All Roads Lead Home
Joss Richard
It’s a lot colder than I remember. I would have assumed the opposite given global warming. Perhaps my threshold for the East Coast winter is lower than when I was seventeen. Now, at twenty-six, I can appreciate how picturesque my hometown is.
Beacon, New York, is about an hour and a half train ride out of the city, up the Hudson River.
I don’t remember the last time I saw blankets of snow—I certainly don’t see it living in Florida.
This is not like the snow you see in the city; once you leave Manhattan it’s thick, pillowy, and covering every surface within eyesight.
Outside the window is a winter wonderland. It’s beautiful.
“We are now approaching Beacon,” the voice on the announcement says. “Beacon station.”
Despite it being Christmas Eve, there are more people on the train than I expected. It’s already 5:30 p.m., and I assumed everyone would already be at home with their families. When the train stops, a few people around me gather their belongings and I reach overhead and grab my carry-on suitcase.
Once I get to the platform, I pinch the top of my jacket, bracing myself for the December air’s harsh bite. I pull a beanie out from my purse and wrap a scarf around my neck. It’s not by any means freezing, but my ass is used to Orlando weather now. Anything below sixty feels cold.
I thank my past self for booking an earlier train; the anxiousness I have about seeing my dad hasn’t dissipated.
I’m not quite ready to show up for dinner just yet.
Instead, I take a short walk over to Main Street.
It feels familiar; the bones of the town haven’t changed, but stores have been swapped out and repainted.
My gaze flickers between holiday decorations on store-front windows, Christmas lights wrapped along the snow-dusted trees, and festive wreaths stationed above every lamppost. I spot a café up on the corner, and my heart lifts when I see a “Come on in, we’re open” sign.
There’s a subtle chime from the bell above the door, and I feel like I just walked into a cozy holiday movie.
I take in the smell of coffee beans and nutmeg and the twinkly sound of the first few bars of “The Christmas Song.” There’s a warm glow throughout the café, a fire crackles in a brick fireplace in the back, and a Christmas tree with red and gold ornaments glimmers by the front window.
The complete lack of customers makes me feel a little foolish walking into a coffee shop at almost 6 p.m. on Christmas Eve. I’m sure whatever part-time student is being forced to work over the holidays is just dying to get a home-cooked meal.
Taking another step, I scan the seasonal options written in chalk on the wall: eggnog latte, hot buttered rum, caramel apple spiced chai, and dark peppermint mocha.
There’s also a case of mouthwatering pastries off to the side, reminding me all I’ve had to eat today were plane nuts and a cup of black coffee.
“Hi, so sorry about that,” a voice says.
A man comes out of the back area, distracted and wiping his hands with a towel.
He’s tall, around six feet if I had to guess, with a head of light brown hair and a thick beard.
He has a strong nose, a deep voice, and crystal-blue eyes.
I’ve only ever seen eyes that blue once before. “How can I help—”
“Ryan?” I pinch my brows together, studying the familiar but almost unrecognizable face in front of me.
He glances up and for a moment looks utterly confused. Like he doesn’t know where he is or when he is. “Elle?” he says slowly and not confidently. “Is that you?”
“Holy shit.” A breathless laugh escapes me. “How are you?!”
“I’m good…” he replies, but he’s looking at me like he doesn’t quite understand how I’m in front of him. “How are you? Are you here visiting or—”
“Yeah,” I say, still processing that Ryan is here in front of me. What would I call Ryan? My childhood best friend? My crush? The person who consumed all the days of my youth? “I’m just here for a few days,” I elaborate. “I’m visiting my dad.”
Ryan’s brows raise. “He still lives here?”
“Mm-hmm. Same house.”
“Wow.” He drags a hand through his hair. “Well, uh, welcome home. It’s been, like, what? Ten years?”
“Yeah,” I say. The last time I saw Ryan we were just teenagers, although at the time we felt wise beyond our years. “Right after graduation.”
“Fuck,” he breathes out. “Yeah, I remember, it’s just… time goes by fast, doesn’t it?”
“God.” I laugh. “It feels like a lifetime ago,” I say, and then there’s a moment of silence between us as we look at each other.
Almost taking in how different we are. Perhaps I’ve grown an inch or two, but I was most likely still five four when Ryan saw me last. My dark hair is longer, highlighted, and I’m more filled out than what I was in high school.
I wear probably half the amount of makeup I used to, and I like to think I carry myself with a confidence I could have only dreamed of at the tough age of seventeen.
My eyes travel across Ryan, taking in every single detail.
His eyebrows are thicker than I remember, and I’m still wrapping my head around the fact that he has facial hair.
He’s wearing a forest-green fisherman’s sweater with a red shirt peeking out from under the collar.
His blue jeans are faded, and his dark brown Blundstone boots are worn in. He’s a man.
“You look great,” he says, and then looks like he almost regrets it.
If I weren’t still cold from the winter air outside, my cheeks flushing would be a lot more noticeable.
I instinctively take off my beanie. “Oh, thanks… so do you,” I say, and it’s not a lie. Ryan was always cute; he was the cutest guy in our school. Cute could not be more of an inaccurate way to describe him now. Muscular, handsome, sexy, or hot feel more fitting.
“So, uh.” He pats the sides of his thighs. “What can I get you?”
“Oh.” I quickly scan the menu again. “I’ll, um, take the dark peppermint mocha and a cinnamon bun, please.”
“You got it.” He pauses for a moment like he’s disoriented, then spins on his heels, reaching for the espresso beans. “For here or to go?”
I bite my lip. I’ve only just seen Ryan. I’m not ready to leave. “What time are you open until?”
“Seven,” he says.
“For here,” I say, and he grabs a speckled red-and-white mug from the shelf. I shrug off my jacket and take off my scarf. Running a hand through my hair, I choose a seat at the bar area and watch Ryan.
He pushes his sleeves up, revealing strong forearms. These aren’t the forearms of the kid I used to ride my bike around town with, the kid who used to make me laugh in the middle of class during silent reading time, or the kid who hugged me, saying everything was going to be okay when I was positive it wouldn’t.
In Ryan’s presence, so many memories come sweeping back like a heavy tide.
I think of our junior prom and how Noah Klein bailed the morning of because he’d rather go with Madison Bennett.
I cried in my room and Ryan stepped in to be my date.
I remember going on vacation to Montreal with my parents and Ryan texting me the entire trip to take my mind off my parents fighting.
Every single memory from my childhood and teenage years includes Ryan.
“So,” I say over the sound of milk steaming. “What have you been up to?”
A corner of his mouth pulls up, revealing a trace of a smile. “Up to?” he repeats, concentrating on the white liquid in the stainless-steel pitcher. “Same old.”
“Same old? Since graduation?” I look at him evenly. “Are you married? Kids? I assume you still live around here—”
“No.” He shakes his head.
“No, you don’t live around here?”
“No wife. No kids,” he says.
“Girlfriend?”
“Just single.” He looks at me and when he does, I begin to feel a little warmer. “What about you?” he throws to me.
“Same.” I pull at the sleeves of my sweater. I opted in for a thick red cardigan with a white shirt underneath and am aware how alarmingly Christmasy we look combined. “After my ex, I kind of swore off dating.”
“I hear you.” He lets out a heavy sigh that tells me all I need to know about his last relationship. He squeezes a tube of rich, dark brown mocha filling into the cup and then places a small piece of chocolate at the bottom. “But yeah, I’m still here. I got a place across the bridge in Balmville.”
“That’s crazy,” I breathe out. The thought of Ryan having his own place just feels so grown-up of him. But I guess we are adults now.
He pours the frothed milk over the espresso, creating a subtle Christmas tree outline. “Are you still in Florida?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I take the warm cup that he slides in my direction. “Orlando.”
I don’t say much more because there isn’t much to say about my life there. Yes, I had a tight group of girlfriends, but that wasn’t enough to make me love it. I lived in a shitty studio apartment and I hated my job. I’m ready for a change.
Ryan’s gaze stays focused on me, like he wants to say something but is treading lightly. “Do you come back often?”
“No,” I say almost immediately. Maybe because I want him to know that if I had come back years ago, I would’ve reached out. “It’s my first time back.”
“Seriously? Since you left?”
“Mm-hmm.” I take a sip of the peppermint liquid. The velvety chocolate and rich espresso flavor warm me up. It’s delicious. “I got a job in the city…” I say.
“Oh.” Ryan’s brows shoot up. “You, uh, don’t sound excited.”
“No, I am,” I redact. “It’s an amazing job. It’s on the marketing team for one of my favorite publishers.”
“No shit.” Ryan smiles. “So you’re still reading at every waking moment?” he says, and I reach for my purse and pull out my Kindle.
“Even more than I used to.”
“Congratulations, Elle.”
“It’s been a long time coming,” I confess. “I used to work at this auto insurance company…” I make a tired face. “There are just no jobs in publishing in Orlando, so I took the leap to move to the city.”
“So what’s the problem?” Ryan asks.