The Blue Hour

No one ever talks about the blue hour. Not like its counterpart, the golden hour, which receives praise for rendering the perfect glow for selfies and family photo shoots. People pay homage to the golden hour, rewarding it with its own hashtag, and quotes in movies and poems, while the blue hour goes unnoticed. The blue hour falls just before sunrise and right after sunset. It casts the world in a deep blue tinge and illuminates it just enough to see everything as it truly appears without the help of the sun’s direct light.

I watched him pack his bags during the blue hour and the color has haunted me since. The gray shadows and navy hues mocked me as I clung to the shreds of our happy life. He revealed his true colors and was gone before the sun inched above the horizon. I sat on the edge of our bed alone as the sunlight slowly filled the room, reminding me life goes on just like the one growing inside me.

“Miss? I’m Henry. I believe the bergamot tea and apple tart are mine.” An older gentleman stands on the opposite side of the counter, blinking at me with watery cerulean eyes.

“Oh Henry, my apologies! You caught me daydreaming,” I gush and quickly hand over the cardboard tray.

“No worries, my love. I hope it was a good one,” he shuffles away.

“Good one?” I repeat.

“Your daydream—he hopes it was good,” a younger man explains as he steps to the counter. “It’s old man humor; I understand it too well.”

“Ha! Right. Is this yours, sir? Are you Jude?” I ask.

“That’s me—and you must be Ella of the Ella and Rose’s Tea Time Café?” he questions as his eyes travel from my name badge to the sign on the wall behind me.

“Yes and Rose is in the back preparing the pastries. Is it your first time here?”

“Yes, it is, and first time in Ocean City, in fact,” Jude answers.

“Welcome! May is a little early in the season for a swim, but some are brave enough to take a dip. And there’s plenty to do on the boardwalk or here. Up and down Asbury Ave, all the shops are open—”

“I’m not here on vacation, but good to know,” he interrupts with a smile. “I moved here two days ago.”

“Here you go—” I hand over his oolong tea. The indigo tinged liquid rocks back and forth in the cup. “Try this too—on the house. The blueberry lemon scone compliments the flavor of the tea.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t,” he replies with a flick of his light brown hair.

“Consider it a welcome gift from Ella and Rose.”

“Thanks! I’m sure I’ll see you around.” He hoists his bag over his shoulder and waves as he leaves.

“Who was that?” Rose appears from the back with a tray of croissants.

“Jude, just moved here,” I answer.

“Handsome, isn’t he?” Rose stretches her neck to see out the door.

“Yes,” I answer. There’s no reason to deny it. I may be unavailable, so to speak, but I can still admire an attractive man when I see one.

“What color eyes?” she asks. “You know I’m a sucker for a good set.”

I huff and my shoulders slump. “Sapphire.”

Sure enough, the next day Jude is our first customer, and he greets me with a smile. Instead of taking his order to go, he sits by the front window.

“Back again?” I ask.

“Join me.” He nods to the chair across from him.

“I shouldn’t.” I look to the counter and back to him.

“There’s no one here yet please?” he begs. “You’re the only person I’ve met since moving here—other than my coworkers.”

“Ok, Jude.” I sit across from him. “So, tell me what made you move to Ocean City?”

“I’ve had enough of city life and the pace. I took a job across the street at the newspaper as a journalist.”

“At the Sentinel Ledger? I thought that—"

“Old men work there? Yes, I’m the only one under the age of 55. It should be interesting.” He smooths his slightly crumpled button down shirt.

“Tell me about yourself, Ella.”

“Are you going to write an article about me?” I ask.

His eyes crinkle in the corners and laugh escapes his lips. It’s got a rough edge to it that is appealing. “Not unless you want me to—”

“Certainly not—" I shake my head with a laugh.

“But I will include the café in my article about my favorite spots.”

“That would be wonderful! We’ve been here a year and we’re still trying to establish ourselves,” I explain.

“Were you born here?” he asks.

“I was, and you said you’re from the city?”

“Baltimore but I was born in Blue Lake, California.”

“Of course you were—” I mumble and refrain from rolling my eyes.

“What?” he frowns.

“Oh nothing. How are the old men treating you?” I ask.

“Ok. They’re grumpy—we can’t discuss anything until they’ve had their coffee and sticky buns, and even then it’s all about fishing, boating, and the local construction. Oh and taxes. Don’t get them started on the taxes—"

“That sums it up for most of the old timers in this town and they’ll never change.” I laugh.

“We’ll see about that—I’m going to bring the Sentinel Ledger into this century.”

“I like your enthusiasm, Jude. I’ll box you up some pastry to bring them; that should help their mood.”

“You’re an angel, Ella.”

Jude and I continue meeting like this every morning for a few weeks before Rose notices. After the morning rush is over, Rose offers me a muffin with a smug look.

“What is it? Go on,” I say. Rose and I have known each other since college, and at this point, I know what she is going to say before she even speaks.

“You have an admirer, and I do believe you’re quite lovesick too.”

“Oh, please.” I wave my hands. “I like his company, but I’m in no condition to be smitten or to entertain a crush.” I rub my hand over the small bump hidden well beneath my apron. “I’m nearly four months pregnant,” I lower my voice and wave her off.

#

For the next month, Jude stops in twice a day for a refill and three times daily when he needs a break from his coworkers or is working on a particularly challenging article. His latest one is the repercussions of beach replenishment and its effects on the environment. I can’t help but add my two cents, and he jots down my every word with indigo ink on his yellow legal pad.

“It’s good to hear it from a business owner’s perspective too,” he says.

“Anytime, Jude.” I adjust my apron before I push off the counter and stand up straight.

“As a thank you, can I take you out to dinner?” he asks.

“Tonight? Aw, I wish. I have plans,” I lie.

He tucks his notepad under his arm and slips the pen behind his ear. “One of these days, Ella, I’m going to get you to come out from behind that counter and go on a date with me.”

“Whatever you say, Jude.” I laugh him off.

As the door swings shut behind him, Rose peeks around the corner. “Would you please put that man out of his misery and go on a date with him? He drinks more tea than the King of England.”

“You expect me to go on a date like this?” I arch my back emphasizing my belly. It’s really popped in the last week. “Imagine his shock when he sees me out of my apron—he’ll run in the other direction!”

“I can’t believe you’ve kept it a secret all this time,” Rose replies.

“What man wants to date a woman who is pregnant?” I ask.

“Think of it like this—he’s getting two for the price of one.”

“Very funny,” I sniff.

“Ella, give him a chance. He may surprise you.” She leans next to me and covers my belly with her hand. “Are you ready to find out if this little one is a boy or a girl?”

I’ve delayed this for too long. At every ultrasound, the tech asks if I want to know the sex, and I answer no thank you because I foolishly thought knowing would make this even more real. At my last visit, I decided it was time because there’s no denying this baby’s existence with every flutter.

“Business is slow, no better time than now,” Rose offers. “Come on, it’s in the back.” I follow Rose to the kitchen. A little white cake sits menacingly on a stand like ticking explosive.

“Do you know?” I ask Rose.

“I don’t. I gave the envelope to the girls and asked for it to be a surprise. Are you ready?”

“No,” I gulp.

“Yes, you are, Ella. You are a strong, capable woman. You can do anything, that includes raising a girl or boy on your own.”

“Fine.” I take the knife in my hand, make one cut and then two. Rose holds the plate as I give the slice a nudge. It falls soundlessly with no pomp and circumstance. No hoopla, but it’s plain and unmistakable. Turquoise.

“A boy,” Rose coos.

“A boy,” I repeat. A little boy to raise on my own and make sure he is nothing like his father. I catch the tear in the corner of my eye before it falls. “A baby boy.”

Rose squeezes me close and kisses the top of my head. “You got this, kid.”

For once, I think maybe I do.

#

I adjust my apron again. Rose steps to my side and knocks me gently with her hip. “Quit fidgeting,” she whispers.

“Do you think I should tell him?” I ask.

“Yes! What are you waiting for? For the kid to pop out and introduce himself?" she hisses.

I like keeping this secret. It’s not out of shame; I enjoy who I am with Jude—carefree and happy. I’m the Ella before my life came to a crashing halt on that early morning I showed the father of my child the two cornflower colored lines on the stick. Today Jude sits with an older gentleman at a small table in the corner, and it looks as though they’re discussing business.

When they stand to leave, Jude stops by the counter. “How are you today, Ella?”

“Fine, thanks, Jude. Did you enjoy your tea?”

“We did. It was perfect,” he answers and shuffles on his feet. His companion, the older man with bushy eyebrows and a matching mustache, hovers impatiently. I smile politely and he nods back. “My boss, Mr. Abbott,” Jude explains.

“Are you going to ask the young lady out or what, Jude? It’s been weeks of you running back and forth across the street to this place. Some people propose marriage in less time. Hurry it up.”

“Yes, Mr. Abbott,” Jude answers as a light blush of pink climbs up his neck. I can’t help but laugh. He turns back to me. “Have you been to Somers Point to see a band?”

“Oh, ah—years ago,” I answer.

“There’s a little beach on the bay. It looks like fun. Will you go with me?”

“Me? Oh, I don’t know,” I stutter.

“Ella, tell me if I’m wrong, but there’s something between us. Something—special—”

Yup, it’s something special alright. A big, round belly with a baby boy inside kicking my bladder.

When I don’t answer, he continues, “I like you, Ella, if I haven’t been clear, and I think you like me too.”

“I do,” I reply.

“Will you please go on a date with me?”

Rose hisses from the back, “Say yes!”

“Ok, I’ll go. What time?” I ask.

“The band starts right after sunset,” he answers.

My chest tightens—nothing good happens before or after sunset. “I’ll meet you there, Jude.”

#

I wear a short pink dress. It’s loose and shapeless, but nothing will hide my belly. It’s now or never. I drape my sweatshirt over my arm and hold it in front of me as I walk the two blocks to the bay. The sun dips below the horizon, and everything is navy.

“Ella!” Jude shouts. My stomach instantly fills with butterflies.

“Hi Jude.” I hug him with one arm as I keep my lower half a safe distance away.

“Come on! I have a full setup—chairs, snacks, and a cooler full of drinks.” He takes my hand and pulls me. My feet sink in the sand as we weave through the crowd to the other side of the stage. He offers me a seat and opens the cooler. I choose a water and he doesn’t question it. Now is the time to tell him, but I don’t. I want to savor this feeling awhile longer. No drama, no expectations, just fun. The music starts, and he reaches for my hand.

He whispers, “Do you like them?”

“They sound great.” I nod.

His lips brush my cheek, and I turn to meet them. Our lips press together and a tear slips down my cheek. Jude pulls back in uncertainty.

“I have something to tell you,” I say.

The final song comes to an end, and everyone bursts into applause. They chant and beg for more. We’re on our feet before I have a chance to think. My sweatshirt falls away, but Jude is distracted when the band starts their encore. He turns to me with a smile as a familiar song begins to play. His eyes drop lower and my mouth goes dry.

At a loss for words, I wave jazz hands on either side of my belly. “Surprise!” I say weakly. His mouth gaps like a fish struggling for air. My heart sinks. There’s nothing I can say to make this better or worse.

“You’re pregnant?” His eyebrows crease together in confusion or anger. I don’t want to stick around to find out, so I run and lose myself in the crowd. He calls my name, but I don’t look back. I’m blocks away before I stop. Feeling foolish for panicking, I sit on the curb and cry into my hands. Could I have made a bigger mess of things? There’s a flutter in my belly.

I cover it with my hand. “Your mom is an idiot.”

#

The next morning before sunrise, I park behind the shop. I’m grateful to see Rose’s assistant in the back baking, but no Rose yet. I can’t bear to face her and all the questions. I drag myself to the front to prepare for the day. The quiet calms me as I slowly meander through my opening routine. I tug on the cord to raise the window shade and to my surprise—it’s him. Jude sits on the cobalt bench across from our front window with flowers in his hands. The gray haze of the morning somehow makes Jude and all the colors surrounding him more vibrant. He gives me his usual wave—it’s both dorky and endearing.

I lean out the door. “What are you doing, Jude?”

“You run fast for a pregnant woman,” he replies.

“How long have you been sitting out here?” I ask.

“I was anxious to see you,” he answers and pats the bench. “Come on, let’s talk.”

I sit down and wait for him to speak but when he doesn’t I say, “Did I freak you out?”

“Ah yeah, but then you took off—”

“Sorry, I panicked. The last time I told a man I was pregnant, he ran off. Maybe I wanted to beat you to it.”

“This man—the baby’s father?”

“Yes, he wasn’t ready for parenthood.” The sky above us streaks with pink and purple beams.

“Wow,” he hushes. “Jerk.”

“Yup, it’s for the best,” I say with a nod.

“So, you’re single?” he asks.

“Are you saying I can’t handle a baby on my own?” I flinch. “Plenty of women do and—”

“I’m saying I want to date you, Ella.”

“This doesn’t change how you feel?” I ask.

“No, not at all.”

I sigh and rest my head on his shoulder. He kisses the top of my head. We take a moment to watch the sunrise light the morning sky. He shifts to face me. For the first time I take a good look at the flowers in his hands. Peonies and hydrangeas. He lifts one bouquet and then the other. “Which is it?” he asks.

“Blue.”