She sighed when she walked in the room.
She set a cup of coffee by my feet on the table, the steam curling and unfurling in the cool air.
I glanced up from my book, which was a mistake, because she saw and sighed again. I tried to cover my slip up by laughing at an extremely unfunny part ofTess of the D’Urbervilles, but it was to no avail. She had, apparently, read it before and knew there was nothing funny about “poor, poor, poor Tess.”
Dumb Thomas Hardy, ruining everything all the time.
She sat beside me on the couch, her added weight disturbing my comfort just enough so that I had to reposition. I couldn’t get comfortable again. The ratio of my feet on the coffee table was disproportioned to the slouched curve of my spine—rendering this conversation already intolerable.
I laid my open book on my stomach, waiting.
“Well,” she began, her voice airy and light, “You know what they say—”
“Who’s ‘they?’”
“Don’t interrupt.” She took a deep breath and patted her cold fingers on the back of my hand. Her face twisted into a seemingly empathetic smile. “They say ‘A smooth sea never made a skilled sailor.’”
Her smile widened, fully believing that she was helping me.
I raised an eyebrow.
Her smile faltered.
I drew in a slow breath, then opened my mouth.
“Are you kidding me? You’re saying this now!? Why would anyone say that? And who is they? Are they a sea captain? Do you want me to enroll in the maritime academy? I told you I hated that stint in lifeguards—”
“I am merely using a metaphor as—”
“Do you want me to join the Navy? I told you I’m flat-footed! Is that still a thing for them? Do I not even get my excuse of flat feet anymore?”
She closed her eyes, doing that counting thing she does when I’m around.
“And, furthermore, what’s a smooth sea? A lake? Whoever was a sea captain on a lake? Or is it a spacious Dead Sea scenario here? Do I get to pick my sea? If not that doesn’t seem fair. Do you think I could reenact Pirates of the Caribbean in this situation?”
“You know, if you just thought about it—”
“Oh! A sailor, you know, I’ve always wanted to be good at yachting, sweetie darling, and perhaps this is my chance to go vacation on the cape with ‘ol Osgood Huntington the third!”
Her lips tightened, creases upon creases forming on her mouth. “You’re having a rough time—”
“Do I finally get to call someone a seaman in polite conversation?”
She sighed. “I’m getting more coffee.” Taking her still full mug, she stood and walked toward the door.
“Dibs on Jack Sparrow!” I called as she left the room.
Thoroughly pleased with myself, I picked up Tess again.
TIVOLI JENSEN 