Yellow. The sign that "Webster's Cafe" was painted on. And the colour associated with happiness. Just before Skylar reached the front door of the cafe, she tugged on the yellow hair band that was cutting into the skin on her wrist.
There was no denying that she was much happier working at the cafe than at the bar. The bar was grimy, filled with late nights and drunk men who automatically thought they had a chance with her because she is a woman. But the cafe encompassed an energy that was not only captivating, but welcoming. Skylar felt like she belonged at the cafe, despite it being such a bright place, and her feeling so lost in the shadows. And when she stood behind the counter, offering smiles and accepting them in return, she didn't feel so dark. For the first time in a long time, she felt herself stand out. She wasn't this small figure that hid in the corner. Instead, her skin shone with light, her lungs buzzed with electricity. She felt like a light bulb: charged, and ready to shine.
Not only was the cafe treating her well, her relationship with Blair was improving. Skylar had hosted her for dinner the previous night, and she prided herself on feeling little attraction towards her. Perhaps, she thought, most of her feelings for Blair were mental-maybe she hadn't liked Blair as much as she originally thought, or as much as she used to. Maybe it was her mind telling her to hold tight, to reach for something-anything-that would keep her close to Logan.
But the thing was, there was nothing she could cling onto that would keep her close to someone who was already gone. She may have been a little bit late in realizing this, but as Blair always says, it's better late than never. Moving on and away from Logan was not selfish. After four years of grief, and trying her best to ensure not to hurt Logan, even though Logan was about six feet deep in the ground, trying to move her life in the direction away from Logan was not a selfish move.
As Skylar walked towards Webster's, she laughed at herself. She had been through this so much in the past four years. It seemed like a constant battle against herself: to move on, or to not move on? Up until now, the latter had always won. Probably because in that battle, Skylar positioned the sides as: Skylar versus Logan. And of course, Logan would always win.
But now, Logan was not here to defend her side. She was not able to argue, to debate, nor to physically fight in the war. Skylar's side was the only side fit to win. It may have taken four years to end the battle, but, "It's better late than never, Skylar."
"I know." Skylar peered down the street, squinting against the sun. Blair liked to call her during her break at the bank, and Skylar didn't mind. She didn't have a boyfriend to talk to, and she seemed to be distancing herself from Jude. Skylar liked being the centre of Blair's attention once again-but this time, it was completely platonic.
And speaking of Jude. Skylar and Blair didn't talk about her. Skylar no longer received updates on her injuries, and now that two weeks had passed since the accident, she assumed everything had or was recovering just fine. She didn't want to hear about the girl anymore, and Blair didn't seem to want to talk about her with Skylar. Still, Skylar knew Blair was working towards forgiveness, and if Blair was reaching for something, she would get there eventually. So Blair and Jude may work it out, but Skylar didn't need to hear about it.
Skylar was aware of her stubbornness, her habit of holding grudges, and her unwillingness to move forwards. She had been in the same position as she was with Logan as she had been with both of her parents. Her father passed first, and her mother followed shortly after. For about a year afterwards, she surrounded herself in their memory. She smoked cigarettes. She wore the Maple Leafs baseball cap her father had given her for her tenth birthday. She made a wish at 11:11, just like her mother had done. These things became a routine that she did every day, and every day when she did them, she felt a little lighter. Like doing the things that reminded her of her parents kept their spirit strong. She wore them like a sweatshirt.
But then sweatshirts tear. The colours fade, the zippers break. And at one point, you have to realize that there will be more sweatshirts. And you throw the old one out.
"Skylar, are you even listening?"
"Oops," said Skylar. "I zoned out for a minute there. Listen, I'm at the cafe. I'll call you tonight, you want to come over or something?"
Blair groaned, and for another thirty seconds complained that Skylar never listened to her. But when Skylar interrupted her to remind her that she had arrived at work, Blair said, "Have a good shift. Talk to you later," in that heartwarming tone that had always comforted Skylar.
And then she remembered that she wasn't alone, that she was never alone, because Blair was always there, and really, she didn't want anyone else. She didn't need anyone else to have her back, because Blair had supported her for four years, and she knew she would continue to for the rest of their lives.
Skylar's palms pressed against the glass door of Webster's cafe, immediately leaving fingerprints, as she entered an entirely different atmosphere. Warm and welcoming, rather than cold and cunning, as the late winter/early spring weather was.
And like her fingerprints, Skylar was immediately met with greetings from fellow employees.
There was Jack, a college student who worked part-time most evenings. There was Kaden, a girl who reminded Skylar very much of herself, in that she didn't really know where her life was going or what was in store for her future, but was happy with her current situation at the cafe. Those were the two employees that Skylar worked with most often. And when she left her coat and phone in the back room, tied a yellow apron around her neck and waist, she joined Jack and Kaden at the front counter, and found Myra waiting for her.
"Hey, Skylar."
Skylar either didn't remember, or didn't realize, how long her eyelashes were. Long, dark, and controlled. Myra knew what she was doing as she tilted her head towards her left shoulder, flashed her a large smile, and blinked her eyelashes. She was captivating.
"Hey," said Skylar, finding herself smiling in return, but feeling like she was floating a little above herself. "What are you doing here?"
Myra held up a steaming cup of coffee, devoid of the lid. There was already a lipstick stain on the rim.
"Right." Skylar laughed nervously, feeling stupid for not realizing that of course she was here for coffee, and not making that connection a second earlier.
It had only been a one night stand. A one time thing. One. Skylar told herself this, and was content with this, until she saw Myra standing there in front of her, and remembered what she had looked like that night, how she had moved, and suddenly wished that Myra had come for a reason other than coffee.
"But I did want to say hello," said Myra. Reading Skylar's mind.
"Oh." Not really sure how to flirt. It had been so long. "Well," Skylar huffed, still smiling, "hello." And then she mentally smacked herself in the face.
Myra tipped her cup towards Skylar, then took a long, slow sip. Skylar stood, frozen, staring at her, until she finally said, "We should get together again."
"I'd love that." Skylar nodded, listening to the happiness in her voice: a chime she hadn't recognized in so long. Maybe because it hadn't even existed until recently. "I'll call you?"
Myra took another sip. "Sounds good, Skylar."
And then she was gone, leaving Jack and Kedan with a thousand different questions, that for once, Skylar didn't mind answering.
-
The coffee table needed cleaning, amongst other things. Skylar's house wasn't messy, but it wasn't tidy, either. Looking around the room, she noted many things she needed to clean up. Especially if Myra was going to come. Considering this, Skylar set her glass down on the one vacant square on the coffee table, and marched up the stairs to start cleaning her bedroom.
First, she pulled the drapes open, allowing the meager sunlight left in the sky to flood in and reflect against the white walls. The sun was beginning to set, and rain was beginning to fall. Dark clouds loomed over a red and orange sky, and it looked like an artist couldn't decide whether to paint a haunting or a soothing photo.
There were clothes scattered across every surface of the hardwood, and Skylar wasn't sure which were clean and which were dirty. Gathering every article of clothing in her hands, she threw them into an empty laundry basket and kicked it aside. To be dealt with later. Moving on, Skylar pulled the ancient keyboard away from the wall, grimacing at the amount of cobwebs following the instrument. She had never liked any sort of bugs, but she especially hated spiders. Before dealing with those, too, she pulled the yellowing sheet off the keyboard, taking all of the dust with it. Coughing, she tossed the drape into the laundry bin, but not before using it to remove all the webs and remaining dust.
Happy with the progress she'd made, Skylar plugged the keyboard into the wall, switched the power on, and saw the black and white screen come to life. It had been years since she touched it. Let alone play it.
Tentatively, as if afraid the instrument would crumble beneath her touch, Skylar pressed a single key. And then another, and then another. She was aware that she'd forgotten every song she had ever learned to play. Her memory had been tainted when she played avidly, but she could remember most songs, if she practiced long and hard enough. But now, there was no chance. She was left standing in front of the keyboard, who used to be such a great friend. And now she was a stranger.
The doorbell rang. Confused, Skylar racked her brain, wondering if she and Blair had made plans for her to come over that evening. She couldn't remember ever doing so, but then again, she didn't doubt that it happened and she'd forgotten.
Skylar descended the staircase quickly, thinking that Blair usually rang the doorbell once and then used her key to let herself in. But who else would come to her door at 6PM on a Wednesday?
The large window in the centre of the door was frosted, yet Skylar could still make out the silhouette behind it. And it definitely wasn't Blair.
Opening the door. Freezing halfway. Lungs contracting, heart racing, blood cooling. Everything cold.
Mack.
And standing nervously behind him, on the driveway but still in view of Skylar: Jude.