Latte and Bones

***Trigger Warnings for physical violence and suicide.***

Four years, two months, and three days ago.

“This place has good bones, don’t you think?” 

You examined the red bricked walls of the coffee shop before walking across the entrance to stop in front of me. With your crop top and cut off shorts, you looked like a poster child for the seventies. All except your hair which you dyed purple. Standing on one leg, you popped your flip flop against your foot.

“Buildings don’t have bones.” I didn’t understand why you struck up a conversation. We were two strangers waiting for our coffee orders.

You turned to face me, smiling like we had grown up on the same street. Noticing my scrubs and tennis shoes, you squinted at the name on my badge. 

“Julian Thomas. Are you a doctor?”

I avoided eye contact, focusing instead on the barista behind the counter. “Not yet. Just a student.”

“Tourist or resident?”  

“My husband and I just moved here.”

“Do you want to do a ghost hunt?”

The coffee grinder let out a fierce scream as I looked at you confused. The blue stone earrings you wore matched your eyes and you wore a pin that read “If you are haunted, you are never alone.” You seemed peaceful enough, but I took a step back toward the exit just in case. 

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” I said, unsure why I was speaking to a crazy Floridian my first week in the state.

“You never know. A ghost hunt may change your mind.” You extended your hand and introduced yourself as Violet. In a flurry of words, you explained that you and your husband Caleb were locals. You told me about your family, your hobbies, and your obsession with Halloween. Eventually, you circled back to the ghost hunt.

“My husband and I have two extra tickets, which is why I asked. No sense in letting them go to waste.” 

My eyes shifted from your purple hair to the empty coffee counter. I tried to catch the barista’s attention in a silent plea for my order. I wanted coffee, not company.

“Ask your husband what he thinks.”

The barista called out our orders. I moved toward the counter, but you moved faster. My espresso was now your hostage. You held our orders in your hands as you stood waiting for me to call Lucas.  Reluctant, I called. 

Lucas was surprised I had met someone new so soon. It beat my last record of eight months. Excited at the idea of a couple's night out, he accepted. 

“Perfect,” you said, sipping your lavender latte.

With the ghost hunt date secure, you surrendered my espresso. The warmth of the coffee did little to soothe the loss of my quiet evening at home. You called Caleb and we sat at the table waiting for our husbands to arrive.

The comfort of the small coffee shop soothed my anxiety. And soon, as you spoke, I listened. When you laughed, I felt a little lighter. You told a joke and I almost smiled.

Three years, one week, and four days ago.

We prepared your house for your Halloween party. Lucas and Caleb, now inseparable, were in the man cave doing whatever. You lit the sage bundle in my hand and began to walk around the living room.

“Why are we doing this again?” I still didn’t believe in spirits despite your fervent conviction.

“We need to cleanse the house, so we don’t attract evil spirits on the night of the dead.”

We never found common ground on this subject. As you murmured some words I didn’t understand, I followed you through the house. Feeling ridiculous, I waved the burning sticks in front of the portrait of us in Victorian dresses. It was a gag gift from the boys, but you hung it up anyway. 

You walked around the corner as I reached the display that held Lucas and Caleb’s jet ski racing award. I could have stopped, but it meant so much to you I continued to wave the sage above my head until you reemerged.

Taking the sage from my hand, you hugged me.

“The spirits and I thank you.”

Relieved, I returned to calculating the dip to guest ratio. As I estimated the extra supplies needed for the surprise guests, you sat down beside me.

“Do you believe in soulmates?”

“No.” I replied without looking up. I could feel your hopeful stare boring into the side of my head.

“So, if I asked if you and Lucas were soulmates…"

I thought for a moment. Lucas and I met in medical school, he proposed, I accepted. It was practical but not romantic which is the way I liked it. “I would say, no, he is my husband.”

You sighed and I knew without looking that you rolled your eyes. You began to pop your flip flops against your feet.

“Well, I think we are soulmates. Like opposites pulled across the universe to meet each other.”

Knowing better than to respond, I focused on the drink list.

“Well, it doesn’t matter if you don’t believe. I believe enough for both of us. I think we will find each other again and again.”

“Why isn’t one lifetime enough?”

You stilled and the popping from your flip flop fell silent. I never engaged in your spiritual debates and I can’t say why I asked the question, but I knew better than to meet your eyes.

“It just isn’t.” 

I wondered if that’s where you thought ghosts came from. Did you believe that ghosts were people who weren't content with only one life?

Before I could ask, Caleb entered with Lucas in tow. Their rambunctious laughter filled the silence and distracted us from our thoughts. Our conversation was forgotten.

One year, six months, and two days ago.

I waited outside on your psychic’s porch in Talladega. Lucas and Caleb gifted us a girl's only vacation, but you refused to travel without a reading. Unlike the other times, you emerged wide-eyed and pale-faced as if you had seen a ghost. 

“We have to go.” 

You were out the door before I could ask what happened. We crawled into your Ford Focus, and I barely got my seatbelt locked before you hit the gas. You began driving home like something was chasing us.

“What happened? What did she say?”

You gave me a side-glance like I held a gun to your side.

“It’s you. You’ve drawn evil spirits to you. You have to come to my house so I can perform a cleansing ritual on you.”

I knew better than to tell you not to put your faith in a psychic. That conversation never ended well. You wove between the lanes like you were dodging raindrops instead of cars. I gripped the edge of the seat and focused on the floorboard.

“I don’t feel any different.”

You shifted up a gear and kept your eyes on the road. “It doesn’t matter what you feel. You're a tornado of negative energy. It’s only a matter of time until you destroy something in your path.”

You were talking nonsense and I couldn’t rationalize with you. But I continued talking to give myself a distraction from the blur of cars as you sped past them. “Bad things happen in life sometimes. It’s just life.” 

“No. It’s your energy.” You tightened your grip on the wheel and held the petal to the floor.

I didn’t understand. My mind calculated the energy of the car versus impact with a tree if we hydroplaned off the highway. 

Unable to stand the drive any longer, I managed to squeak out a restroom request. I had been holding it since we were at your psychic’s office. With home half an hour away, we stopped at our coffee shop.

We entered, me for the restroom, you for a late afternoon lavender latte. Despite the door chime alarming the patrons to our entrance, Lucas and Caleb didn’t look up as we entered. 

They sat with their hands entwined as steam from the coffee billowed into the air between them. Caleb spoke softly to Lucas before lifting his hand to his lips. Looking deep into his eyes, he kissed Lucas's palm. My husband returned the kiss with a shy smile.

A scream split apart the intimate scene. The yell was so guttural I didn't recognize it as yours. Both our husbands sprang up from the table as you ran forward. At first you beat both in equal measure, fists pounding on whichever you could hit. Then you turned your abuse to Caleb. 

Lucas’s eyes met mine. Sadness pulled at his features. An apology he couldn’t speak held back behind his pursed lips. 

I nodded to him in understanding asI I considered my future. Lucas would need his space after this. Would he want his own apartment, or should I offer to leave instead?

“This is all your fault.” You turned on me with tear-stained cheeks as the barista called for help. “You did this.”

Confused, I searched the person before me for any resemblance of my friend. All I found was rage. 

"I don't understand."

“This is what she warned me about. Your bad energy did this to us.” 

You threw a coffee cup at me. The sudden numbness of my body deflected the pain, only the sound of it shattering registered.

“I didn’t do this. I didn’t even know about this.”

You picked up a bag of coffee from the counter and threw it. It hit my cheek, but I was unable to look away from you.

“Your negativity destroyed us. I will never forgive you.” 

Something else hit me in the chest. I didn't respond.

“I curse the day I met you.”

You left me standing alone, speechless, and smelling of lavender latte. I lost you the first time that day. Then again when you took your life.

Twenty minutes ago.

I told myself I would visit your grave but ended up here at our coffee shop. The barista sat the lavender latte before me, a round shape decorated within the foam. I visited for the first time since that night. My ring-free fingers tapped on the edge of the mug. As I sipped it, the design warped into the shape of a heart.

The shop was filled with our memories, both good and bad. I remembered the first question you ever asked: “This place has good bones, don’t you think?” As I contemplated the answer, something settled over me. I looked around the shop as if seeing it for the first time. 

I noticed then how old it felt, like our history hung thick in the air. Every empty seat was a memory; every song played was a reminder. In the stillness of it, I saw its bones for the first time.

I don't believe in ghosts, but if I did, I understand why they would haunt places. I understand why they would return to a place once filled with love and life knowing that it’s empty now. With the sweet taste of lavender on my tongue, I chose the heartbreak of memory to the loneliness of moving on.