I snapped out of it, pulling my thoughts back to me, to the conversation at hand. “I apologize. I was lost in thought.”
Margo smiled. “Don’t worry about it. Do me a favor, though.”
“What’s that?”
She gestured to my setup. “Don’t you ever throw this away for someone else.”
I looked down at it. The tri-fold custom leather journal had been too expensive for me to justify at the time, but I’d bought it anyway. The leather was a deep blue, my name engraved in silver on the bottom right corner, and when the patina set in, the color would grow richer, the leather smoother and shinier. Beside it was a muted green journaling pouch that contained a variety of pens, pencils, and highlighters; a small ruler; and a mini sticker book. Also, if I looked, there still might be a glue stick from when I tried junk journaling. That was a more difficult hobby for me because I never knew what to keep from my daily adventures or what was trash. It was hard to differentiate, so I just stopped after three failed spreads.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I was just thinking about them.”
“Don’t worry about it.” She waved me off. “Those women never sit down anyway.”
I picked up my drink, taking a sip. As the warmth soothed the back of my throat, my brain settled back into reflection mode. Pen back in my hand, I resumed telling the pages about the new coffee-cure steak on the menu at Margie’s as well as the rumor that Felix might be leaving and how it didn’t make sense. Based on his career, he wouldn’t move on to a different restaurant until the five-year mark. He still had another three years before then. From there, like always, perhaps because of where I was sitting, my mind drifted to Ash Doss. I shouldn’t know his name, and yes, I’d tried forgetting it. There was a lock box in my mind, and it refused to let go of the memory of his gentleness, the way he told me his name while carrying me, the way he looked at me.
And, true to the routine, I filled an additional two pages with the feelings I had toward him. Some days, the words conveyed a hidden truth: my regret for banishing him from my life. Others, the pages were filled with comforting lies that would get me through until the next weekend. On the days when my regret was too much, I would go home with a heaviness lingering inmy chest, and the weight wouldn’t disappear until Wednesday, when I took my morning hike along the coast. My feet would touch the ground, the trees cocooning me, sheltering me from the world outside, and I could breathe without remorse, without guilt, without doubt. I was just me, Angel.
When I was among the trees, I could relax.
Trees didn’t judge.
Trees didn’t hate.
Trees didn’t hurt.
Trees were just trees, and their silence was a gift I’d always welcomed.
An hour later, my reflections were done, guilt was present, and the question I’d always wanted to ask sat on the tip of my tongue, waiting to be released. But if I dared, if I unleashed these words, then my regret would be on display for not only Margo, but the rest of the world. Margo came to me for a final time, set her cell phone face down on the counter. “Good session?”
I nodded.
Margo was a journal person too. Though she confessed to me that she could only journal at home. In public, she got too distracted and was unable to finish a single page.
“You coming back on Monday, or will I just see you next Friday?”
“Since school is out, I might be able to swing by for a coffee on Monday,” I said, putting my journal and pouch into my big brown leather bag. I called him Mr. Slouchy. It was kiddish, but it added a level of fun to my daily dressing.
Oh, what bag should I carry today? The cross body or Mr. Slouchy?
She nodded and gave me a wide smile. “Awesome. I’ll see you then!”
The question jumped out as she turned around. “Is Ash doing okay?”
Margo stiffened. My words, laced with regret, hung in the air. Around us, the murmurs of the customers browsing through the stacks, looking for new worlds to escape to, faded. So did the low hum of the coffee bean grinder. A sudden lump appeared in my throat, and in my mind, I could see the damn thing trying to yank my tongue back in order to slap some sense into it. My heart began to race, blood skittering underneath my skin. A bead of sweat manifested at my temple, but I didn’t dare to move. Deep within my healing soul, something compelled me to linger, to hold out for the answer I sought.
Slowly, my friend—hopefully, she was my friend—turned around to face me. The glimmer in her eyes told me we were friends, but the thing about adult friendships was that, at the beginning of them, you never really knew. Even though I’d been in Astoria for over a year, I had only just started talking to Margo on a regular basis six months ago. Were we friends? I had no idea. Did we hang out outside of Rossy’s and Margie’s? On occasion, but if she was with her boyfriend or Carrie, I tended to stay away because of that group’s proximity to Ash.
“Angel,” she began as she came to me, “give me your hand.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I need to hold it.”
Huh?
Cautiously, I lifted my hand from my lap and held it over the bar. She took hold, her grip warm but strong as she rested our conjoined hands on the surface. Her eyes never left mind as she said, “You’ve got two options here.”
I waited, holding my breath.
