Dating : Latte and a Lemon Loaf

“Good morning, didn’t see you here yesterday,” the new mother, infant asleep on the carrier on her chest, smiled in greeting, “hope everything is okay.” She brushed a wayward honey-blonde hair from her face and shuffled a few steps as the line moved forward. “My name is Jenny. I’ve seen you in here and thought I’d introduce myself.”

A friendly smile extended to a stranger she sees every day should have earned one in return. The older mother fought back tears as she struggled to be as open and caring. Rapid blinking, turning her head, taking steadying breaths helped, but didn’t hide her anguish.

“I’m sorry,” patting her baby’s back with one hand, Jenny placed the other on her fellow patron’s arm. She moved to the counter, ordering a large caffè macchiato, French vanilla latte, a cherry scone and a slice of lemon loaf. Jenny took her change and the other woman’s arm, moving them to the pickup point.

“Come, I got your usual, French vanilla latte and lemon loaf. Let’s sit.” Panic set into the other woman’s eyes and Jenny reassured her. “No need to talk, just sit together. We both need to not be alone.” Jenny’s eyes teared up.

Nissy saw a kindred spirit in Jenny. She swallowed the lump of emotion in her throat and gave Jenny a weak smile, enjoying someone else’s company for the first time in far too long.

“Hello, Jenny, I’m Eunice.” Jenny’s eyes widened a little at the old-fashioned name. Eunice explained, “Mama named me after my Great-Aunt Eunice, who raised her after my grandparents’ death. My friends call me Nissy, it’s not so stuffy.” She took the latte and lemon loaf Jenny handed her, along with the long, green plastic spoon the barista held out, with a gracious smile and a thank you. Eyes downcast, smiles forced, the two women wove through the crowded coffee shop to a table in the far corner.

The two women stared into their coffee cups. Awkward in their unexpected meeting, one dark head, the other fair, they struggled to connect with one another. Jenny’s baby stirred, bringing them together as only babies can.

“How old is your little one, Jenny?” Small talk didn’t come easy to Nissy these days. She was alone a lot, but Jenny made her want to try. “Looks brand new. A little girl, is it?”

Jenny nodded, silent tears leaving trails down her cheeks as she unhooked the baby from the carrier and rested her on her shoulder.

“Yes, she is five weeks old the day after tomorrow.” Jenny turned the baby around, her finger in the wee mouth to soothe her. “Nissy, meet Charlotte. I named her after my favourite author, Charlotte Brontë.” The two women had the same favourite author and said her name together, laughing. “Yours, too, is she?”

“She is. I haven’t read any of her books in a long time. Too long.” Nissy took the spoon, stirred her latte eleven times, took a sip and stirred it seven more. With shaking hands, she held her cup aloft, closed her eyes and sent a silent prayer before her next drink, which lasted five seconds.

Jenny, now nursing her baby daughter, watched Nissy. Curious about her routine, she understood the need for order and structure, just not how to achieve it.

“You’ve got it together, don’t you, Nissy?” Jenny picked at her cherry scone, nerves keeping her from looking at her companion. “I can’t seem to get anything right anymore. Everything’s been so hard since Charlotte was born.”

Jenny couldn’t hold her tears back any longer. She buried her face in the baby’s receiving blanket. Her quiet sobs swallowed by the soft cotton.

Nissy knew what she meant. She’d been where Jenny is before. More than once. Nissy reached out to the younger woman. Her icy hand, shaking with the effort of holding it all together, squeezed Jenny’s slick with sweat hand.

“No, Jenny, I don’t have it all together.” She, too, let her tears flow. “I am one breath away from totally and completely losing my shit at any moment.”

Nissy let go of Jenny’s hand and pulled her satchel up onto her lap. Reaching in, she pulled out a large resealable plastic bag full of the long, green plastic spoons like the one on the table. She picked up the spoon she’d just used, opened the bag and dropped it in with the rest of them, marking the outside of the bag with another tick. She reported back to Jenny without checking her numbers.

“That’s one-hundred-and-thirty-four spoons.”

Tortured eyes met horrified ones.

“One-hundred-and-thirty-four coffees.”

Tears welled up in Nissy’s eyes.

“One-hundred-and-thirty-four lonely days since a drunk driver took my husband and two children from me.”

The two women found a connection in mourning, a life they’d each loved.

“So, no, Jenny, I don’t have it all together. You are not alone.”

“Neither are you, Nissy.” Jenny pulled the satisfied, sleepy babe from her breast and held her out to the grieving mother. “Would you hold her while I get myself put back together, please?”

Hands trembling, she held the cuddly girl to her chest and cried hot, healing tears. A deep, cleansing breath and she looked up at her new friend in gratitude.

“Thank you, Jenny. I think I needed this today.” Baby snuggled back into her mother’s embrace, sighing in contentment. The two women bonded over small talk and sharing the stories behind their discontent.

Nissy’s superpower these days was wallowing in silence and ignoring the world, but she felt drawn to Jenny and her baby. She wanted to be alone less, live a little more. A movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention, a familiar shadow that brought tears to her eyes. Nissy gathered her thoughts and looked into the corner to see her family with her, same as the last one-hundred-and-thirty-four days.

Her husband’s warm brown eyes crinkled at the edges, his smile loving as always. Their daughter, five and feisty, gave her a front-toothless grin and two thumbs up, while her big brother, seven and serious, nodded his approval.

Nissy’s sad eyes took in every detail of them, down to her husband’s worn sneakers, her son’s pressed golf shirt and her daughter’s vintage purple necklace. She didn’t want to leave them behind, missed them terribly, but it wasn’t time to join them yet.

“Jenny, thank you for reaching out to me today.” She shook her head and told her new friend, “I wasn’t sure I was coming back tomorrow.” Her meaning clear, Jenny took her hand.

“Does this mean you will be back tomorrow, Nissy?” Concerned, she worried about whether she should take her leave of her.

“I will be now.” She knew, as did Jenny, that she had considered the alternative. “You’ve given me something no one else has been able to in the last five months, hope. Thank you.”

Jenny giggled. “Don’t thank me, thank the handsome dark-haired man who was in here with his children earlier. He’s the one who told me you needed a pick me up today.” Her giggle turned into a grin. “His daughter was cute, about five. She wore a large purple pearl necklace with her jean shorts and a pink tank top. Very fashionable. They left just before you got here. I’m surprised you didn’t see them.” She sipped the last of her coffee and tidied her spot, stopping when she noticed the pale, stunned look on Nissy’s face. “Is everything all right, love?”

In answer, Nissy pulled out her wallet and placed a picture on the table. Hands shaking, she pushed it across the table towards Jenny. Jenny paled, turning shocked eyes up to Nissy’s understanding ones.

“That’s her, isn’t it, Jenny? The little girl?” Nissy’s voice, strong and confident, continued. “That’s the man and two children you saw earlier, isn’t it?” Her gaze slid over to the corner again, where her family stood, nodding and smiling.

“That’s my family. My husband, Dennis. Our son, Trevor. Our daughter, Melissa. Missy. She loved everything purple. They encourage me to not be sad all the time. To find more joy in my life. That’s why he told you I needed a pick me up. Today is our twelfth wedding anniversary, and our son’s eighth birthday. It’s been a rough few months, but today… today almost killed me.” Nissy took a deep breath before admitting, “YOU saved my life this morning, Jenny. Thank you.”

Jenny shook her head.

“No, Nissy. I think we saved each other today.” They gathered their things and made their way through the crowded café. “I have been feeling so alone and so incapable that I considered dropping my daughter off at the hospital. I planned the whole thing out. The hospital was my next stop after getting a coffee. Your husband stopped me from making one of the biggest mistakes of my life and helped me stop you from making one, too.”

Jenny slipped her hand through Nissy’s arm and asked who she should thank for the life-saving advice that morning.

“His name was Dennis. He was a paediatrician and worked in a postpartum/breastfeeding clinic three days a week. He would have loved your little Charlotte.” Steps faltered, then stopped.

“Is your last name MacQuarrie?” An incredulous Jenny turned to Nissy with a teary smile on her face. “Your husband was Dr. Dennis MacQuarrie.”

“Yes, he was.”

Jenny, holding onto Charlotte with one hand, squeezed Nissy’s arm as they carried on their way. She closed her eyes and swallowed thickly before answering her new friend.

“I just finished reading the book he contributed to on postpartum depression. It made an impact, but I didn’t feel as if I could follow his suggestions.” A genuine smile lit her face. “I guess he had another idea, eh?”

“I guess he did, Jenny, and I’m glad of it, too.”

“Me, too, Nissy. Me, too.” She steered her new friend down a street familiar to both of them. “Come on back to mine. We can talk some more. Have lunch, too.”

Nissy nodded, looking up at her lonely bungalow as they walked by it to the home six doors down that Jenny and her husband moved into not too long ago. The street she’d raised her children on didn’t seem so lonely anymore.