Miss, Do I Know You?

30 - Tuesday, February 2

Those days that followed the weekend in Toronto felt like a much-needed breath of fresh air. But in stark contrast to the joy I had been feeling lately, a melancholy haze clung to the atmosphere. This day, more than any other, seemed to demand a greater effort to endure. Like I was stuck in a weird dream.

Come the afternoon, the ashen sky had brightened a bit, and though initially I had intended to head home and shed a few routine tears into my pillow, surprised I had been able to pry my head off it that morning to begin with, Alex invited me to skip detention and join her for a cup of coffee. Either way, it was a much better idea than the one I'd had in mind, and I must have nodded in agreement because the next thing I knew, she had taken me to this hidden gem of a place, unnoticed even during my countless wanderings through the area. It was a cozy little coffee shop, snugly tucked away from the bustle of the town, with a small garden in front and a view of the neighboring park.

Alex came to a halt before the door, confusing me. Seconds slipped by until she surrendered to a laugh and held it open for me. "After you," she said, bending forward and waving a hand at the entrance in an endearing (and rather goofy) attempt to draw a smile from me.

Smile I did. Crossing the threshold with a silly grin, we were greeted by the aroma of fresh coffee and pastries, and by a lovely smile from an older lady sitting behind the counter, whose face lit up as soon as she caught sight of us.

"Lex!" she exclaimed. "I was starting to think you'd sworn off caffeine!"

"Hi, Martha." Alex returned her smile. "I don't think that's happening anytime soon. How's it going? Busy as always?"

"As always," she said as her gaze swept over the empty space. "The usual? To go?"

"Actually, we'll sit here. Thank you."

"No hot chocolate today?"

"Gabrielle's picking him up. But don't tell him we were here though. Hot chocolate at home doesn't hit the same, apparently."

With a sweet laugh and playful glances directed back at Alex, Martha's gaze shifted to me. "And this must be Kayla, right? How wonderful to finally put a face to the name."

Slightly taken aback, I offered a friendly smile. "Um, yeah. It's nice to meet you."

"It's a small town," she explained, sensing my confusion. "Besides, your friend here has told me a thing or two about you. She can be quite the chatterbox when you get her talking."

My eyes narrowed at Alex, silently questioning which of my secrets she had spilled. In response, she offered a comically coy shrug.

"Only wonderful things, dear," Martha clarified. Her face seemed familiar, one of those faces that felt comforting all on its own without any actual memory attached. "So, tell me, how's the teacher thing working out for her? I can imagine her yelling at teenagers, but that's about as far as my imagination goes."

"Oh, she's a natural," I said. "A favorite among the students, too. Or so I've heard. But I think she might have scared them into liking her."

"Now that can't be right," Martha said, wide-eyed. That round-cheeked, ever-smiling look made her seem like I should be calling her grandma straight away and she should be pulling a fresh blueberry pie out of the oven at all times. "That's something I've yet to see then. That's if she doesn't up and disappear on me in a few weeks."

Alex laughed. "Hey, blame her!"

"What did I do?"

Alex addressed the older woman instead. "She actually worked as a barista for a few years. And she bakes. For free. You can imagine why I haven't been around often."