The day that changed everything started like every boring, bland morning prior.
I had no idea that dreary gray dawn as I shoved my quilt down to my ankles and stretched my stiff body that I would meet the man of my dreams in only a few hours - or that I would despise him at first glance.
I woke early, just as the sleepy sun sent its first brittle streaks through the fluttering white drapes of my window onto the floorboards of my tiny room. The light pierced the stormy clouds outside, the wind blowing heavy and sticky with yet to come rain.
My alarm clock screeched bloody murder from across the room, sitting calmly in a pool of faded sunlight as it screamed and screamed to drag me out of bed. I’d used to have the alarm right next to my face, but I’d slapped the snooze button and slept 'til I noon one too many times and had to banish the noisy device to above my dresser.
Goosebumps blister across my arms as I slide free of my cozy, warm covers, my toes padding across the cold wood beneath me. Fall had come quick and early to our little town, scaring away the welcome warmth that summer had brought. I don’t look outside when my window’s curtains flutter again, spiraling like mini cotton tornadoes in the gloomy breeze. Instead, I glare at my alarm clock through the slits of my sleepy eyes and prod the ‘off’ button with a too rough fingertip. The stubborn machine doesn’t quiet, still hollering like I did the day I was born into this world, it’s gleaming red letters reminding me of hell. Again I slap the button to turn it off, the shrieks echoing between my ears and making a migraine bloom with the force of an atomic bomb. When the alarm still refuses to silence, I grab it up into my hands and rip it from the wall, tossing it onto the floor with a loud crunch of glass and thrift store plastic. It gazes up at me with a wounded face, its irritating screen a quiet black, the plastic busted apart.
With a self-satisfied little nod, I clap my hands together and meet my eyes in my reflection in the mirror hanging above my dresser.
Yep. I was definitely awake now.
Mission accomplished, I suppose.
Regretfully, I edge my toe against the broken plastic heap on the floor. I’d have to buy a new one now. I doubted I'd find another sitting on a pile of out dated technology and lumpy furniture on the side of the road waiting for trash day again. I’d scored that annoying alarm clock as well as the armchair in the living room from that pile.
Reagan had turned up her nose to my collective skills, refusing to even acknowledge the blue plaid chair. Her loss, that thing was damn cozy. After I’d scoured it with a handheld vacuum and lots and lots of Lysol of course.
With another sigh heaved deep from the depths of my lungs, I slip into a pink t-shirt and a worn but comfy pair of blue jeans and skip out the door of the little apartment I’d once shared with my best friend before she’d had to go off and get married and live her dream life. Talk about yawn! Or maybe I was just jealous.
Okay, mostly the being jealous.
Ignoring the looming black clouds that meant slow business would be even more unbearably slow, I keep my eyes locked straight ahead as I trot down the unevenly paved sidewalk, skipping over each of the cracks. Even though my mom was long gone, that simple behavior had ingrained itself in my brain during childhood.
As I whip around the block’s corner, the soft pink glow of the shop glows warmly in the distance.
Nancy’s.
The letters swoop and swirl into each other, so tangled that people come in and ask who Mondy is. She hadn’t had the best design twenty years ago when she opened the cozy little café, but that hadn’t stopped people from flocking to the small storefront like she was a bartender serving up free booze. Only it wasn’t booze, it was buttery scones, pressed sandwiches, and fresh hot coffee. And it wasn’t free, either.
I’d wait and the bus the tables, watching as the people giggled and chatted with Mom. She was so personable, so lovely, so damn successful. I’d tried my best to carry on her good name after I lost her, to keep people coming back to the café she’d shed so much blood, sweat, and tears for.
But I wasn’t Nancy, or Mondy, or anyone. I was just Ava. Ava who is not a natural businesswoman, Ava who has run her mother’s beautiful café into the ground.
My throat tightens as I approach, standing in the glow of her shop like I'd once basked in the warmth of her embrace.
How could I have failed her so badly? It’d only been a year since her death.
I could still remember the crisp starch of her hospital sheets as I’d slide into the mattress beside her, wrapping one arm around her neck and leaving the other free so I could channel surf with the remote. She’d never been one to sit still, not ever. When the cancer had bedridden her, she’d sift through the television channels like she was running a marathon with her fingers. Nothing was ever right, then, nor good enough.
One of the last times we’d spoken, she begged me to carry on her café, her dream. Her eyes had been so glassy, so hopeless. She’d clutched my face, pressed her cold lips to my cheeks and my forehead and clung to me so tight I couldn’t breathe – but that was okay. I hugged her right back, tight as I could, like we could keep her around a little longer.
She was gone not two days later.
“Ava!”
I stumble, caught off guard by the cheery voice down the sidewalk. I recognize the click of her heels before I even have a chance to turn around.
“Hey, Reags.” I plaster a grin on my face, blinking away the lingering melancholy on my face.
It’d been a whole year, but when I thought back to those last days with Mom, it was like I’d been sucker punched in the gut.
How many times a day did I catch the faint scent of freshly made whipped cream and turn as though I expect to see her there?
“You okay?” She asks, blue eyes instantly seeing through the cracks of my fake smile. She was good at that. Reagan Nelson was good at a lot of things, especially being beautiful.
The wind blows, sending her long black hair tumbling over her shoulders as she pouts upwards at the darkening clouds.
“It’s going to rain tonight.” She groans, “and it’s wine night at the vineyard…”
Wine night. The best night. The single night that got me through the week sometimes.
One dollar for one cheap ass, deliciously huge glass of red. It was as fabulous as it sounded. I’d wake the next day with purple teeth and a pounding head, but it’d be worth it. It was the only night that poor people like me could flock to the beautiful downtown vineyard with its flowing green vines and crystal glasses.
“Oh, don’t worry. We’re still going to wine night.” I say, too quickly, her eyes flickering from the clouds to my face with a teasing grin.
She and her handsome Australian hubby Eli knew how much I was struggling with the café, but I’d declined all of their help. I hadn’t gotten Mom’s big green eyes or the pretty splash of freckles across her small nose, but I had gotten her pride and her stubborn will.
I was going to make this work all on my own. I’d figure out a solution somehow. In the meantime, I allowed Eli and Reags to come and buy all the coffee and muffins they could handle.
Reagan follows me into the café as I quickly turn on the espresso machine and tug out my inventory papers. I was getting low on coffee beans and sugar. She plops herself down at the counter, face turning slightly as her gaze sweeps over the dimly lit interior of the café. I hadn’t changed it a bit since Mom left it to me, aside from the small picture of her that I kept near the cash register. She laughs into the camera there, her curly, short hair blown into her face. Every time I glance at it, I can still hear her warm, low giggle.
“Here’s your coffee.” I wink at Regan, pushing the large paper cup over the soft pink counter top. She clasps her hands around it, inhaling the bitter scent.
“I swear to God, Ava. You make the best damn coffee.”
I just grin, waving away her compliment. It didn’t matter how good my coffee was, apparently. I still couldn’t manage to drag people into my store. It did make me feel better, though, that Reagan still traveled out of her way before work every morning to have a cup of my fresh brewed java. She even had a coffee place right in that fancy office building she and Eli both work at.
“See you tonight!” She adds as she backs towards the door, pointing a stern finger at me.
“Yes, ma’am!” I holler back, flinching as she slides outside and the harsh stormy winds slam the door shut behind her.
As Reagan walks away, she uses one hand to clutch the coffee to her chest and the other to hold her long, swirling hair away from her eyes.
The still quiet of the café is broken only by the soft hiss of the espresso machine and the gentle thrum of the twenty-year-old fridge in the back kitchen. Mom always wanted to replace the old thing, now I probably would never be able to afford to. I’d be lucky to get more than a handful of customers today, especially with the weather.
With a deep sigh, I snatch a blueberry scone off the counter to my left, letting my teeth sink through the flaky, dense layers. The fruit explodes against my tongue, my eyes closing with bliss.
That was another thing I’d managed to steal from Mom. Her baking skills.
The door chimes behind me, startling me. I throw myself off the counter where I’m perched, whirling on my heel to greet the person who I hopefully can convince to buy more than just a ninety-nine-cent coffee.
Instead of a single mom just grabbing an apple for her child or an eighty-five-year-old retiree trying to kill time, the single more handsome man I’ve ever seen in my life is standing in front of me.
I suck in a shocked breath, half the chunk of scone still in my mouth forcefully lodging itself deep in my throat as I gurgled for breath and black specks glimmered in front of my eyes.