They meet for Coffee
The women have been meeting for coffee for a long time. I say coffee, one usually prefers tea, though in the last few years the Bride has got into some of the fashionable ‘coffee’ concoctions. What even is a lavender frap.
But whatever the drink of preference they meet from time to time and catch up, new lives, new loves, what has changed, and how much stays the same. Sometimes they find a cute place and stay for a while, somewhere they won’t be bothered, with a nice woman who doesn’t notice if they don’t seem to change much over the years.
Blod is trying to keep up with an explanation of the latest shower regime taking over the internet– it’s always something new, last time it was silk bonnets and the ‘curly girl method’. It seems very complicated, but she doesn’t mind, the Bride is enjoying herself. She remembers how her friend has struggled, so afraid of not being clean, of not smelling good. Yes, this latest method seems to involve more steps and products than a sensible shower ever should, but it’s bringing joy and that’s the main thing. It was not so long ago, when the Bride was younger and Blod was just a bit less old, that she was prying Brillo pads out of her friend’s hands, holding her as she cried. Shame upon shame upon…yes, this is definitely better.
The Bride can tell her friend zoned out about twenty minutes ago, it’s ok. She knows Blod doesn’t mind if she rattles on a little bit, and who knows, maybe she’ll be inspired and get herself one of these net sponges, they are so good. Probably not the sugar scrub though, Blod prefers the plainest of products, and still smells sweet. It’s amazing given the bitter coffee she insists on drinking, always the darkest roasts. She even convinced the Bride to try that Turkish stuff once, without any sugar…
The café is crowded today, but they have their usual spot. The conversation is light, they don’t need to talk about the news. But the Bride asks how Blod’s work is going, there had been a break in at the shelter last time they met, somehow someone’s husband had found out the address and turned up with flowers of all things, then got nasty when they wouldn’t let him in. The Bride doesn’t ask if they caught the guy, she knows they won’t. Cheaper than therapy Blod says…But the Bride sees how she tenses any time someone in a crowd brushes past her, even if the nice woman in the café…Rachel was it…touches her by accident she struggles not to flinch.
Blod zones back in as the Bride gets to the part about, what, dusting powder? Surely you wash to get the dust off? Oh well, it’s fine, all these things come and go and anything that doesn’t eat your skin off is a bonus. Work? Oh it’s good, some new grants have come in – we might be able to expand, maybe even open a new shelter or two. Still mainly at home, something in the Rhondda Valley maybe, and some overseas outreach. It’s never enough of course.
Can an immortal over work themselves, the Bride wonders? If anyone can she’s sitting right there. You would have thought Blod’s fury would have burned out by now, but it doesn’t seem likely. But how many women are safe now because of that fury, pulled from their own burning castles (metaphorical in most cases the Bride suspects).
Coffee/ludicrous lavender drink finished the women go their separate ways. The Bride needs to run for the train, she has a spa appointment. Blod’s fancy electric bike is locked to a lamp post outside, apparently better than a car to get between locations if there’s an emergency.
The women don’t set a date for the next coffee; they meet when they want. It’s just nice to see someone who understands from time to time.
