminded me of the stress, the tears, the therapy. Then he reminded me of the freedom and self-worth I have slowly rediscovered. Once, I believed her to be brilliant, golden, magic walking. Now, though, as my grandmother would say: she’s taken the gilt off the gingerbread.

“How are you going to make sure she doesn’t get to you again?” Geoff’s voice is deep and gentle.

“I just won’t let myself get drawn in,” is my overly nonchalant response, accompanied by a simple shrug.

“Ya,” he quirks an eyebrow at me, “but HOW?”

“Maybe I just need a sign,” I sigh. “You know, that I’ve outgrown her.”

*

My back is to the door, I crammed all my detritus into an overstuffed bag and hauled it over to her table, now swinging from my chairback. She had said she wanted to take me to coffee; she was curious about my new projects, asking about family, proclaiming how much she has missed me and dying to catch up. 20 minutes at the table, however, and I have yet to hear her ask one question that is about any of those topics. We have covered: her gorgeous new boyfriend, their last-minute trip to Iceland, how well her online business is going, and her four kids’ Olympic aspirations: from gymnastics to football, hockey to diving.

“Well,” I begin, ready to contribute to the conversation, but I’m cutoff.

She regales me with the details of some facial thingy she has been doing. She smiles conspiratorially at me; letting me in on the big secret: “It really helps to tighten up all those sagging spots. I wouldn’t have done it myself, except, I purchased it at the school auction. It was for a good cause, so I thought – why not? They are running a promotional and I am so excited,” her voice rises on that last word to a little squeal, shaking her hands in front of her. My mind calls out – spirit fingers! I press my lips together tightly. “I’m so excited to tell you that I get to give one free treatment to a friend – and I’ve picked you!” and with a double flick of her index finger she taps the underside of her chin. I immediately want to cover chin and neck with a hand, shielding the now obviously sagging skin from the world.

“Huh,” I inject with a nod. I take a breath, ready to add something, anything, to this one-sided conversation. I needn’t have bothered with the effort. 

“Have you heard ever heard about the law of attraction?” She glows with an inner excitement. Her energy bounces around her like the carefully-coiffed curls that dangle around her heart shaped face. Once, I would have leant in, eager to be schooled. Now, I sit back, arms crossed and let my eyes move to the back wall where a black chalk board lists the menu items, deals of the day, and clever quotes. 

“Law of Attraction? Ya, isn’t that a rom-com? It’s like from the early 2000’s, right? Super cute…” I trail off. She rolls her dark, almond eyes and sighs.

“No, silly. The law that says ‘that which is like unto itself is drawn.’”

 “So,” I interrupt, “this is like karma or something?”

“Oh no!’’ and she splays her finely-manicured hands on the table. “This is like, manifesting your greatest desires in the blink of any eye!”

“So, if I wanted to manifest a sign from the universe? Something like that?”

“Just so.” She prattles on about a seminar she took while my index fingers draws back and forth along my jawline, feeling the skin is a little soft and loose. I catch every other word as I practice a technique I read about, cognitively recognizing details of a room. Red cup, yellow letters, black chalkboard, brown coffee beans in a glass jar.

“Whatever happened to us?” She asks, noticing my distraction. “We used to be so close. Gosh,” she sighs dramatically, “I just thought we were going to take over the world. Then you just disappeared on me.”

Her little laugh accompanied with a head toss is bright and sparkly, well-rehearsed.

“She is a caricature,” that inner voice again.

“Happened?” I can’t keep the astonishment out of my voice, feeling my eyebrows crawl up my forehead. “Disappeared? You opened a credit card in my name and maxed it out. When I asked you about it and told you to pay it off, you ghosted me!”

Her smile freezes, and I can almost feel the ache in her cheeks as she struggles to maintain it.

“Well,” her voice rises an octave, “I don’t remember it that way at all. You said you wanted to help me after my divorce.” Her eyes well with moisture, and I am impressed all over again how this woman can cry on cue.

“I didn’t mean you could ruin my credit,” I scoff.

“You knew my credit was bad after he left me,” she whines, digging in her bag for a tissue.

“I thought you left him,” I frown, but her voice has ratcheted up and overtakes me.

“I’m mean, I told you I’d pay you back someday. Gosh,” a heaving sigh, “so sorry if I misunderstood why we were meeting today,” she blinks rapidly a few times, dabbing at her extra-long lash-extensions fluttering. “Obviously, some of us just can’t let the past lie.”

I slump back. I want to laugh; I want to throw things; instead I just sit there, slack jawed.

 “Well, gosh,” her voice takes on the tones of a little girl, whiney and falsely innocuous, “it seems this was a waste of time. I’m just so sorry to inconvenience you.”

Sniffing, she stands and flips her wrist to display her Apple Watch.

“Look at that, I’m going to have to run,” and she turns in a flourish of bouncing red ringlets and wide, swinging hips. I stand and turn as she passes, watching a tornado leave the area.

When she sweeps out the door, a glob of white from above lands squarely on her artfully arranged curls. Her outraged shriek is muffled as the door swings close. A pigeon flaps away indignantly. 

“It’s a sign...” I whisper.

I start giggling. It begins as a tickle in my throat, but progresses quickly into a full body agitation. My body shakes with barely controlled hysterics and I flop back into my seat. Propping my elbows against the table, forehead in hands, I stare at my shoes, willing myself to calm down. The tabletop shimmies in time to the tremble of my shoulders. I gasp, tears dotting my pant legs. My side starts to ache.

*

“What did you expect?” his question comes after a shared bout of side-clenching laughter that has me doubled to the floor as I recall the meeting today and its glorious conclusion.

My breathing has slowed and its almost back to normal. The laughter feels so good. I sit on the cool tile of our kitchen, my back to the cabinets. He sinks to sit beside me and sighs, placing a hand on my thigh.

Taking a deep breath, I look at my husband and ask: “have you ever heard of the Law of Attraction?”