The woman nods while her smile remains the entire time. I can’t help but wonder what happened to her to leave those terrible scars, but the fact that she can smile about anything says they likely bother me far more than they bother her.
She motions toward the chair on the other side of my small table and asks, “May I join you?”
A quick glance around the shop tells me she might be lonely since there are at least four empty tables, but I don’t mind the company. Chatting with someone is better than fixating on whatever thoughts pop into my head. Like my husband says, I become obsessed with too many silly things.
“Sure!”
She sits down, and just as I’m about to ask her name and tell her mine, she says, “I’m so sorry. I don’t know where my manners are today. My name is Kelsey. Thanks for letting me sit with you.”
I wave away the compliment since it was nothing to let her join me and say, “No problem. Nice to meet you, Kelsey. I’m Jamie. Jamie with the super dry scone.”
That makes her laugh, and it’s delightful, almost lyrical to my ears. “I learned my lesson a few weeks ago with those things. It’s better if you have them heat it up and then put some butter on it. It helps moisten it, even if it’s just a little.”
“That’s a great idea! I think I’m going to see if they’ll pop mine into the microwave.” Jumping up from my seat, I smile and say, “I’ll be right back.”
Thankfully, the young woman behind the counter obliges me since there’s no one waiting in line, and a minute later, I return to the table to sit with my new friend and my hopefully slightly moister scone. Kelsey’s busy enjoying a chocolate chip cookie with her coffee, and when I sit down, she once more smiles at me.
“I hope that fixes the problem for you.”
After taking a bite of my now warm scone, I savor the butter flavor as it makes my mouth water, helping the scone to be as moist as I could ask it to be. “It’s so much better!” I say with a mouthful of crumbs. “Sorry. My manners are usually much better, but I just got so excited that your trick worked.”
Kelsey shakes her head like my concern about talking with my mouth full isn’t something to even think about. “I’m just happy I could help. I like to pay things forward. One good turn deserves another my mother always liked to say. Thank God that woman told me about the butter that day she saw me sitting here struggling to wash down my scone, or we’d all be suffering.”
Something in the way she talks reminds me of Connor, so I ask, “Are you from around here? I swear I hear some kind of accent, but I’m not sure. To be honest, you sound like my husband.”
Her smile fades ever so slightly, making me think she’s insulted by my question, so I quickly add, “I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m sorry if I did.”
I’m relieved when she shakes her head, but still her smile doesn’t return. “It’s okay. I think my parents’ Pittsburgh accent rubbed off on me, even though I’ve never lived there. Is that what you’re hearing?”
Excited I’m right, I nod my head. “Yes! My husband is from western Pennsylvania, and he has that accent too. It’s slight nowadays, but when I first met him, it came through loud and clear.”
“You should have heard my parents when they talked. They never lost that accent, even though they moved away from Pittsburgh before I was born.”
That makes her chuckle, and her smile returns, brightening her face. In the very short time I’ve been around her, I already know I prefer when she’s happy because those terrible scars look ten times worse when she’s not smiling.
Our conversation falls silent for a minute or so as I eat the rest of my scone and she finishes her cookie. While I enjoy my treat, I study her. She’s taller than I am. Then again, at five foot four, mostly everyone but children are taller than me. Her body is thin like mine, but something about her says she can eat whatever she wants while I’m going to have to watch my calories for the rest of the day because of my stop here.
What’s most noticeable about her, though, is how stiffly she moves her head. I hadn’t noticed it before, but as we sit together in silence, someone drops a glass on the other side of the coffee shop, and when she turns to look at what happened, it’s like her entire upper body must turn at the same time. It reminds me of that time Cassandra hurt her neck in gymnastics and couldn’t move her head for nearly a week.
“I guess he’s cut off,” she says with a chuckle, and when I don’t laugh because I’m so transfixed by how she moves, Kelsey adds, “Well, maybe not since he’s only drinking soda.”
I realize she tried to make a joke, so I belatedly laugh, and that smooths things over once more.
“Do you come to this coffee shop often?” she asks. “I am seriously addicted to caffeine, so I’m here all the time.”
Taking a sip of coffee, I let the flavor sit on my tongue for a moment before swallowing and then answering, “I come here a lot too, but I usually do the drive thru since I have my daughters with me after practice.”
That piques her interest, and she asks, “What kind of practice do your daughters have?”
“Gymnastics. Both Cassandra and Danielle are very talented gymnasts. They’ve already both made the team, so now I don’t have to hang out and watch their practices. That means I can come here and actually see the inside of the building.”
As I brag about my girls, Kelsey nods, as if she’s actually interested in my family. “Oh, that’s great. How old are they?”
“Twelve and eleven. We had kids very quickly one right after the other. We stopped after two.”
I hope my unhappiness about that topic doesn’t come through loud and clear. I’ve been trying very hard not to show people how much I wanted to have another child. Connor says it makes people uncomfortable.
But Kelsey doesn’t seem to sense my long-simmering disappointment and gives me a big smile when she hears how old my daughters are. “Oh, that’s a wonderful time in a girl’s life. You know, before boys become the be all, end all. I remember being in fifth and sixth grade. Good times. My best friend and I would spend hours outside after school talking about everything under the sun.”
