Chapter Text
I didn't come to mourn her. I came to understand her. I knew my grandmother, at least partly. She was the woman who sent pressed flowers in all of my birthday cards, had a smell of earth mixed with vanilla when she hugged me during Christmas, but I never knew her deeply. I never knew about this part of her life, how she lived in a small mountain town surrounded by people that grew close to her in a way I never got the chance to.
My mother had always felt the same way, despite growing up with my grandmother in this town. She felt distant even while standing side by side.
Whenever my grandmother would come up in conversation, my mother bristled and went quiet as if it was all painful for her to even acknowledge. The sad, longing look my grandmother always gave her was something she said she never forgot.
After feeling like only a painful burden, my mom left when she was of age. When she had me, she vowed to be different. She was always such a doting mother to me, not that I'd complain, but I want to know more, and my mom wouldn't speak of it. I wouldn't push her to either. Though, didn't I have a right to form my own opinion? So, here I am.
The closer we got to that small Vermont town, the heavier reality weighed on me. The bus gently swayed and rattled down the road, and every mile felt like I was getting closer to a conversation I wasn't quite ready to have, but I was pushing onward anyway.
I couldn't help but wonder how different it would be from Boston. The size definitely would be different, but I mostly wondered about how true that small-town hospitality was. It would suck to move into a space where I wasn't welcome. It would just make it so much easier to be able to build bridges rather than wade through the water alone.
The light thumping sound of rain lulled my anxiety just a tad as it washed the world in silver. The windows were fogged, and the mountains around us were blurred. It seemed fitting for the occasion. The early fall rain we were experiencing was just another outlet, saying the things I couldn't muster.
I watched as the vibrant-looking town came into view. It definitely was small, more like a village, if you had asked me. Hardly anyone was out in town, likely avoiding the rain. Even so, the place was just pretty. The main street had black lantern street lights, the cool vintage kind that really emphasized my village idea I had. Hedges lined the sidewalks next to the street lights, separating the walkways from the street.
I imagined that they would be covered in flowers had it been a warmer season, but I think the recent cold spell the north had probably wiped them out.
I looked for the florist shop my grandmother had left me. It sat on the corner of Main Street, closer to the bus stop than the other shops. The dark green door had a closed sign hanging on the inside. It looked lonely and dark, just begging for someone to walk in and bring it back to life. I wanted to check it out, but at the same time, I just don't think I'm quite ready yet.
So when the bus finally came to a halt, I stood up, grabbed my bag, and thanked the bus driver before getting off. I stepped on the concrete path that led straight to Main Street from the bus stop and headed to see if there was a place where I could stall my time. There were a few shops on Main Street. On the right was a thrift store, a news station, and a bar. On the left was my grandmother's flower shop, a record store, and a book cafe.
A quiet book cafe just sounded too perfect for the kind of comfort I craved. I passed the flower shop and then the record store to get there. The street had as many trees as it did lamp posts, lining the street. I noticed the pattern: tree, hedge, street light, then another hedge. It repeated until the next crosswalk. The red brick sidewalk was something that seemed to complement the warmth of the approaching autumn. Everything felt so inviting and comforting despite it all being covered in a dreary rainy day.
I strolled down the street, getting used to the sights of the yellowing leaves and sounds of the breeze blowing them into the street. I saw two men fixing a lampost. One was on the ladder, actually doing the work, and the other stood on the ground complaining about the other's foot placement on the ladder. The man on the ladder was fine. I think the second man standing on the sidewalk just wanted to seem like he was helping.
I walked around the ladder to leave them to their work and useless conversation before continuing on my way to the book cafe. As I approached it, I saw a standing chalkboard with the latest book cafe news: "Try our new blackberry cream cheese danishes!"
I knew blackberries were right for the season, but I wasn't completely sure about the pastry. Blackberries were always too bitter for me. I preferred sweeter berries.
I looked towards the dark brown shop. On the wooden door hung a leafy wreath that looked to be handmade. On it was a ribbon bow in burnt orange. The display window showed the dim inside. I spotted the perfect spot to sit, the booth in the far back. It was worn with duct tape on one of the seats, probably to cover a hole in the cushion. Still, it was more secluded than other spots, and that made it very appealing.