Evergreen Everleigh - The Wattys 2020

Epilogue - The Milk Bar

Epilogue

*Two Years Later*

I analyse the coffee shop from across the street, biting my bottom lip. The building appears old-fashioned with red brick walls and small windows, the wood of which is painted delicately with glossy mint green paint. White and red, barbershop-like, bunting swings in the mild breeze from the outdoor canopy, under which several sets of tables and chairs rest in the low light of early September. Squinting, I spy the chalky cursive writing on the window and the sunshine yellow sign, a sweaty palm holding onto the strap of my messenger bag tightly.

Missy's Milk Bar and Coffee House.

With my shoddy eyesight, that's about as much as I can make out. Running a hand through my short curls, I straighten my shoulders and cross the road, distinctly unfamiliar the busy city streets and the accompanying hoots from car horns. When my boots hit the cobbles in front of the coffee shop, I watch a family exit from the pastel blue door, an old-fashioned bell sounding as they step over the threshold. Two children hold brightly-coloured ice cream cones, syrup dripping from the sides onto their sticky hands as they lick eagerly, eyes wide with hunger.

I slip past the family as they file out the front door and make my way through the quaint plethora of vintage looking chairs and tables. I cannot help but remember the odd assortment of furniture in Lady Lavender's office. The memory is a warm comfort blanket as I approach the counter, waiting in the queue.

The tiles are an eclectic mosaic of daisies, full of bumblebee yellow tones and worn, eggshell white. Some of the tiles are cracked in an almost endearingly love way. I examine these patterns as my wind begins to grow senseless, a coiled rope that instinctively becomes a snare at the sight of the delicacies in the glass cabinet next to the cashier. This is an old, familiar sensation, though it no longer drives me.

With meticulous movements akin to a puppeteer, I untangle my thoughts by examining the cakes, pastries, tarts and pies in the cabinet and imagine all that is to be gained from a bite of joy, a bite of a life ready to be lived.

I once imagined that I would be a girl, going to a college, sitting in a coffee shop in the peaceful truth that my life is simply happening all around me. I am a participant, not an observer.

"What can I get you, darling?"

The waitress behind the counter has lilac hair and a tattoo of a creeping vine running up her neck. I try not to stare at the evident freedom before me. Her body is full of choices, as is my own; so I smile at her and point to the chocolate chip muffins that sit on a sunflower patterned tray.

"One of those, please," I grin at the fledgling confidence in my voice. "And a plain vanilla milkshake."

I watch as the waitress sprinkles some icing sugar over the muffin through a sieve patterned with a love-heart. I tug open the zip on my messenger bag to grab my purse, a hand holding out several coins stretches over my shoulder, to the waitress.

"Poppy?"  A voice behind me sounds, sending shivers up my spine before my brain has time to recognise the lilting tone in the voice. Poppy. A name I have not been called with any sincerity since I resumed my life as Everleigh.

Turning, my heart gives an excited twist in my chest at the side of the boy dressed in a brown tartan flat-cap and suspenders before me. Instinctively, I grip the skin on the underside of my arm giving myself a hard pinch. The pain subsides and still, he stands there. This is real.

Yarrow.

Simply put; I am lost for words as the waitress hands me my muffin and milkshake. Moving numbly, I watch Yarrow beam a radiant smile that I have sorely missed over the last two years, but not forgotten in the slightest, down to the smallest of freckles on his nose.

"If you have time, want to grab a seat?" He suggests and my very chest seems to breathe fully for the first time in years at the sound of his voice.

I can only nod, turning away to find a table by the window, where the sunlight is streaming over the freshly washed tables. Yarrow joins me moments later, still smiling. I catch sight of the milkshake in his hands and grimace at the sickly green shade and raise an eyebrow in question. Yarrow's expression turns mischievous.

"Mint with green food dye, my favourite as kid, still my favourite now," He shrugs, swirling the pink and white paper straw in a state of complete bliss, leaning forward and sipping the milkshake lovingly. I can only shake my head in amusement as I peel off the paper wrapping of the muffin and begin to break it into small pieces on my plate. I pop a piece into my mouth, relishing the beauty of feeling the chocolate chips melt on my tongue.

We lapse into a peaceful silence for a while, slurping and eating. I take this opportunity to really stop and look at Yarrow, holding onto the straw of my milkshake, considering the ways in which he has changed. His sandy hair is cropped shorter and something about his shoulders seems broader. Or maybe it is how he is holding himself or perhaps he has simply grown taller and stronger.

"So," I begin, fumbling for something coherent to say and feeling my cheeks grow hot when I realise that Yarrow has been analysing me just as much, his face serious as his eyes move over my face.

"You cut your hair," He states, gesturing to my pixie cut, now growing out into tight ringlets. "It's beautiful."

The frankness of his emotions surprise me and give me a thrill all at once. Shrugging off the embarrassment of the compliment, I try not to wish I had taken more care with my appearance that morning and maybe teased out of a few more of the unruly tangles.

"I felt like I needed to. Out with the old, as they say," I laugh weakly, gesturing to the coffee shop and by extension, the city outside the door, all of it being so new. This acknowledgement of our past together seems to break what little tension was present. Yarrow reaches out and takes my hand gently, a thumb running over the ragged, yellow ribbon on my wrist, a smile beginning at the corner of his mouth.

"So," He begins slowly, "You're the girl in the coffee shop, going to college? Just living life?"

At this, I cannot hide the pride I feel in this success and in the joy of sharing it with a friend who knows my depths.

In answer, I pluck my poetry book from my bag. It's a heavy, daunting-looking anthology, but I've already read through it before the semester began. Along with every other book on the reading list.

"You're studying writing and literature here?" Yarrow's jubilation warms my very heart.

"Yep."

Together, we look at the other and I know we both feel it. The love of our friendship, the love of the journey we have walked together.

"Nice sweater," Yarrow comments, gesturing to the baby pink knitted sweater I donned this morning. "Knit it yourself?"

I know that we are both thinking of our time in the woods by Freesia Fields, together with nothing but creativity to distract and revitalise our very souls.

"I had a good teacher, but I don't think he could perform miracles."

Our laughter blends together, bringing evergreen colour and grace to the world and I realise, that I am happy.

A/N:

Hello friends,

Here it is - the epilogue! After 55 chapters, here we are. Everleigh's journey is at peace and I am content with ending this story for now. Though, in lots of ways, all of these characters are going to live on and create new lives inside of my mind for many years to come.

Thank you for each reader, each time you visited this story. I will never be able to put into words what this means. However, this might just be because I'm not a natural writer after all!

With love,

Jens x