Page 7 of The Darkest Parts of Me

“No offense, Mom, but yeah.”

“Oh, Tash!” she says, swatting at her as we make our way to the door, laughing.

“I’ll see you later, Mom,” I say over my shoulder.

“Have fun! See you later. Remember not to stay out too late, we have a lot to do tomorrow.” Her light, sing-song voice carries through the store as we exit the shop, and when I look through the window as we pass, my mom and Mina are already in a deep conversation, both of them smiling and giddy. I hear my mom laugh before the door completely closes, and I’m comforted that my mom is relishing the time with her best friend just as much as I am.

I haven’t seen her smile as much as she has today in a very long time.

Tasha and I are linked arm in arm as we make our way through town.

“Does The Blue Bird sound okay?” Tash asks, squeezing my forearm.

“Is that even a question? I’ve been thinking about their scones all day. I’ve missed them so much,” I say, beaming. Just talking about them makes my mouth water.

As we make the short trek from the bookshop to The Blue Bird, we weave in and out of people on the sidewalk—a couple of them I recognize, but most are tourists. Unfortunately, the ones I make eye contact with notice me too, and they quickly turn a grave face into a smile, offering a sad nod—a look of pity flashing across their faces.

I’m prepared for these reactions.

Sort of.

One of the downsides of Solitude Ridge being a small town—and there are few—is that it means everyone knows the details about your life that most neighbors in large areas or cities normally wouldn’t. I’m not surprised that people remember the accident because it was significant for our community, and I watch the recollection on their faces as if it were yesterday.

But for me, it feels like a lifetime ago.

I try to push aside the grief of recalling the countless trips here over the years, and try my best to focus on the fact that they were good times as we step inside The Blue Bird, the warm, bright-blue lights imitating the restaurant’s sign. The interior hasn’t changed a bit, with its cozy style—but I don’t recognize the people working. While the staff has always been mostly made up of the local teenagers, I look for familiar faces, but see none. Or maybe I do know them but they’ve changed so much in the last five years I don’t recognize them.

We take our seats in the familiar, bright-blue laminate, upholstered booths, and a young girl wearing the staple blue-and-white striped button-up shirt and white apron takes our orders.

The Blue Bird is known for good food, but the scones are the main pull. Each is perfectly baked to create a rich, buttery texture—crisp on the outside and soft in the middle—covered in powdered sugar, and served with a side of sweet icing to drip over the top. Tasha always dumps her entire cup of icing over her scone, while I like a little drizzle. Not too sweet; just the perfect amount to balance the flavors.

“So, tell me everything! Please don’t leave anything out,” I say once our food arrives.

“Hmm, where do I even begin?” she asks, folding her arms in front of herself and resting them on the table. “Well, Kaden and Trista broke up about twenty times since you were last here, but they got married about a year ago, if you can believe it.”

“I don’t believe it, actually,” I say with a chuckle. They were the last couple I’d ever thought would settle down together. “Tell me more!” I urge, loving how Tasha’s personality shines when spilling gossip. I’ve missed her bright positivity and enthusiasm.

For the next hour, Tasha fills me in on all the town drama as we indulge ourselves with the deliciousness of the battered and fried perfection. I spend most of the time laughing, as Tasha’s highly entertaining exuberance fuses into everything she says.

“Oh! And we have a legit coffee shop now with fancy drinks, desserts, and everything,” she goes on eagerly.

“I saw that when we pulled in. I love it!”

Baked goods and coffee are my weaknesses.

“Yeah, a retired couple bought the space about a year ago, and it’s been a big hit with the town and tourists.”

“That’s great!”

Tash stops for a moment, pursing her lips and giving me a knowing look. “So . . .”

“So . . .” I mimic.

“How are you really feeling about being back?”

Tasha might be the only person in my life who gives it to me straight and asks me to do the same. She doesn’t dance around tough subjects, and it’s refreshing most of the time, but definitely not now.

“Honestly,” I say, pausing for a few more seconds, “I don’t know yet.”

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