An Old Haunt

         The cafe was loud, filled primarily with college students giggling to themselves between classes. At the table next to him a baby was crying, its young mother growing increasingly shrill at her failed attempts to calm it. Janine still hadn't arrived.

         Paul sighed and checked his watch again. He hadn't wanted to come to lunch, had tried telling Janine that his schedule didn't allow time to frequent old university haunts, especially those, he thought, as the students' laughter turned raucous, that he had never liked in the first place.

         “It's important we talk, Paul. I haven't really seen you in weeks,” she'd countered, and thrown his planner behind the bed. Thus he'd rescheduled a meeting, and was eating a greasy BLT, and Janine wasn't even there.

         She couldn't have a good excuse. She didn't have any work, since she was taking time off to work on her art, which they'd “both agreed on” she'd tell him constantly. It was something she could do at her leisure.

         “It's not as simple as that” she'd say, and he'd nod, kiss her and head to the office.

         Twenty minutes had passed, and his sandwich was gone when Janine called.

         “Where are you?” he said.

         “Paul, I'm sorry, but... I don't think I could say this in person. Just, this isn't going to work, you and me.”

         “Oh,” he said, the BLT rising up his throat.

         “I'm sorry,” she repeated, and he heard himself say he understood, before there was the click of the phone.

         “Hey, food's not that bad, is it?” one of the students said to him on her way out the door.

         “No, it's not that bad” he said, throwing a few dollars on the table.