Coffee House Confession

“I need to get out of here…” she says with a sigh. We sat at a table in a small café just walking distance from the concert hall where we met.
Her eyes were focused on the snow silently falling on the crowded street. We had been over this about a hundred times. Her eyes moved to mine searching for my response. I locked into her eyes and said nothing.
“I was never a winter person.” She said to break the silence. I needed a distraction; I stared at the mug full of cold black coffee. I evaded her eyes, but knew she was staring at me. I never liked coffee, I drank it because she had made me a cup every morning.
She and I knew what was coming next. I closed my eyes and tried to remember holding her hand as we walked through the farmers market. The summer night we had decided to jump into the lake with all of our clothes on. Strolling down Michigan Avenue on the warm and breezy spring afternoons.
“I’ve been looking and I found some pretty nice apartments out west.” I felt the anger rise to my chest.
“Don’t ask me to do that.” Her eyes locked into mine and I could feel her heart break.
“Why? Why not? What’s here?” she said in a whisper that hit like the loudest scream.
“This is my home. This is my city.” Her mouth opened and she shook her head. I looked away so I could ignore her tears.
“This is your city? You don’t think this city would survive without you?” she said with a forceful, malicious voice.
“No, you’re right, the city would be fine.” I stood up and put on my jacket.
“But I don’t think I could survive without this city.” I walked into the snow and the cold wind. I left her there with her jaw still open, tears running down her face and a cold cup of coffee still sitting untouched on the table.