The art of deflection

The Art of Deflection "Okay, lightning round," Nelly announced, pushing her empty mug aside. "We're clearly both disasters. Let's make it fun. Rapid-fire questions. No thinking, just answering." Snow raised an eyebrow. "Is this a therapy technique?" "It's a 'we're strangers who've shared way too much in thirty minutes and now need to lighten the mood' technique." "That's not a thing." "It is now. I'll start." She didn't wait for agreement. "Favorite color?" "Black." "That's not a color, that's an absence of light." "Fine. Dark blue. Like really dark. Almost black." "Of course it is." Nelly rolled her eyes. "Mine's yellow." "Like your duck umbrella?" "Exactly like my duck umbrella." She grinned. "Okay, your turn. Ask me something." Snow considered. "Favorite song?" "Currently? 'Mr. Brightside' by The Killers." "Basic." "Excuse me?" "That's the most basic answer. That's like saying your favorite food is pizza." "Pizza IS my favorite food!" "Unbelievable." But Snow was smiling now. Actually smiling. "Fine. Why 'Mr. Brightside'?" "Because it's about someone watching the person they want be with someone else, and the jealousy and pain of it, but it's also got this frantic energy that makes you want to dance. It's sad but it's alive. That's—" She paused. "That's how I want to feel about things. Sad but alive." Snow's expression shifted. "That's actually a good answer." "Thanks. I occasionally have depth." "Occasionally." "Your turn. Favorite song?" He didn't hesitate. "The Night We Met' by Lord Huron." Now it was Nelly's turn to judge. "Oh, that's rough." "What?" "That's the 'I would go back to the beginning and fix everything' song. That's the 'I'm so deep in my feelings I might drown' song." "And?" "And it's perfect for you right now, which is depressing." "Everything about me is depressing right now." "Fair point." The purple-haired barista—whose nametag, Nelly now noticed, read "RAVEN" in all caps—appeared again. "You kids need anything else or are we just processing trauma all night?" "Define 'need,'" Snow said. "Food. Water. Will to live. Take your pick." "Do you have pie?" Nelly asked suddenly. Raven's eyes lit up. "Oh, do we have pie. Cherry, apple, key lime, chocolate silk—" "Cherry," Nelly and Snow said at the same time. They looked at each other, surprised. "Jinx," Nelly said. "That's childish." "You can't talk until I say your name three times." "That's not how—" "Snow, Snow, Snow. There. You're free." Raven watched this exchange with barely concealed amusement. "Two slices of cherry pie coming up. You two are adorable, by the way. In a deeply sad way." As she left, Nelly turned back to Snow. "We have the same favorite pie." "So?" "So that's, like, fate or something." "Or cherry pie is just objectively the best pie." "Also a possibility." Nelly leaned forward. "Okay, real question now. No more favorites. What was the worst part about tonight? Like, the specific moment when it really hit you?" Snow was quiet for a long moment. Nelly thought maybe she'd pushed too far—they were strangers, after all, and there were boundaries even in midnight café confessions. But then he spoke. "I was listening to our playlist. The one we made together. And Jane's favorite song came on—'Death of a Bachelor' by Panic! at the Disco, which is ironic now that I think about it." "Oof." "Yeah. And I was just lying there, and I thought..." He trailed off. "What?" "I thought about this moment from six months ago. We were in my car, just parked by the lake. She was singing along to something—I don't even remember what song. But she was so happy. Just purely, completely happy. And she looked at me and said, 'This is it, you know? This is the life I want. Just this.'" Nelly's chest tightened. "Snow—" "And I believed her. That's the worst part. I completely believed that she wanted exactly what we had." He looked up, and his eyes were wet. "How do you go from 'this is the life I want' to 'I can't do this anymore' in six months?" "I don't know." "Me neither. And that's—" His voice cracked. "That's what's killing me. Not knowing what changed. Not knowing what I did wrong." "Maybe you didn't do anything wrong." "Then why did she leave?" "Maybe she—" Nelly stopped. "I don't have an answer. I'm sorry." "Don't apologize. You didn't break up with me via text after four years." The pie arrived—two generous slices with vanilla ice cream melting on top. Neither of them touched it immediately. "Your turn," Snow said finally. "Worst moment. What's yours?" "Tonight?" "Ever." Nelly picked up her fork, pushed the pie around her plate. "Prom. Senior year." "What happened?" "This guy Marcus asked me. I was so excited I bought a dress the same day—spent my entire paycheck from my part-time job at the grocery store. Midnight blue. Made me feel pretty for once." "What happened?" Snow asked, though his tone suggested he already knew this wouldn't end well. "Two weeks before prom, Marcus texted me. Said his ex-girlfriend Sarah said yes when he asked her, and hope I'd understand." Nelly took a bite of pie, chewed mechanically. "The worst part? He added 'we're still cool though, right?' Like I was supposed to just be okay with it. Like I was supposed to smile and say 'oh sure, no problem, it's not like I built this whole thing up in my head.'" "What did you do with the dress?" "Wore it to prom anyway. Went with my friend Mia and her boyfriend Connor. They tried to make me feel included, but I just felt like a third wheel watching everyone else slow dance while I sat at a table eating sad cookies." "That's brutal." "That's my life." Nelly shrugged, trying for casual and landing somewhere near broken. "I'm the girl who buys the dress but never gets the dance." They ate their pie in silence for a moment. The café was completely empty now except for them and Raven, who was scrolling through her phone behind the counter, occasionally looking up to check on them like a guardian angel of the heartbroken. "Can I tell you something?" Snow said suddenly. "You've already told me about your entire relationship. Might as well go all in." "Jane and I had this thing. Whenever one of us was upset, the other would say, 'Name three good things.' Like, three good things about the day or the situation or whatever. It was supposed to help with perspective." "That's actually sweet." "Yeah." Snow smiled sadly. "So I've been tryingto do it all night. Name three good things about today. And I couldn't think of a single one." Nelly set down her fork. "Okay." "Okay what?" "Okay, let's name three good things. Right now. Together." "Nelly—" "Come on. Humor me. Three good things about tonight." Snow sighed, but there was something almost fond in it. "Fine. One: this pie is actually really good." "Two," Nelly continued, "you haven't cried in public yet, which is impressive given the circumstances." "Is that really a good thing?" "Emotional restraint is underrated. And three..." She paused, meeting his eyes. "Three: you're not alone right now. Neither of us is." Something in Snow's expression softened. "That's cheating. That's a good thing for both of us." "Efficiency." "Okay, your turn. Three good things about your night." Nelly thought for a moment. "One: I successfully opened my umbrella eventually." "With my help." "Still counts. Two: this hot chocolate was excellent and I regret nothing about the amount of whipped cream I used." "You had a whipped cream mustache for like ten minutes." "I WHAT?" Nelly grabbed a napkin, scrubbing at her face. "Why didn't you tell me?" "It was funny." "I take back everything nice I said about you." "Too late. What's three?" Nelly's smile faded slightly. "Three... I leave for college in three days. I've been terrified about it for months. But sitting here, talking to you, I feel a little less scared." "Why were you scared?" "Because I'm going to be the same forgettable person in a new place. Same story, different setting." "You're not forgettable." "You just met me." "And I'm not going to forget you." Snow said it with such certainty that Nelly almost believed him. "Give it a week." "I don't think I could if I tried." There was a moment—a suspended second where the world narrowed to just the two of them, two broken people in a café at 1:30 AM, and something shifted. Something small but significant. Raven chose that moment to materialize at their table. "So I'm technically supposed to close at 2, but given that you two are clearly working through some stuff, I can give you until 2:30. After that, you're taking this emotional support session elsewhere." "Thanks, Raven," Nelly said. "Don't thank me. Thank capitalism for understaffing late-night shifts so I have nothing better to do than eavesdrop on your trauma." She walked away, then called over her shoulder, "Also, purple-haired barista advice? Whatever you're both running from? Eventually you have to stop and face it. But for tonight, running is fine." When she was gone, Snow turned to Nelly. "She's weirdly wise." "All baristas are secretly therapists." "Is that why you brought me here?" "I brought you here because you looked like you were about to walk into traffic." "Was not." "Were too." "Was—" Snow stopped. "Okay, maybe a little." "See? I saved your life. You're welcome." "By forcing me to drink coffee and eat pie?" "Is there a better way to save someone's life?" "Medically speaking? Probably." They finished their pie. Raven brought them water without being asked, which felt like the kind of small kindness that could make you cry if you thought about it too hard. Neither of them mentioned that they were running out of time before the café closed. "Can I ask you something?" Nelly said finally. "Haven't we moved past asking permission?" "True. Okay. What are you going to do? Like, tomorrow. Next week. How do you move forward from something like this?" Snow was quiet for a long time. "Honestly? I have no idea. I thought I had my whole life figured out. Everything was planned. Now it's just... blank. Like someone erased the entire blueprint." "Maybe that's not the worst thing." "How is that not the worst thing?" "Because now you get to draw something new. Something that's just yours." "That's very optimistic for someone who just told me they feel forgettable." "I contain multitudes." "Walt Whitman?" "The man knew what he was talking about." Nelly leaned back in the booth. "But seriously. Maybe this is your chance to figure out who Snow is without Jane. Not in a sad way. In a 'what do I actually want' way." "And what if I want her?" "Then you'll hurt for a while. But eventually, you'll want something else. Someone else. Or maybe just yourself." "Deep." "I'm full of surprises." "Apparently." They sat there as the clock ticked toward 2 AM. Raven had started putting chairs on tables, the universal sign that their time was running out. "We should probably go," Nelly said reluctantly. "Yeah." But neither of them moved. "This was weird, right?" Nelly asked. "Meeting like this. Talking like this." "Extremely weird." "But also kind of nice?" "Kind of really nice," Snow admitted. They gathered their things—Nelly's duck umbrella, Snow's soaked hoodie, the remnants of their emotional breakdown. Raven waved at them from behind the counter. "Come back anytime, sad children!" she called. "We're open 24/7 except when we're not!" "That's not helpful information!" Nelly called back. "Nothing about this place is helpful! That's the charm!" Outside, the rain had stopped. The streets were slick and empty, reflecting the neon signs in puddles that looked like little worlds. "Which way are you headed?" Snow asked. Nelly pointed left. "Campus side. You?" "Opposite direction." He paused. "This is where we part ways like characters in a movie, isn't it?" "Looks like it." "That's anticlimactic." "Life usually is." They stood there awkwardly, two people who'd shared their deepest wounds over pie and were now realizing they were still strangers. "Thank you," Snow said finally. "For the coffee. And the talk. And for... not letting me walk into traffic." "Thank you for fixing my umbrella." "It was broken." "It was operator error." "Sure it was." Nelly smiled. Then, impulsively, she pulled out her phone. "Give me your number." Snow blinked. "What?" "Your number. Unless you want this to be a beautiful once-in-a-lifetime connection that we never follow up on, which would be poetic but also kind of stupid." "Are you—" "I leave in three days. I don't know anyone in this city except Mia and my mom. You're heartbroken and probably shouldn't be alone. We're both disasters. So let's be disasters together for the next three days. Deal?" Snow stared at her. Then, slowly, he pulled out his phone. "Deal." They exchanged numbers, typing with cold fingers and the strange feeling that something was beginning even as something else was ending. "Text me tomorrow," Nelly said. "Or later today, technically. When you wake up and the sadness hits again." "That confident it'll hit?" "I'm confident the first morning after heartbreak is the worst." "Speaking from experience?" "From observation. I've watched a lot of Mia's relationships crash and burn." She paused. "But also yes, from experience. Different kind, but still." "I'll text you," Snow promised. "Good." They parted ways—Nelly heading left with her duck umbrella, Snow heading right with his hands in his pockets. Neither of them looked back, but both of them smiled. Nelly made it three blocks before she realized something: she'd felt something tonight. Not attraction exactly—well, maybe a little attraction, who was she kidding—but connection. Real, genuine connection with another human being who saw her and didn't look away. For once, she didn't feel invisible. Her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number. "Made it home without walking into traffic. Thought you should know. - Snow" She saved his contact, labeled it "Coffee Boy (Sad)," and typed back. "Proud of you. Same. My umbrella and I are safe. - Nelly" "Tell the umbrella I said it's still defective." "The umbrella says you're defective." "Fair." Nelly looked up at the sky—clearing now, stars beginning to peek through the clouds. Three days. She had three days before she left for a new life. Maybe, just maybe, these three days would matter. Behind her, Snow stood on his own street corner, looking at his phone, a small smile on his face for the first time since Jane's text. Eight words had ended his relationship. But maybe, just maybe, a few more words could start something new.