It was two days after the funeral when Finn Astor contacted me, double checking whether I still wanted to push through the agreement. As someone who didn’t even have two hundred dollars in the bank, there was no way I was going to refuse.
A non disclosure contract was sent through mail, which was picked up personally by Finn a week after I signed it. He insisted that I thought it through long enough since it was going to cost me a year of my life. It wasn’t a cost however, rather it’s a gain. A two hundred thousand gain, hopefully four thousand.
Saturday afternoon, I was notified, after the down payment was deposited, that Finn’s sister- Sophie Astor was going to a café on Sunday morning. He said I could pretend that I bumped into her there and have the whole scheme going.
I arrived fifteen minutes after Finn relayed that he’d just dropped off her sister at the café. The small brick establishment was conveniently located two streets from the bookshop I work at.
As I stepped inside, I had to double check whether I entered a café or a home care for the elderly. More than half of the customers were old couples reading newspapers.
I ordered a coffee and was directed to the waiting area where I scanned the room. There were no vacant tables. Two bookshelves was placed against the corner along with two armchairs. The books on the shelf were unorganized, some stacked, some with their cover placed backwards, making it difficult for anyone to see the title of the book without taking it out. I contemplated going over and arranging it myself but decided against it.
It wasn’t difficult to spot a dark blonde hair amongst the white ones and occasional black. Sophie Astor sat at the opposite corner from the bookshelves, holding a camera on the table. She wore a green knitted wool jumper with an ivory v-neckline, paired with light blue jeans and white sneakers. Her hair was up in a messy bun, held together by a scrunchie. People who use scrunchies don’t have my automatic respect, they’d have to earn it.
“Caramel latte for Sab.” The barista handed me the mug with a smile.
With the mug on my hand, I practiced smiling for a couple of seconds in front of the screen of my phone, making sure that I don’t look weird. I find that people are more disarmed and friendly when I smile at them, it makes it easier to converse.
Satisfied, I strutted towards her, pausing at the side of the table. “Hi. Do you mind if I sit here? This is the only vacant seat left.” Sophie looked up from her camera, meeting my eyes. She opened her mouth then closed it again before glancing around. I knew that there were other tables I could ask to share other than her. “With a person who doesn’t look like a pervert.”
“Oh. No, go ahead.” Sophie laughed, pointing towards the seat across from her.
Once I’ve settled down, I caught her looking at me, to which I smiled at. This made her look back down to her camera and I wondered whether I smiled weirdly.
I thought about what to say but nothing came about, except the thought of me thinking about what to say. Knowing that it was no use, I gave up thinking of a conversation starter and just let it be. Picking up the book from my tote bag, I pretended to read, planning to do so until Sophie talks to me. Besides, she did talk to me first at the burial. How hard can this be?
Turns out, it wasn’t that hard. I felt her eyes on me once I flipped the second page and it stayed on me for a couple more seconds before I decided to address it. Placing down the book on the table, I asked, “Yes?”
“Do I know you?”
“No.” That question made me pause. Can someone truly know a person? Can I truly know myself? Given that change is the only constant in life, it seems impossible to know myself truly when everything about me, down to my cell, is constantly changing. Perhaps I am a slightly different person than who I was yesterday, perhaps not. This seems to be a conflict between who I think I am and who I actually am.
Yesterday, I was a woman with barely 200 dollars, today I am a woman with one hundred thousand dollars, next year I am a woman with two hundred thousand dollars. I am changing.
A sudden slam on the table grabbed my attention. Sophie beamed, leaning a bit towards me. “I do! We talked at the funeral last Saturday!”
“Oh. Yes, I remember,” I feigned. “Dying girl who’s sick enough to be buried six feet below the ground soon.”
“Well…Yeah…That’s a terrible impression. I’m Sophie Astor by the way.” Pink dusted her cheeks as she chuckled, not meeting my eyes.
“Not really. I did remember you after all. Sabine Martin.”
“Yeah but I hoped you remembered me because I looked pretty, or cute, or whatever,” She mumbled, tucking her dark blonde hair behind her ear, looking at me behind her lashes.
I was lost of words as I watched her fiddle with the camera on the table. Finn told me she was 27 years-old, but this person across from me reminded me of my neighbor’s daughter whenever she would ask me if she could play on the swing at mother’s backyard, twiddling her thumbs while looking at me with doe eyes.
“Ookay…That was embarrassing.” Sophie tapped a finger on the table repeatedly. “Forget that. ‘Dying girl who’s sick enough to be buried six feet below the ground soon’ is okay.”
I nodded. “Yes, that’s okay. All of us are dying anyway.”
“I only have a year to live though.”
“Are you sure? You could die tonight or later when you step out of this shop. A car might run you over.”
Her chapped pale pink lips formed a frown, which didn’t suit her face at all. “Well, that’s mean. Usually, in this situation, you should offer me sympathy.”
“Because you’re told you have one year to live?”
“Yeah.”
“But like I said, I am dying too. Are you going to offer me sympathy then?”
Sophie’s eyebrows furrowed as she paused for a moment before she decided. “No, I don’t think so. Are you?”
“No. I don’t necessarily feel bad for you.” I shrugged, taking a sip of the coffee that was too sweet for my liking. “It would be nice to be told of my expiration date as well.”
“You’re weird.”
“I’ve been told.”
Slowly, her mouth spread into a grin. “I like you.”
“I’ve not been told before.”
Furrowed eyebrows and a frown. Sad? Angry? No, it doesn’t seem so. Confused. Possibly, she’s confused. “Really? Why?”
“Like you said, I’m weird.”
“But weird is nice. Unique.”
I glanced behind her, seeing a man wearing a neon orange jacket, the older couples around him squinting when a streak of light hits him. “That’s what people say but there’s only a certain amount of weird you can be. Once you step past that line, the initial fondness is suddenly replaced with a funny look.” My eyes found its way back to the green ones in front of me. “Suddenly, you find yourself watching from the outside wondering what was it that everyone knew that you don’t. Suddenly, you’re not ‘unique’ anymore, just that there’s something wrong with you.”
“Huh. Well…but it shouldn’t be that way.” Sophie held mug of coffee near her lips. “What is wrong with you, then?”
Finn mentioned briefly that it would’ve been preferable if I could keep Sophie’s company as a lover. Apparently she’s inexperienced when it comes to relationships. Thing is, I am too.
“A lot of things.” I smiled, followed by a wink. Jane, an acquaintance, would do this with her crush.
“Oh.” Sophie’s cheeks turned red, up to her ears while she accidentally spilled her coffee a little. “Oh shit.”
I watched her as she snatched a napkin and wiped the brown liquid. I didn’t find Sophie Astor interesting. I already knew the kind of person she is: clumsy, cute, whiny, extremely optimistic, rainbow and all those.
I do my best not to surround myself with her kind for they’re tiring to be around, but for two hundred thousand, I’d be with her for 24/7 if she wants.
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