He almost didn’t recognize her at first.
Recognition is a simple concept. One sees something that draws up memories, however vague, and that something becomes familiar. Sometimes comforting, a catalyst for the brightening of eyes.
But what if those memories were there, but the recognition didn’t come? And what if those memories faltered and began to fade, too detached from the object they were bound to? To Theo, nothing was simple. Not the way he dressed, a crisp vest over a shirt whiter than sunlit snow even though he had nowhere to go. Not the way he preferred his coffee, ristretto made with water forced through fine grounds, with exactly a drop of milk. Not the way his home looked when visitors arrived: books and various computer parts strewn over every surface.
Theo’s blank gaze widened with dread when he realized who was standing on his doorstep, the doorbell’s ring still vibrating in the air. He swallowed, turning his gaze from the kitchen monitor to the magazines that covered the counter like he’d been prepping for some sort of arts-and-crafts project, and he nearly spilled his ristretto as he hastily swept them into a pile and shoved them into a half-open drawer. He tried jamming it shut, but it kept popping back open again. An exasperated groan crawled up his throat.
The doorbell rang again, and Theo’s fingers twitched.
“Coming!” he called. Giving up on the drawer, he briskly made his way to the front door, his footsteps echoing through the foyer.
He began to doubt the decision he’d made as he slowly put his clammy hand on the doorknob. The mahogany door’s swirling patterns made him dizzy, slithering and swimming before his eyes.
With a breath, Theo tightened his grip on the doorknob and yanked the door open before he could change his mind.
A wave of unfamiliarity washed over him as he took in the young woman standing before him. Her maroon hair was twisted up in a knot on her head. A long trench coat pulled over a shirt almost as crisp as his own, as well as pinstripe slacks looped through the waistband with a gold-buckle belt. She had an air of importance surrounding her, her back straight and her fingers clasped around the strap of the bag resting on her shoulder. A bag that looked to him like it could be worth more than his entire outfit.
When had her clothing choice become so smart?
Yet, as Theo continued to study her face, his breath hitched at the telltale freckles speckled across the woman’s thin nose, and the way the corner of her mouth was slightly upturned—not quite a smile, but something that hinted a joke was forming in her mind, something no one would understand but her and the person she was looking at.
She used to give him that look all the time.
Her dark eyes crinkled, and they reminded Theo of the coffee still sitting on his counter. “I believe you’ve spilled something on your shirt,” the young woman said, and, blinking, Theo’s gaze darted to his sleeve, which he pulled at until he could see the large coffee stains dotting the cuffs. How had they gotten there?
He was beginning to lose his appetite for ristretto.
Theo took in a breath, laughing a little, and looked at the woman again, who was smiling a bit more. He extended his hand.
“Jessamine,” he said, and when he grasped her hand, he shook a little too firmly. “It’s been a while.”
She smiled in response. “Theodore,” she replied, and it reminded Theo a little bit of the way people said “theater” in older British movies. That was when he began to notice the accent her voice had taken on, a London lift in the way she pronounced her r’s. He almost wanted to laugh, the woman before him so different than he had remembered.
Jessamine tilted her head slightly, an auburn curl falling across her cheek. “Are you alright?”
Theo gave her a nod, stepping away from the entrance. “Yes. I’m fine. Please, come in.”
Jessamine stepped through the door, and Theo took her coat from her to hang on the hooks by the door. A bit of snow sprinkled the fabric, like it had fallen from the trees that had caught last night’s snowfall.
“Is it cold out?” Theo asked. He never remembered ever talking about the weather with Jessamine.
“Dreadfully,” the woman replied, pressing her hands together. “I can hardly imagine how you Massachusettsans bear the frostiness. You should visit London one day. Our winters are much kinder.”
Theo brushed his hands together, because he didn’t know what else to do with them. “Right. London. You’ve studied there?”
“Cambridge.” Jessamine nodded. “I studied sociology for three years, then got an office job for a bit before becoming a technical writer.”
“Wow,” Theo murmured. “Good for you.”
And he meant it. He couldn’t help feeling joy at his old friend’s success, but a bigger part of him felt wistful, its tendrils itching at his side.
He remembered when all the two of them knew were each other and the blue sky. Days laying out in the sun, talking about an uncertain future but for one thing: that they would always remain friends.
That was years ago—a decade, really.
He looked at Jessamine again, and though he usually always knew how to carry on, how to solve any problem thrown his way, he couldn’t seem to figure out how to talk now. What could he possibly say to someone he’d been missing for years, but someone who he’d said goodbye to on terms much worse than he ever could have imagined?
A part of him wished that his and Jessamine’s paths had never crossed.
Jessamine watched him, and something like regret began to snag at her features. She opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, Theo spoke up.
“Are you hungry?” He gestured towards the hall leading to the kitchen. “I can make you some breakfast.”
“No, thank you,” Jessamine told him, and her presence was like a rope pulling at him from behind as he turned away to show her to the pantry. “Maybe tea, though? Earl gray, please, if you have.”
“Of course.” They emerged into the kitchen, and from where they stood, the magazines peeking out from the island drawer stuck out to him like a sore thumb.
Jessamine stepped ahead of him and sniffed. Theo caught a whiff of floral-smelling perfume as she brushed past him. “Ristretto, is it?” She looked over her shoulder at him, and suddenly a thousand memories were drawn up from the depths of his mind as her brown eyes met his.
He shook his head, to rid himself of thoughts that made him sad, and Jessamine raised an eyebrow.
“Yes,” Theo said, blinking as he tried to clear his mind. “It is.”
She smiled a little, turning away to take a seat on one of the chairs pushed against the counter. Years ago, when he was a kid who’d not yet begun drinking coffee, Jessamine had given him his family’s ristretto for him to try. He’d always liked the taste. He had subconsciously always been reminded of her whenever he had the drink—a comfort twinged with nostalgia.
All mornings since that day, Theo thought she’d been with him, even during the years they’d spent apart.
“You know, Theodore,” Jessamine began as Theo rummaged in the cupboard for the teabags, “you haven’t changed much.”
Theo exhaled and glanced back at her. Jessamine was looking at the magazine vomiting drawer, at the living room shelves behind her overflowing with books. When they were kids, she’d always come over to help him clean his room, always arriving with a box of garbage bags in anticipation of tossing out half of his things.
Now, her still fingers were clasped together on the counter, in contrast to the way he remembered them always tapping along any surface.
I’m not sure if I can say the same about you.
Theo cleared his throat as he prepared a mug of water. “Tell me about yourself, Jessamine. How are you doing, really?”
“I’m doing well.” Her voice was soft, smooth. She’d always been good at conversation, but her execution had improved greatly. “My job requires me to travel around a lot. I’ve seen much of the world, especially Europe.”
Theo nodded. Jessamine had always been the wild, untethered soul, wishing for more than just her hometown. In contrast to Theo—a homebody who liked routines and schedules. Eventually, such differences pushed them apart, until finally…
Theo slammed the kettle onto the stove, and he twisted the knob until a blue flame whooshed into existence.
“And what about you, Theodore? What’s on your mind these days?”
You.
Me.
What used to be.
“Work,” Theo said instead, laughing dryly. “I work for a tech company, and on the side, I write articles for the technology section of a local newspaper.” He shrugged. It sounded so boring compared to Jessamine’s life.
“Really? That sounds great,” Jessamine said, smiling a genuine smile. “My boyfriend also writes for papers.”
Theo blinked in surprise. It had never occurred to him that Jessamine would have a significant other. He guessed he’d supposed that she would remain just Jessamine her entire life. When they were younger, both of them had thought the idea of romance was silly, and it had always been the last thing on their minds.
Though it remained that way for Theo today, he supposed it didn’t for Jessamine. The change added to the list of the unfamiliarities twisting around his mind, and Jessamine felt farther from him than she ever had during the past decade.
“You sound well, Jessamine,” Theo told her. “You seem well.”
They looked at each other for a bit, Theo with his brown curls and crisp vest, Jessamine with her clasped hands and shiny bag glittering on the countertop.
It was just the two of them their whole childhood. They’d had other friends, but they’d been the closest, having known each other since the first day of grade school. They’d built Rube Goldberg machines together, spent months collaborating on painting giant murals for the community, and wrote comic books filled with characters and inside jokes only they would understand.
With the introduction of high school, the two had developed interests that pulled them further and further apart. Him, computer science. Her, debate club. Things the other didn’t understand. Things they mocked each other for, including paths they’d chosen that couldn’t fit the other into the journey.
When she finally reached out again, Theo thought he could handle it. They were adults now; they’d grown up. What had happened in the past were childish things. Things that had no business to continue chilling the blood now. Surely, they could rebuild the bridge they’d burned.
Theo took the kettle off the stove, and hot water splashed up onto his hand as he poured the liquid into a mug. A stream of profanity burst from his mouth—a release of the emotion that had been building up inside of him like lava oozing up a volcano.
He froze, the kettle tilted slightly as the water settled in the cup, steam wafting off its surface. Theo took a breath. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, shoving the kettle away from him. Theo dumped the tea bag into the mug and slid it towards Jessamine, who he wouldn’t look at. He ran to the sink and flipped on the faucet, thrusting his hand under the cold stream. “I’m sorry. Please excuse me. I didn’t—”
“Theodore.”
Theo looked up at his old friend, who had her hand wrapped tentatively around the mug’s handle. She searched his gaze, until her eyes dropped to the counter.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have come.”
She released the mug and started to get up, and in desperation, Theo turned the sink off and went to her, water dripping from his hand. “No. Wait. Stop. Give it a chance, please.”
“Theodore,” she said again, and it almost killed him. No one called him that except for his family members. For a long time, he’d considered Jessamine as close as one. “We tried. We tried, and it’s not working. I’m sorry I reached out. I just thought that maybe…maybe it’d be different, but it’s all the same. You’re the same.”
Theo recoiled, her words stinging the way his hand did. He didn’t know what to say. He just regarded her slowly with a hardened gaze that began to cool, like coal.
“And you’ve changed,” he affirmed.
Jessamine looked at him coolly, her grip tightening on her bag. “As people do.”
The anger he’d grasped onto began to slip away, until all that was left was despondency. He tried to speak, but he couldn’t. What was there to say? She was right.
Everything seemed to be changing except for him, and that was why he was here in this sad house, so cluttered yet so empty. It was why he’d lost her all those years ago, because he was too rigid to accept something he hadn’t mapped out in his mind. Why she’d left to study abroad, to pursue something that didn’t involve the two of them, while he stayed behind.
He looked again at who used to be his friend, at the dyed red locks he remembered had once been as blond as the sun. He imagined letting her slip away from him again, and the sadness seeped into his soul.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, and he turned away.
He didn’t watch as the floorboards creaked under Jessamine’s feet. He heard her walk all the way down the hall to the foyer, heard the jangle of her keys and the shaking out of her trench coat. When the door opened and closed behind her, Theo’s jaw clenched, and silence rang around him, too loud in contrast to their voices filling the kitchen moments before.
He spent the rest of the day working at the computer, his gaze moving from the screen to the window beside his desk, peering between the blinds to the sunlight growing then dimming as the day went on. He couldn’t see much, as the glass was covered in snow.
Both the ristretto and the tea remained atop the counter, growing colder with each hour.
It was after dinnertime when Theo began to feel a strange sort of confinement, pacing around the house, perturbed. He tried typing at the computer a bit more, but there was nothing really to work on, and he couldn’t focus to begin with. All he could think about was what had happened earlier in the day, and how he could never return to the moment, and try to do things differently. Time waited for no one It went on without care for anyone.
Theo began to think that perhaps he needed some fresh air, so he found himself making his way to the front door, taking his coat from the hook and shoving his arms through the sleeves. He turned the doorknob and shut the door tight behind him, and ducked into his car, then pulled out of the driveway and onto the darkening street.
He was surprised at how much daylight was still out at this hour. Spring was dawning in the air, the cold melting away to reveal budding trees and birds beginning to chirp their song. His pollen allergies would be acting up soon, but for now, the world was still transitioning.
Theo didn’t know where he was going, not until he pulled onto the familiar street lined with Tudor houses and flowers that bloomed all year. He drove a little further until he reached a tree-lined clearing, a cobblestone path winding its way over the roots. He pulled over and started making his way around the oak trees, until he came upon a grove. Up ahead was a bench that faced a hill soaked in the light of the dying sun, a hill that housed too many memories and years spent in simple bliss.
He approached the bench and began to sit, but when he looked up the hill, a dot of red made him pause. There was no mistaking it. Up on the hill’s peak, he could make out the sitting form of a lone figure, staring out into the sky’s swirling colors just as he’d been doing.
Incredulously, Theo peered closer at the figure. There was no mistaking the maroon knot atop her head, and the straight way in which she held herself.
He shook his head in disbelief.
Slowly, before he could rethink his decision, he was making his way up the hill, hands in his pockets and shoulders hunched from the cold. He faltered a bit when he was a few meters away. He considered turning around. Driving home. Back to the ordinary world of his house, his books, and his computer.
But then she glanced around, as if she could feel his presence. Her eyes flitted left and right before landing on him. Her eyebrows rose and she quickly looked away.
Theo wanted to leave. It was the only logical thing to do.
But it didn’t feel right, leaving as fast as he’d come. Here, he was being given a chance.
So, he took a breath and continued forward, his fingers digging into the fur of his pockets. He walked until he stood on top of the hill, a meter away from her. He glanced at the ground under his feet, hesitating before speaking.
“I didn’t expect to see you here.”
She didn’t respond right away, her eyes trained on the sky before them, her arms wrapped around her knees. Theo’s fingers tightened around each other. But then she said, “Neither did I.”
He chewed on his lip. “May I sit?”
Wordlessly, she tucked her chin against her folded arms and nodded once. Theo lowered himself next to her. Side-by-side, they stared out through the trees, and Theo tried to think of something to say.
“I guess I just couldn’t leave. Not without coming here first,” Jessamine murmured, referring to the park they were in. They’d come here all the time as kids, having picnics atop the hill they were seated on now. Here, their laughter rang in the air like the voices of ghosts. All their dreams were born here, a big chunk of their childhood belonging to the ground they sat on.
She’d wanted to come here before she left for London again.
“I meant what I said earlier,” Theo said quickly, taking his hands from his pockets and wringing them like he did when he was nervous. “I’m sorry. For being so rigid. For not talking about what happened. For what I said to you ten years ago, about hating who you’ve become. I was just…afraid.”
Jessamine inhaled beside him, softly releasing her breath. The air fogged a bit before clearing, and she adjusted to a crossed-legged sitting position, hands in her lap.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice quiet. “I always felt that there was something more than this. But that never meant I wanted to leave it behind and replace it with something different.” She looked around them, at the trees gently rustling in the breeze.
She shuffled a bit. “I was just…angry that you wouldn’t understand, Theo. I was worried that my chances of being something more would disappear if I didn’t leave soon. I wanted to take the opportunity to leave quickly, and I wasn’t left with enough time to explain everything to you in detail.” She paused, tucking a curl away from her face. “I didn’t make enough time.”
Theo warmed at her apology, but he knew that time couldn’t be made. It had to be used wisely, and it had to be grasped when there was too little of it. He respected Jessamine for the decision she made to take her life the way she wanted it to go. He’d secretly always wished for the courage she always seemed to possess.
“I’d missed you,” he murmured, stretching out his legs before him, leaning back slightly with his hands in the grass. Jessamine turned to look at him. He smiled at her, and she returned the expression.
In that moment, the traces of cold Theo had felt around him seemed to fade. “You should come visit me in London sometime. Do you promise?”
He thought she was just asking to be polite, but he really did want to go. To get out of the town he’d grown up in, the place in which he’d laughed and cried and learned everything he ever knew.
“I will.”
She smiled, the freckles scattered across her nose crinkling just the way he remembered. “All right, then.”
“All right, then,” he repeated, nodding.
She smiled, and they both chuckled softly. Just then, for a moment, the dark locks escaping her bun glinted gold, and a peach print dress replaced the trench coat that billowed around her as the wind kicked up. He was lounging in his khaki shorts, old aviator glasses painting the grove amber. Their gentle laughter was young
But then she was the Jessamine she was now, older and straight-backed, her face longer and her eyes holding a million thoughts he wanted to hear. He was Theo, the same as always, but not quite. They weren’t kids, or teenagers, but older than a score each. Older than they ever were, younger than they would ever be.
Maybe they weren’t having a picnic, or foot racing each other, or laying on their stomachs as they sketched comic panels like they used to. But at this moment, sitting here side-by-side was enough.
As the wind died down like a sigh, Jessamine and Theo turned to face the view before them.
The sun was sinking below the hills—as always—and twinkling stars as old as the world were slowly beginning to peek out from within the darkness.