Willow Always Stayed

The bright curtains were drawn back, engulfing the diner in a brusque pale December light. The waitresses moved swiftly, placing cups and plates between plastic carnations.

Willow sat alone in the corner booth, her elbows on the grey window ledge, watching the Main Street wake up. An elderly couple passed, hand in hand, matching each other’s pace and steadying without thought. Willow’s curious gaze traced them, drawn to them by a flicker of familiarity. The overhanging bell of the door announced their entry a moment later and the couple sat down at one of the tables tucked into the far corner. The woman shrugged off her coat slowly as her husband pulled out her chair, a reflex.

The waitress hovered by the booth, tapping her pencil against the notepad impatiently. “Coffee?” she asked.

“I’m fine, Nelly,” Willow shook her head, gaze still on the couple.

Nelly tapped her foot against the tiles and exhaled hard. This made Willow look up at her, a polite smile softening her features. “I’m just waiting for someone.”

“Aren’t you always,” Nelly replied, her smile obviously forced and short before she turned around.

There was an ease with how they moved, how they leaned over the menu; how easy it was for them to share the space, share jokes. No performance, no knowledge of Willow’s curious gaze on them. There was something between them, a warmth reserved for old lovers that built a life out of small moments of intimacy. She struggled to place them. Their wrinkled smiles were ordinary, they could have been any random couple in this town. His hand covered hers on the table, as the waitress laughed at one of his jokes, and Willow felt it echo in her bones. She straightened in her seat, felt one of her knees knock the underside of the table and tried to look anywhere else. The slow hands of the clock on the wall, the yellow carnations on every table but the booth she was in, but her gaze drifted back to the couple.

The bell rang again, cutting through the soft jazz playing in the diner. Willow picked at her nails, a bad habit her mother hated. Willow pulled her attention away from the loving couple then out the window again. Her reflection stared back at her, green eyes faded in the glass, soft lines below them from sleepless midnights. Willow lifted her hand to fix a few loose strands from her hair, tucked them nicely in the unruly bun held together by a pencil.

A young couple walked in, a little toddler holding the father’s hand tightly. The mother wore a long trench coat, her hair hanging over her shoulder in a neat braid, but her view obstructed slightly by the overgrown bangs she was fixing. He smiled then took off his long black coat. Small snowflakes fell to the ground outside the window, and Willow glanced away from the family for a brief second.

The mother and daughter left the table talking in their own language as the dad stayed to order. To be loved is to be seen by family. Family. Willow tasted that word; heard it echo in her head. It sounded distant. She had forgotten almost every detail about her mother. When was the last time she said, ‘I love you’? What was family now? It seemed like once all the children grew up and left the small town for big cities and careers, no one ever came back. Izzy went to New York, Charlie got a job in Boston, Taylor moved to Vienna, and Willow…

Willow stayed.

Even though everyone expected her to move on, she stayed, her potential collecting dust.

The father turned around for a moment, where Willow could glimpse his features more clearly. He had a soft look in his eyes, a mix of Christmas tree green and autumn leaves brown. No wrinkles or lines burdened his young features. He must have been in his late 20s. No grey hairs, despite having a young daughter, splitting image of her mother. She came back, a jump in her step, her mother walked behind trying to fix her hair again.

“Daddy, touch my finger. I’m so cold!” her small hands reached for him, and without thinking, he warmed her tiny hands. She snuggled closely, wild curls tickling his neck. The giggle out of her tiny lips was the sweetest sound. The mother settled across and reached across the table to smooth out her daughter’s clothes.

“Sadie, your clothes are all wrinkled again,” she remarked, soft green eyes almost scolding her husband.

“Not my fault, babe, I just play back with her.” He put up the hand that wasn’t holding onto Sadie up in defense.

The mother rolled her eyes and brought her hands on top of the white tablecloth, smoothing it over.

“You always play rough.”

Willow felt like an invader, watching them. She felt that ache again, not quite sadness but wanting. Wanting to have the privilege of family. Wanting to feel love like that. Her fingers brushed against the ringless one, twisting around as if there was an imaginary ring there. She looked down and kept twisting, maybe she’d materialize one out of thin hope or promises. If she could, she’d have a million by now. A million weddings. A million chances to be loved.

The door opened, the bell rang, cold winter air and snow rushed in, and a small tear threatened her. No more, she wished, shook her head and tried to blink hard.

A young and confused girl entered and searched the diner for a seat. Willow stood fast, eyes tracing every inch of the girl. From the long blond hair just past her shoulders, to the thick winter jacket, with brown fur around the neck she begged her mother to take off. She walked over, one foot in front of the other, as if it was the first time she walked. In her wrinkled plaid shirt and blue jeans, she felt completely underdressed. The young girl saw the booth, and walked over, brushing past Willow almost uncaringly. She settled in, but her feet couldn’t stop shaking. Her hands on the tablecloth, fixing the non-existent wrinkle. Then her hair when she’d caught a glimpse of herself in the window. Willow stood in the middle of the diner, watching the young girl run her hands through it, gathering the strands as best as she could into a high bun. Her eyes roamed everywhere, settling on the door and back to her wristwatch. Willow felt like she could see the future then. She picked at her nails, and bit her cheek, eyes in a constant carousel of back and forth between the clock on the wall and the door.

Willow felt him just before the bell rang. Her spine stiffed, eyes shut tightly as if this was just a bad dream and if she stood very still, he wouldn’t break her heart. He’d walk away, and she’d be unscathed.

But there he was, wearing the same boyish smirk, the same hazel honey eyes, that long too big on him jacket he refused to stop wearing. It was like he knew where she was sat. His eyes didn’t roam the room, just went for their booth. He reached over to press a cold kiss to her warm cheek.

“You’re so cold!” she exclaimed at the icy touch. His hands grabbed onto her elbows, in a half-embrace. She never noticed it wasn’t whole. Willow tried to remember the last proper hug but failed.

“Well, I walked here.” He pointed out briefly. “Did you order?” he asked, just as the young girl’s smile grew wider. She knew almost every detail about him. A coffee order is nothing.

“Of course, James.”

The waitress brought their coffees and smiled politely before walking away. Willow watched the young girl drink, and remembered that for a week after, her tongue still burned, along with her heart.

“I have to tell you something,” he murmured, not even glancing towards the steaming cup. The low tone should have been a dead giveaway to the girl, but she was in love.

Without missing a beat, she reached her hand over to touch his. “I think I know what you’re about to say.” she really should have known.

He looked at her the way you look like something you’re about to break. He looked like the usual James McVoy. The same boy who sat behind her in calculus that gave her the pencil. That same boy who let her drive on dark roads at night and who taught her how to do a tie. James here was the same James she loved all along.

“I think you’re in love,” she whispered and crossed her legs on the burgundy couch.

Willow mouthed the words with her. Like she felt them in her soul. Like she heard them on a loop every night as she prayed for sleep to take her. She couldn’t look away from them. Couldn’t remember the young girl looking happy every again.

“How did you know?”

She shrugged, tried to hold back the smile. “Takes one to know one, James.”

There was a short moment where he breathed slowly, wished he could glance at the clock on the wall. He knew that she got it wrong this time and felt cruel for being the one to break her heart. He wished time would stop just here. Wished he could go back to last winter, where they were so in love. He had wondered what happened to them since then? Madison, of course. Madison was the girl who changed everything, but there were so many similarities between Madison and the girl standing across from him. But he no longer laughed at her jokes or walked to her house just to kiss her goodnight. He dreamed of Madison and her laugh.

“I think…I think you might have misunderstood.” He said gently, retracting his hand from beneath hers, and placing it on top stiffly. “I’m in love with someone else. Not with you, Willow.”

The next couple of seconds were always blurry. How her hand escaped his cold confine and knocked over the coffee cup, staining the white tablecloth, was always a question unanswered. The words were hazy, and the diner blurred by running mascara. He never apologized. He hadn’t even taken his stupid jacket off. James stood, Willow was frozen in place, half of her wanted to watch him walk away again, but closure wouldn’t come. The young girl broke down in the booth, her eyes covering her face, hair falling apart, pencil dropped on the floor, coffee bleeding on the table. Her heart couldn’t exit the illusion of love yet. She knew James walked away, she knew he didn’t love her. She had no idea about Madison. Doubts, yes, but ideas, none. James walking out could have been anything. Love dies young sometimes, but where did it go wrong? How did it end? At their small-town diner, in the dead of winter?

Willow looked around, at the loving couples. She looked around at everyone being in love and placed the ache in her chest. Everyone had the one thing she ever wanted. How can love be all around her, and yet never hers? Was love really such an unfair and cruel battleground? Would James break Madison’s heart in a year?

The faces faded; Willow squeezed her eyes shut in the hope of suspending the moment. The old couple’s table emptied, the young Sadie disappeared, and one by one, every version of love she thought she would have, was gone.

The diner was empty once again, and the young girl looked up at Willow. There was no smile, there was no closure or peace in knowing. Willow wiped her tears, but the young girl sat there, with a broken heart and crossed legged in the dim light.

Outside, a flicker of a black jacket. A long one, but not so oversized anymore. He didn’t stop, didn’t come in, but looked inside for just a moment. Willow turned her head, an empty gaze staring at him. Nothing on his face suggested he was affected, but she felt it in her heart. The emptiness, the false hope she’d carried her whole life. In her fantasy, they get married, have a family and move away from the small town. Everything is just right. Everybody moved on.

Willow sat alone in the corner booth, thumb rubbing the empty space where a ring had never been.

The bright curtains were drawn back, engulfing the diner in a brusque pale December light. The waitresses moved swiftly like they were already behind, weaving placing cups and plates between plastic carnations.