Potato, Potah-to. He calls it a 'talk'. Except all he did was talk at me for one hundred and twelve minutes while I made butternauts and refused to answer any questions I did catch for the first three-quarters of our meal. Self-preservation, as Eggs Benedict with salmon and fresh melon should be eaten in only the most positive of settings and by the end of the breakfast I was forced to take my coffee cup to the bar for refills because he kept sending the servers away.
(At least he tips well, though I could use a tip on very pale people with sensitive skin and red eyes from threatening tears. Big sunglasses look a little ridiculous indoors, on a rainy day. How are you all doing this? I'm not tough enough to not react. I'm not tough at all.)
Not like he gave me a chance to pull myself together as it was. The message was there when I woke up to meet him, dressed to go to breakfast. I did, walking to his glassed-in porch around eight, and he took my arm and marched me to his car, and then we drove in silence, he ordered curtly (knows what I like, at least) and then waited for what seemed like an eternity for the food. In reality it was around fifteen or twenty minutes but try doing that without talking.
Once the food arrived, Batman started talking. He talked while he ate and he never. let. up.
Maybe the Collective isn't working. Really is anything different? August needs to be sent home for good. So does anyone who wants a chance at a normal life. Who am I to keep everyone here at my beck and call-
Wait a minute. What? I have to interrupt. They chose this life-
I'm here, I see how their choices are-
Yes, you're here. What's your excuse?
I'm not interested in starting a family. I was married before. I've lived. Some of them haven't.
They're all adults.
Oh come on, Bridget. They're hypnotized. They're brainwashed.
I didn't do that.
This is what I'm telling you. Yes. You did. You did that. You made them that way.
I stop listening at that point. I haven't done anything wrong. And what he's describing is some kind of selfish criminal mastermind, out collecting souls because she didn't have one of her own. Jesus. Is that what I am? Oh Jesus. I can't swallow this bite of food. I can't hang on to my composure anymore. I can't be here. I don't want to do this.
Coffee?
Leave us.
The server is sent away just as I lift my cup and I turn my gaze back to Batman. Abruptly I realize he wanted a sounding board to unload all of his own jealousy, wrapped in the most ridiculous discourse of blame and tragedy and that this isn't my cross to bear and I don't need to sit through it.
I tell him I'm going to find the washroom and get some coffee, that I need a moment. I dab at the corner of my eye with a napkin so he has a little sympathy. He nods, softening somewhat, sitting up and fixing his tie.
I leave my cup on the bar, asking for a refill, telling them I'll be right back or they can take it to the table for me and I head down the hall.
Once inside I pull out my phone and wonder who the heck I can call for a drive home. Who's going to be on my side at this point?
Ben.
Except Ben's phone lives on the dresser perpetually because he forgets to take it everywhere.
Daniel it is. He says he'll leave right now, to meet him outside.
I wait as long as I can and go back out. Batman is sitting straight up. His face is ashen. My coffee is full but lukewarm and I hesitate beside the chair for several seconds before sitting down.
He holds up his hand and a server practically sprints over with a coffee pot and a new cup. The coffee is now too hot to drink, the old cup is removed carefully. This right here is a metaphor for my relationships. Ice-cold, removed or too attentive, too hot. Too immediate.
Happy mediums? Not this girl. Never ever ever.
Who's coming to get you?
I sip my coffee. Pardon?
Which one did you contact to come and pick you up?
Daniel.
You can't escape this, Bridget. That's the funny part.
No, see, the funny part is that you think this is my fault. You all came to me. I didn't ask for a thing. I still haven't asked for a thing or everything would be different. I didn't do this. You did. You all did, and blaming me is a real shit move after all this time.
I open my purse and fish out a few bills, throw them on the table and tell him to have a good afternoon. That I hope he got everything off his chest. That maybe he should book a time with Sam or with August if he wants to really dig deep and self-improve.
Then I walk outside, head high, just as Daniel is pulling into a loading zone.
Hey.
Hey. Didn't have time to put on a cape. Sorry.
I don't need any more heroes. Just friends.
Then I've got you covered. He winks and waits for me to put on my seatbelt. Then we're on our way home.
