Chapter Seven
Lily
L ils, do you actually get coffee here?”
I smile at Sparrow’s nickname for me but cringe a bit at her tone. She’s not wrong to be surprised that I would venture away from the gourmet espresso and French pastries at our shop. Sometimes, though, when I need a break from the boulangerie—simply because I live and breathe it—I sneak away to the trendy coffeehouse located at the far end of the downtown shops in Birch Borough for a cup of brewed coffee that at least enthusiastically tries to compete for a coffee snob’s attention, albeit with more frills and wild caffeine concoctions than I know what to do with. The coffeehouse is far enough away that no one can see me entering or leaving from Sparrow’s Beret but close enough that I can run back and join the fray whenever new drama strikes in town.
In the past, I’ve considered running for some leadership position in Birch Borough. I feel as if this corner of New England was specifically made for my personality to exert maximum impact. Then again, I also recognize my persuasive qualities might be best utilized outside the office.
I’m glad to have the chance for a little one-on-one time with Sparrow, away from the hustle and bustle of the bakery. I have no problem being on my own. Okay, maybe I have a little problem. But watching my best friend prepare to get married is making me feel all the things. I usually wear my independence with pride, a badge of honor. I do my own thing. I go my own way. But I also didn’t realize how much I depend on the security of always having my best friend around and how much Sparrow’s presence has given me the courage to be on my own.
Sparrow and Rafe’s love was a whirlwind romance that I don’t think either of them could’ve fought even if they wanted to. They’re so mad for each other now that it would cause anyone to consider the idea of fated mates. While their attraction was instantaneous and they slow-danced into love, Graham and I were a lightning storm—a wild explosion of light, charged particles, and moments that felt like magic. After only a few weeks together, I couldn’t tell where I ended and he began. It was exhilarating and mesmerizing all at once.
“Lils, is there something going on? Why are we here?” Sparrow asks.
She sits across from me, her brown hair tied back with a ribbon today, fringe casually falling across her forehead. Ever since she’s been with Rafe, she’s been embracing more and more of her French side, and it’s working for her. Meanwhile, I’m trying not to unload all my worries in one single outburst.
“There’s nothing going on,” I reply. “I come here to get away from it all and remind myself that I may be aging, but I’m still relevant.” I look around at all the Gen-Zers. I want to explain to them how I’m the definition of vintage. I wore butterfly clips and iridescent nail polish before we had cell phones.
A young woman walks by. She takes one look at my shoes with an expression I don’t appreciate before walking on.
“Hey, at least I know what it means to page somebody!” I yell.
Sparrow chokes back a laugh as I sink into my seat again. Sure, my parents had the pager, but a reference is a reference.
“How likely do you think it is that she had no clue what I meant and thought I was just saying something dirty?” I smirk.
Sparrow pretends to think about it. “I’d say one hundred percent.”
“That’s what I thought.”
The music blaring in this place is not comforting. It’s got me a little on edge with lyrics I can’t understand and music that is no doubt trending.
“So, how’s it going on the dating apps?” Sparrow is looking at me, but her eyes are a touch too wide, her smile a bit too forced. I know she knows something is up, especially after my little chat with Graham at the diner.
I sigh and shrug. “The usual. Horrible. Lots of men holding fish. Or photos with children who aren’t theirs. Or sitting on a weight bench facing the mirror, and I am left questioning their confidence to take a picture like that in a crowded gym. Honestly, I don’t know if it’s more acceptable in a crowded place or not. ”
Sparrow is feigning interest, though I see she is trying to hold back her laughter, so I continue my tirade.
“Or they’ll upload bathroom mirror selfies—fully clothed—with gross bathroom sinks that they don’t crop out. I honestly don’t know how these men expect to win anyone over. It’s unnerving, at best. And don’t even get me started on car selfies. If I see one more man in his car with a cell phone reflecting in his aviator-style sunglasses, I think I may spontaneously combust.”
I release a breath and observe the people at the next table looking at each other as if they’re regretting their seat choice. I don’t blame them.
“That’s a lot,” Sparrow says politely. A to-go drink is placed on the table in front of her, and I see her immediate smile. “You ordered for me?”
I nod. She goes to lift it and nearly knocks the cup over. I smirk inside. I love her, but Sparrow hasn’t lost any of her clumsiness by getting engaged. I guess love doesn’t remove all our quirks.
We pick up our drinks and take our time walking through town back to our shop. Easter is this weekend, and it’s our unspoken understanding that we’ll be working more than usual to fulfill all the orders. Maple croissants, macarons, and chocolate bunnies are in the queue for the day. All the other shop owners around town are no doubt stuffing plastic eggs to the brim with candy and treats for the egg hunt. Shirley, the owner of the dress shop and tailoring service, All Sewn Up, is probably making a new bowtie for this year’s Easter Bunny costume. I’m pretty sure I even spotted a hand pie from Angie’s Pies in the shape of a carrot as we passed her storefront. Along with the other locals busily getting festive in this town, Sparrow and I have been preparing our whole lives for moments like this.
As we walk in silence, my confidence wanes. I know I need to tell Sparrow the truth about me and Graham. I must tell her. The expiration date for this conversation is so far past due I should be evicted from our friendship. When we walk past the little blue house on the corner—the one that was my childhood home and hasn’t seen my family gather in several years—a sense of longing overtakes me. It frustrates me more than anything.
How can we know deep in our hearts that we have nothing to complain about, nothing to be ungrateful for, and yet still feel at war with ourselves? How can there be an inexplicable weight of the world on our shoulders that we can’t seem to shake, even if it doesn’t make sense to our rational minds?
My parents call me only every few months, even when they’re halfway across the world. I feel their absence. I still get jealous now and then of all the people who get to see them every day in real life while I settle for a screen. And I can tell you all the reasons technology is wonderful and how I utilize it and won’t grumble about it, and yet I’m still wishing there was a way technology would advance enough so a screen still doesn’t feel like a wall I can’t climb between us.
I understand their motivation and their choice to live and work overseas. I admire and respect them for it. Yet I still miss them so much that I sometimes find myself crying when I wake up alone in my apartment, wishing for the days I didn’t know how painful their emotional distance was, when I could walk downstairs to the sight of my dad making pancakes on Saturday morning, my mom exasperated at the sound of the whistling tea kettle she forgot to turn off for the thousandth time. I wish I could call them and tell them to meet me at Train Car Diner for a piece of pie and believe that they’d accept the invitation just because we can.
Trivial moments. Wonderfully unimportant. Everything to me.
It’s only when we’re back in the café twenty minutes later, and I’m surrounded by our familiar pastries and the well-worn details of the bakery that I love, that I feel a sense of peace click into place.
Not even five minutes later, that peace is interrupted.
“Okay, spill,” a soft voice says.
I whip around from the stove where I’m tempering chocolate. It flings off my spatula and hits the wall with exaggerated flair. I grumble, knowing it will take me a good ten minutes to scrub that melted goodness off the tile.
Sparrow is staring at me a few feet away. Her arms are crossed, her feet in a relaxed ballet position she often holds while standing.
“Whatever do you mean?” I attempt. But it’s no use. My moment of reckoning is finally upon me. “Fine.” I sigh, abandoning the chocolate that’s now seizing behind me. “Let’s do this.”
My heart wasn’t in the moment anyway.
Sparrow narrows her eyes. “I know something is going on with you. And I’ve been trying to give you space. But, Lils . . . ” she begins, pulling out her nickname for me again in the hope of breaking me, no doubt.
“This is about him,” I begin.
She nods. “Is it awkward that Graham asked me out on that train platform, and I told him I would only date a Frenchman? Yes. Have I reconciled the fact that he’s best friends with my fiancé? Also, yes. So, if I can power through, I need to know why you can’t.”
“Maybe I just don’t like him,” I mumble, the lie bitter on my tongue.
“Eh!” Sparrow makes an obnoxious noise that honestly resembles a sound I would make, a challenge in her eyes. “I’m not leaving until you tell me. And I’m only going to pretend for a minute that I’m not hurt because you haven’t told me what’s going on with you two.”
“With . . . Graham and me?” This innocent act is making even me cringe.
“Lily,” Sparrow warns. She grabs a bag of chocolate and sticks it in the microwave, her finger hovering over the quick start button, a daring expression on her face.
“You wouldn’t,” I mutter.
It seems Rafe has brought out her playful and terrifying side. Does she really plan to ruin chocolate just to get me to crack? When she hits the button, my mouth goes slack. I race to the microwave, nearly crashing into the counter between us.
“No!” I yell as Sparrow steps aside and lets me rescue the chocolate from the microwave. I cradle it like a baby before setting it back on the counter. “I wouldn’t hurt you like that,” I whisper to it.
Chocolate may hate me, but I’ve always tried to be true to it. And while I’ve seen the microwave utilized for chocolate, I made a vow not to. I have enough trouble with the stuff without adding radioactive waves.
“I’m going to crush D’Artagnan for teaching you his ways,” I reply without spite, utilizing the nickname I gave Rafe when he first arrived in town last fall before I even knew he is actually French. I amaze myself with my perceptiveness at times. Still, my effort to deflect the conversation is waning.
And suddenly, I’m tired. “Okay,” I relent. “What do you want to know?”
Sparrow’s eyes widen like she can’t believe I’m suddenly willing to get it off my chest. The truth is, I know telling her will be a relief.
“All of it.” She pulls a stool out from under the counter and sits, crossing her legs and leaning in as if she has all the time in the world.
“Who’s watching the front?” I peek through the window on the kitchen door and spot Anna. Thank goodness we’ve hired more people to help us at the bakery.
“Now, Lily,” Sparrow sings.
“Graham and I met . . . over two years ago,” I blurt out.
She nearly falls off the stool before righting herself. “Two years ago? But that’s—”
“Right after your father died, yes. We met in LA while I was at the chocolatier-intensive course.” Her mouth drops open. I choose to power through. “We dated.”
“You . . . dated? ” Sparrow yells, grabbing onto the counter.
“You may want to sit on the floor before you hurt yourself,” I deadpan. “Because there’s more.”
“More?” Sparrow reaches for a coffee croissant from the baking racks nearby and takes the largest bite she can manage.
I use the opportunity to reveal the rest. “The first day we met, I challenged him not to lie to me. In reality, he should’ve gotten me to sign something. Anyway, we kissed . . . a lot and had a mad few weeks of being everything to each other.”
At this point, Sparrow is sputtering and coughing so much it’s enough for Anna to peek into the back kitchen to find us, my face blushing and red and Sparrow choking on stray pastry flakes.
“Are you okay?” she asks with concern.
Sparrow nods. She clears her throat and chucks the half-eaten croissant over her shoulder, where it lands on the counter with a satisfying thud. Anna takes this as a cue to retreat.
“You mean to tell me . . . you . . . Graham . . . kissed? ”
I nod.
“Wait. I remember telling you how radiant you looked on our video calls. You told me it was all the chocolate and sun!” Sparrow exclaims. A look of understanding crosses her face. “ That’s why he was looking at you like you were a ghost at Rafe’s birthday party! There is some serious chemistry between you two. Almost like . . .”
“Lightning?” I ask softly.
“I was going to say love.”
I fight the burn behind my eyes. “He loved me once.”
I know Sparrow enough to realize that she’s agitated and heartbroken. She’s so sweet and has the best heart. She can’t help but feel fire and pain for those she loves.
“There was a ring,” I confess.
“A ring?” Sparrow reaches for the abandoned croissant and takes another bite, the café crème filling spilling onto her fingers. She lifts her hand. “Wait, wait, wait . . . if he had a ring . . . he didn’t hurt you, did he? Because Rafe seems to think that Graham has been hurt, and I . . .” She trails off, a question in her eyes. “I’m just wrapping my mind around this,” she says somewhat unintelligibly as she stands and begins pacing back and forth.
“I hurt him,” I admit. “Shattered him, really.”
Sparrow studies my face, and I fight the emotion of it all. It’s rough when friends who know you so well can read you better than a meteorologist reporting the weather (thankfully).
My best friend slumps visibly. Her brow furrows. “So, you’re acting like you hate him because . . . you’re mad at him for being here?”
I shake my head. “I’m mad at myself.”
“Oh, Lils.” She moves toward me. I know she wants to hug me, but I just can’t handle kindness right now. When it comes to Graham, I don’t deserve it.
Pivoting quickly and walking to the front of the store, I make a beeline for the pastry case. Our spring pastries are on display, and the lavender-and-honey macarons alone are enough to keep us in business this time of year, never mind our lemon crème-filled croissants.
“Lily Anne Thomas, don’t you run from me!” Sparrow appears beside me. A few customers look up from their once peaceful moment in our store to get in on the commotion.
“Don’t mind her.” I try to keep my voice cheerful while (lovingly) shoving Sparrow back toward the kitchen. She holds her ground, though. We’re in a weird standoff as she pushes me toward the registers, and I grip the counter in resistance. We’re grunting from the exertion of a tug of war with no rope. Suddenly, her hand slips over my eyes, and I squeal as she gains the advantage.
“Let me go!”
“No!” she insists. “Not until you tell me the rest. You’re just going to act like you hate him forever? You’re going to ignore him when you see him on the sidewalk?”
Drat. I should’ve known Graham would tell Rafe and that little sneak would tell my friend.
“Abandon ship!” I fiercely whisper while thinking again that there really should be better words for that level of volume.
“So, my best friend and Rafe’s best friend are just going to pretend they’re what . . . enemies?”
I lift my eyes toward the ceiling. Sparrow may have a few inches on me, but I’m scrappier. I untie the bow of her apron and hear her grumble of frustration as I wrap it around one of the cabinet handles. She releases me for only a second. Swiftly, I turn around to grasp the counter near the coffee station and pull myself away from her. I’m out of breath.
We look at each other for about three seconds before we burst into laughter. It’s loud, unrestrained amusement for how utterly ridiculous we are. And it feels good, even though I know I’m raw from vulnerability.
Sparrow wipes her eyes with her hand, and a flash of the lily tattoo on her wrist reminds me that she’s conducting this intervention for me. I peek toward the seating area, noticing Mrs. Kipper, one of our former schoolteachers, glaring at me over her coffee cup in the corner of the bakery. She points to the Quiet. Coffee is a private conversation. sign over one of the windows. It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes. The sign was a joke put there by Sparrow’s father, but Mrs. Kipper is clearly determined to ruin any sort of fun.
“We’re not in school,” I mutter. I stare down at the tattoo on my wrist of a sparrow in flight. Sparrow and I got them because of our bond. And it’s essential I remember that right now. “Are you mad?” I say in an undertone to my friend.
Sparrow’s eyes lock with mine, tears from our laugh fest still lingering at the corners of her eyes as she unwraps her apron string from the cabinet handle. “I’m not now.”
I nod, a bit relieved.
“I’m . . . concerned, though.”
She nods toward the back of the store. Anna has the good sense to start handing out samples, no doubt trying to cover for the little show we just gave our customers. Two friends attempting to get to the truth in a bizarre act of affection.
Back in the safety of the kitchen, I gather the ingredients I need to restart the chocolate I was tempering earlier. We have about a million (okay, that may be a bit of an exaggeration) chocolate bunnies to create this year for the egg hunt and Easter festivities, and I’m already behind. I can’t seem to work as fast with Graham in town.
Sparrow lingers near my station. “Lily, I love you. And I feel like I should’ve been a better friend and gotten to the bottom of what I was observing between you and Graham a lot sooner.”
I shrug. “We both know I wouldn’t have let you.”
Sparrow nods, her elegant frame going still. “Can you . . . are you still okay with being in my wedding?”
The hesitation in her voice guts me. I drop the ingredients on the counter, reach over, and pull her into a hug. I’m not an overly affectionate person with others, but there’s no way I will let her think she’s alone as she prepares for one of the most important days of her life. Besides Rafe and our crazy town, I know we’re the closest thing to family each other has. We are both only children, and my parents were always the more absent type. Sparrow and I see each other nearly every day—well, except for when I went off to LA, and we can see how that turned out with Graham and me.
Leaning back with my hands on her shoulders, I look her in the eyes. “Sparrow, I wouldn’t miss being a part of it for the world.”
Her eyes fill with tears. “Good. Rafe would’ve been devastated anyway.” She attempts a wink, but we both know she is incapable of winking, so it just looks like she’s having some sort of fit with one eye. Still, her attempt is admirable. “Will you behave?”
I laugh. “Oh, we both know that’s not possible.”
“Seriously, Lils, are you going to . . . what? Not be okay . . . but be able to make it through this? Really?”
I shrug and start melting the chocolate for the second time. “I’ll manage. We made an agreement, and I plan to drive him out of this town.”
“Lily,” Sparrow warns.
“It’s fine. I won’t physically harm him—intentionally. But having him constantly nearby is just burning me up inside. I can’t take it. I’m not sleeping.” I say the last point with a bit more inflection so she gets just how upsetting that part is. I need my sleep.
Sparrow shakes her head. “Where would you even send him? What do you mean drive him out of town? For the millionth time, we’re not in England, Lily. We may be a small town, but I swear you revert to olden days, like it’s perfectly acceptable to talk about ousting someone like this.”
It’s becoming clear that I need to make Sparrow understand what I’m going through. “I know Rafe will be upset when he loses his buddy, but they’ll see each other elsewhere. Technology is a miracle, you know. Besides, he can just move to the next town over. He’s welcome to still have a home in New England and get his fill of clam chowder and lobster rolls. Just not . . . here.”
I take a breath. With everything in me, I want to make sure I don’t hurt her or give any cause to worry as I hasten to reassure her. “Your wedding will be gorgeous. We love you both too much for anything to get in the way of that. But after? My heart can’t take seeing him around much longer.”
The glimmer of hope I still hold for a potential reconciliation rises in my mind, but I quickly crush it. The more I ponder what happened between us, the more it doesn’t seem like a viable option. Graham will always be kind and polite, but until he can trust me again, he won’t be my person.
Sparrow nods in understanding. She opens her mouth then closes it. I lift my brow, and she begins again. “And there’s no chance?”
I know she’s asking about Graham and me. While I appreciate her optimism, I also know it’s a waste of time. My head feels heavy as I muster the strength to move it side to side.
“Oh.” Sparrow exhales with obvious disappointment. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Lils.”
I clear my throat, making an extra effort to let the utensils and bowls I’m using beat aggressively on the counter. My frustration has to go somewhere.
I have no right to be angry over Graham. We could’ve been everything to each other, and we’re just . . . not. There are pieces of his life that I know nothing about. I want to fill in those spaces. I want to know what he has loved and lost these past few years. I want to do a time-lapse of his face to make sure I’ve recorded all the changes to it. I want to inspect his life and figure out if he’s really happy now. Did my decision free him, or does he still dream of me too?
Sparrow tries one more time. “And you won’t fight for it—to get it back? Whatever you two had.”
I turn to meet her eyes, hoping she recognizes the flash of pain in them enough not to speak of this again. “There’s nothing left for us to fight for.”