I was impressed at her ignorance. I was mad at her flippancy. “What do you mean, you’ve been there for me?

I walked into the coffee shop. It had the perfect vibe for, well, a coffee shop. Dark ambiance, raw wooden beams, the air was light with gentle chatter and the smell of coffee.

Making my way to the counter, I read the menu, settling on a vanilla latte. I ordered my coffee and found an empty booth in the corner and waited.

I’d arrived early, so I did the nosey-people-watching thing for a bit before I saw the person I was supposed to meet.

Even from afar, I could tell who she was, what I think she represented.

She ordered her drink and made her way to my table, sitting down opposite me.

Immediately I felt like I made the wrong decision.

She was giving off judgmental vibes, in her classy I-look-casual-but-I’m-actually-wearing-an-expensive-outfit.

And here I was, in my pullover and long skirt.

Which is to say that she was all regal and put-together and I was as glamorous as a slug.

“You’re probably doubting yourself now,” she interrupted, sipping her drink. Her lip gloss, tinted red like the heat of my embarrassment, left no stain on the lid.

“I— I guess. How did you know?” I stammered.

“Because I know you. I’ve known you for years, even though we’re only meeting now.”

Interesting, I thought. I suddenly got flashbacks of a feeling, at simchahs, at school, at home, an I’ll-never-be-good-enough vibe.

Trying to sound confident, I responded, “Okay, so what made you decide to meet? Like, why now?”

She scoffed. “Me? You’re the one who wanted this.”

How could I want something that I didn’t even know? “Who are you?”