Cigarettes

"Shit." She lifted her purse up to her face and stuck her head inside.

"Hold this," she said, handing me her coffee and tossing in the liberated arm in an effort to fish something from the bottom. The deli clerk looked on curiously.

Out came her cell phone, a packet of tissues, the case for her sunglasses, a rolled up issue of US Weekly, the pages of which unfurled as she populated the plastic counter with the "if you were born after this date in 1991, we won't sell you tobacco products" sticker.

"Don't judge," she said without looking at me, still trying to see to the bottom of the purse.

I smiled, "whatever. I know you're just taking a break from 'The Economist.'"

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. We can't all be as intellectual as you."

"We're so fucking old."

"What?"

I pointed to the sticker. "1991? Damn."

She didn't answer, choosing instead to focus on her task. A hand finally emerged with a fistful of change that she spread out. Among the dimes and nickles, the copper gleam of the pennies made her face glow triumphant. Her fingers began pulling apart the coins, counting up to the $1.52 that she still owed for her packet of cigarettes. The rest of the change clanged against objects as swiped it back into her purse and let it sink back down to the bottom.

"You should consider getting a little change thingy."

The clerk huffed in annoyance as he recounted everything and rang it up, passing the Marlboro Lights over to her.

"Thanks!" she said in her sprightly way, and ran out of the deli. I grabbed the other items that she left on the counter.

"Hey, you might want these."

"Yeah. Good call." She let me throw everything back inside the bag as it hung from her shoulder, using her free hands to light the cigarette that was already fixed between her lips. After a few self-congratulatory drags, she pulled her sunglasses down over the eyes still puffy from the previous night's binge drinking, and turned to look at me.

"So."

"So."

"I'd offer you a cigarette but you don't smoke. Gum?"

"No, thanks. And I do smoke, every now and then, while I'm out sometimes. But I don't think I've ever had one up in the middle of the afternoon."

"Judgy judgy." Her voice squeaked in a way that indicated she was in the process of losing it.

"I'm not being judgmental. I'm just saying."

"It was your tone."

"Hey, if you read into my tone, that's your own thing. Don't blame me for your insecurity."

"We can do this all day. Every time we meet up we end up sparing."

"I'm sorry." I threw up my hands in a highly excited manner and grabbed her shoulders playfully. "I'm so sorry!"

She pushed me away, "OK, OK. Stop. Thank you. OK."

I laughed. "Why so serious? With your monster bee glasses. Those things are like eye parasols. You're scaring me."

"My eyes are very sensitive to the sun. And they were only closed for 4 hours last night. I showed, didn't I? Even though I went out last night."

"Well sure, you'd be lame if you flaked out on our once-every-6-months coffee because you decided to go out. I don't see how this is you doing me a favor..."

"God, you don't stop do you?" She finally began walking towards the subway.

"Whatever, you like it." I followed alongside.

"Clearly enough that we only hang out twice a year."

"Yeah, why is that?"

"Busy. Life. Responsibilities. You being annoying."

"It would probably just be weird if we actually saw each other more than that. Like what would we talk about? I feel like we have the sort of relationship where stuff needs to build up for a few months in order for us to be able to have anything to say."

"That's sort of sad, isn't it?" She took another puff and blew out a cloud of smoke that misted transparent as we walked through it.

"I don't know. I don't think so." I looked ahead, down the street, squinting from the light.

"Well," she tilted her head towards me and took my arm, "then I will cherish these next few moments that we have."

I glanced down at her. "You're always looking for an excuse to have physical contact with me."

"I guess I can't help myself," she said sarcastically. "It's just that you have such shapely arms." She pulled herself away abruptly and threw the finish cigarette to the ground without stepping on it. "It was good seeing you though."

"Yeah. Definitely. I'd say we should do this more often but, well, you know."

"Probably wouldn't work out anyway."

"Probably not."

"You taking the F?" She asked, pointing to the station we had arrived at.

"Brooklyn."

"You and Brooklyn. I never would have guessed. It seems like its becoming serious."

"What can I say? She's after my own heart."

"And we know how picky you are."

There was that accenting moment of silence that always crawled into the conclusion of our conversations, reminding that we wouldn't see each other again for a long while. It was always those pauses that I recalled whenever I thought back to our previous meet-ups.

"And so," I finally started, "you're doing well? You're happy?" I wanted to leave with a highly simplified image of her in my mind, ignore the complexities that had dominated the last three hours of our time.

"I am," she said, smiling at me from behind the glasses that made it impossible to tell where she was looking. "Everything is really good."

I pulled her towards me to give her a hug, the stubble from my cheek grabbing at her hair as it brushed past. Her arms wrapped around me mechanically, politely. In the middle of the hold, she suddenly squeezed me tight for a second, relaxed, and then squeezed tight again for a moment longer.

"Well," her voice was squeaky again as she released me and moved away backwards on her heels, her flip-flops smacking against the pavement, "enjoy your ridiculously long commute."

I waved to her. "You don't have to worry about me."

She smiled as she turned to continue down the street, "I never do."