Guest blogger Tess Durbin: The first time I saw her was at parents' orientation night.
"Crazy that they're already in kindergarten isn't it?" I said in her direction.
"Yeah, she said," looking me right in the eyes. I remember I liked her look, which I would describe as unadorned. Not a lot of make-up or jewelry, no bows or appliquÃ©s either, just a simple sweater and jeans that fit.
My kind of girl.
"Wanna go for coffee?" she asked me one day a month or so later after we dropped our kids off. Why not, I thought. I was just going home to sort bills and laundry. I run a business out of our house and lately it's been awfully quiet.
"Sure." I said.
"Great. See you at The Drip in a few minutes then?"
"Love The Drip," I said, because I do. I didn't think other mommies went there. What with it's tattooed barristas and alternative art on the walls. One time they had a "Labia exhibit," on the walls, in oils. So, The Drip wasn't exactly the place to plan library fundraisers.
My kindergarten comrade was at the cashier when I walked in.
"Find a table."
That wasn't hard since the place was empty.
"I got you a soy latte, extra foam, I hope that's okay," she said walking towards me.
Funny, that's exactly how I like it.
"Perfect," I said, as she set the two drinks down. That's when I noticed the particular blue of her eyes and how short her nails were. Not chewed, just cut very close to the tips of her fingers. Maybe she's a sculptor.
Our coffee dates quickly became part of my Monday morning schedule. On those mornings, I didn't wear sweatpants and I often slicked on a little lip gloss.
"What color is that?" she asked me, in the middle of a monologue about how my son only eats noodles and donuts, "On your lips?"
I had no idea. I fished the tube out of my bag and handed it to her.
"Crush," she read aloud, "How perfect," and then she leaned in for what I thought was a closer look, until she kissed me.
Just like that.
It was very simple and very sweet and, because I can't stop thinking about it, also probably very wrong.