Dead To You

01. welcome back

I probably should've realized after my mother told me the coffee shop downtown had changed owners last year that it would've looked different when I stepped inside, but I still found myself pausing with my hand gripped around the doorknob, already taken aback by now light the door was now. The last time I walked in here, the door was made of a thick heavy wood that often needed a shoulder to nudge it open against the stone brown tiles. Last remodeled in the mid-2000s, shades of beige and brown dominated the coffee shop with metal tables with uneven legs, tilting to the left or the right, a counter with a glass case of fresh baked pastries that sometimes still dripped frosting on the parchment paper. It felt smaller then, but not claustrophobic, the permeating scent of coffee welcoming me into what felt like the coziest enterprise on main street. Classical music filled the space as baristas prepared lattes and fetched scones, and it wasn't something I realized I needed until I walked into the coffee shop three years later and realized that everything was different, right down to the front door.

After spending the past three years being constantly reminded of the same thing, realizing that not everything else stays stagnant is still jarring enough for someone to clear their throat behind me as I lingered near the front door, blinking at the white walls and the oak shelves behind the counter, string-of-pearls draping down over chalkboard specials.

"Sorry," I mumbled, stepping aside as a woman with sunglasses shading her expression walked out in front of me, the cracked leather of her bulky purse brushing against my forearm.

The longer I took in the checkered black and white tiles under my feet, gleaming to the point that I could almost make out the reflection of my Nikes against their surface, the oak tables against the windows with metal stools that had matching wooden seats, the more I realized it was incredibly pathetic of me to be so stunned by a coffee shop's renovation. Out of all the things I desperately clung to and needed to stay the same in my hometown, Coffee's On was probably last on my list, but I had a list, nevertheless.

It was Monday morning, thirty minutes before the first day of my senior year, and my first semester back in Fairview since what my mother continually referred to as everything. After everything, because of everything, when everything happened. Three years and she still couldn't form the words that so many journalists could. But that was then, and I was determined to let the dust settle on the old headlines that still stung no matter how fiercely I ignored them, and my first day back was supposed to begin with ordering myself a hazelnut latte from Coffee's On.

Except now it was called Perfect Blend.

I sighed softly as the door opened behind me against and I stepped closer to the windows where potted succulents decorated the tables, catching a glimpse of my mother's car outside in the parking lot beside a minivan, the windows rolled down and her elbow rested on the door. Even if I wasn't mildly concerned about missing first period, I couldn't idle around in the coffee shop for much longer without her coming inside, probably to prod again if I felt nervous about coming back to Fairview. Every time, I mumbled a noncommittal answer because even though this was what I wanted, I still felt like throwing up whenever I thought about walking through those doors later that morning.

That was usually when I focused on something like what I was going to wear for my first day back—not that there was much choice with the school uniform, a black plaid skirt with a white button-down shirt, the optional black cardigan, which I was wearing that morning—or how I was going to style my hair. In preparation for this moment, I even got curtain bangs and spent several hours over the past weekend learning how to style them, curling the rest of my medium length, dark chocolate brown hair into that soft blow-out look. I bought new makeup, watched tutorials on YouTube until I perfected the soap brows and the brown eyeliner cat-eye, and used all the skincare products recommended for dewy, clear skin. I wanted this moment to go perfectly, and even though it felt like it was plastered all over me, I wanted to walk into that school like the past three years never happened.