Insomnia // Shawn Mendes

// part vii

{ The ending is cheesy but I quite like this chapter. Favourite, comment and enjoy. }

♥ ♥ ♥

jasmine // part vii

Predictably, Old Mac is adorned in shorts, a faded New York Giants shirt ready to burst at the seams squeezed over his top half and the ultimate fashion crime of socks with sandals. He grunts from behind the frozen yoghurt machine before peering up and squinting at me.

“Just when I thought you’d had enough of my yoghurt,” he greets me in a thick Southern drawl.

“Never,” I smile at him. When my father and I had first visited The Farmery over seven years ago, we’d been a little overwhelmed by Old Mac’s amicable behaviour. But soon, friendly conversations with him became part of the experience I’ve missed so much.

I feel a pang of nostalgia being back at this place. It has been me and my dads’ hideout for the past seven years, our retreat from the chaos of Manhattan. It was formerly the highlight of my week; the sweetness of the yoghurt and the comfort of my father’s pathetic attempts at humour were welcome after the distracted crowd and blinding lights of the stage at The Ice House.

“Will it be the usual, or do you fancy exploring the unknown today?” Mac asks me, a small pot clasped in his thick fingers. I smile. He has always asked me the same question.

“The usual.”

“And for your friend?”

Shawn squints up at the menu board, scanning it briefly before deciding. “Um, a small salted caramel yoghurt pot with raspberries and marshmallows please.”

I gulp and blink up at him. The monster of grief stirs in the pit of my stomach at his words. That was exactly what my father always ordered.

“I can guarantee you will love this,” Old Mac assures Shawn, scooping marshmallows onto a generous portion of frozen yoghurt. “It’s fat-free, high in calcium and fibre – and most of all, it’s refreshing, revitalising and delicious.”

Shawn laughs. “I’d don’t doubt that it isn’t.”

“Don’t forget,” I add, “It boosts your immunity and is rich in vitamins and essential nutrients!”

Shawn blinks at me. “Vitamins?” You pronounce it the British way...?”

I shrug and give a small laugh. “It’s a habit I caught from my dad.”

Old Mac jerks his head up at me and makes a sympathetic noise. “Oh yeah. I, um, forgot to say...I’m sorry to hear what happened to your father. He was such a genuine, kind-hearted man and it’s such a tragedy to lose him. My thoughts are with you and the rest of your family.”

The monster of grief which has consumed my body since my dad died awakens, just as I thought I was getting good at controlling it. It claws at my throat and threatens to spill tears from my eyes. It’s not because of what Mac said; I’ve heard different variations of those very words over the past few months endlessly. It’s the fact that I am standing here, in the place my father had adored, and I should not be here without him. It is just wrong. I am at The Farmery, and my father isn’t with me. And he isn’t ever going to come here again.

I just nod at Old Mac, not trusting my voice. He hands me my frozen yoghurt pot, gives Shawn his and smiles apologetically. “This one is on me.”

I start to object, but can’t find it in me to argue. I know that Old Mac isn’t giving us free frozen yoghurt because he pities me, but because he genuinely cares. I croak a ‘thank you’ and spin around, heading over to one of the stools. Shawn sits down opposite me, peering at me with a concerned look in his eyes. I stare deliberately at my frozen yoghurt pot but don’t even bother to pick up my spoon.