In the predawn darkness, the neighborhood is silent apart from the grey sludge thudding onto metal roofs. It is imposter snow. It isn’t rain, and it isn’t cutesy white flakes like it should be. As I hurry down the sidewalk I add it to my list of things that are wrong with this morning. 

It is just one of those days. This morning my alarm clock failed to ring and my hairbrush also made a bid for freedom. But, If I hadn’t spent what time I had to look for my hairbrush, I would have remembered to grab a coat on my way out. But there you have it. I have no coat, no hat, and a bird’s nest for hair. To top of this perfect morning, I’m running late to open up the cafe. 

I pull up the collar of my shirt against the sludge that is picking up speed and pouring from the sky. I walk a little quicker, the cafe is just around the corner and I might be able to make it inside before I get completely soaked. I round 21st Street, to see my charming, two-story coffee shop with its white trim and deep blue shutters. I feel an unexpected warmth as I see it, my cafe. It still gives me a thrill to think that I’m the owner of the business that was voted the most popular of the year. 

I know it’s a small town and it’s not really that much of an accomplishment - but still, it’s not like many people can say they own a cafe. Of course, the flip side of that is one late day can send your entire customer base elsewhere. As I cross the street, I see that no one is lined up outside the doors yet. 

Practically, I know that fifteen minutes won’t send all my customers packing, but there should at least be one person waiting, even if it is raining cats and dogs and snow that really isn’t snow. I can’t tell if I’m overreacting or not, but I feel a little panic as I get close enough to see no customers are waiting for me. I shove my key in the lock and hearing the click, twist the handle and push on the door. Nothing happens. I notice the thin layer of ice on the doorstep, no doubt it’s frozen the door in place. 

I twist the key harder, tugging at the handle fruitlessly. I slam my shoulder into the door as hard as I can, but it doesn’t budge an inch. I take a step back to glare at the offending door and consider if giving it a good kick would speed things along. 

“Do you want help with the door?” A voice shouts from halfway across the street.

I turn around to see a tall man, walking towards me with long steps. He looks like he was as prepared as me for this morning’s wintery downpour with no hat or coat. His sandy hair is plastered across his forehead and his shoulders are hunched against the cold sludge falling from the sky. 

“You don’t mind, do you?” I ask in relief, “I don’t know what’s wrong today, but even the door’s conspiring against me.”

He laughs, “That’s Monday mornings for you, I guess.” He shoves his shoulder into the door, and it pops open suddenly, making him stagger forward. 

At that minute, the light from a nearby street lamp shines on his face, and I hesitate half in and half out the door, “I’m sorry, but you look familiar. Have we met before?” 

The man pauses and something - I’m not sure what - flickers in his eyes, and his hand suddenly clenchs around the cafe’s door handle. But in half a second, his tension vanishes replaced by a shrug of his shoulders as he says, “Yes, we’ve met before. I used to come here, but it’s been a while.”

“Oh,” I say, searching for the right words. I have a vague feeling that I should recognize him. Everything about him seems slightly familiar, even down to the way he stands with one hand in his jacket pocket, and all his weight balanced on his right leg. But no concrete memory surfaces, so I say, “I’m sorry, I don’t remember it. I promise you, it’s just  the Mondays messing with my memory.”

Something about my statement seems to throw him off because that hidden thing flashes in his eyes again. He doesn’t laugh at my silly excuse or even force a smile, he just says - straight-faced, “Could be. Who knows if Mondays have anything to do with memory loss?” He clears his throat, “After you.”

I start, realizing that I’m still standing in front of the cafe door, “Oh yes, thank you.”

I hurry through the door, purposefully keeping my eyes away from the glass windows on either side of the cafe doors. I have no doubts that my hair looks like a bird’s nest, and I don’t need to see my reflection to know that. I hope the newcomer to the cafe has really bad eyesight.  

Instant warmth fills the cafe as the door closes behind us. I take a deep breath of the caramel coffee scent and let it out, a smile forcing its way onto my face. It doesn’t matter if I got soaked or if the door jammed this will always be my happy place. I walk behind the counter, snagging my apron off its hook with one hand and retrieving my order notebook with the other.

The man is standing beside the door and looking around the cafe’s outdated interior. I know it’s not much, with its faded, peeling wallpaper and warped floorboards, but I feel a sudden surge of pride. “Tell you what,” I suggest impulsively, “I’ll fix you a free cup of coffee for your help, and then we can get properly acquainted. I’m Maria, the owner of this little shop.”

The man nods and with a smile that almost reaches his eyes, takes a seat in front of the floor-to-wall windows, “My name’s Henry, and after the morning I’ve had, a cup of coffee sounds great. 

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“I have to make a phone call real quick,” I tell Maria, “But you go ahead and make the coffee, I’ll be off in a minute.”

She gives me the old smile I remember, a happy grin that makes her eyes crinkle at the corners - it’s a lot like the smile I remember her having when she first opened the cafe.

I keep an eye on Maria out of the corner of my eye as I pull my phone out of my jacket pocket and dial my wife. It only rings once before she picks it up.

“Are you all right?” She demands immediately, “You didn’t grab your coat or anything.”

I smile a little, though Liz can’t see me, “I’m all right. I didn’t realize it was raining until I went out. But I found her Liz. She’s all right, she only went down the cafe again.”

A relieved sigh on the other end. “It’s good you found her. She was gone so long this time even the boys were getting worried…” She trails off. 

I draw a deep breath, tapping my index finger against the table, and say quietly, “Were they?”

“Yeah, they were.” Liz sighs on the other end, “I know this isn’t something you want to talk about, but-”

I know what she is going to say, but I push it off, “Would you be able to bring the car around, Liz?”

There’s a pause filled with static on the other side. “I’m on it. I’ll be there in five.” 

“Thank you,” I say, pressing my forehead to the cold glass window I’m sitting by. The coldness leeches through my skin, numbing my brain. I wish I didn’t have to think, that I didn’t have to have the conversation I know is coming. 

I hear Liz calling for the boys to get in the car and get their seatbelts on. Then the sound of a door slamming shut and an engine starting. I’m about to hang up, thinking Liz has forgotten to turn the phone off when she says, “Henry, I hate to ring it up, but we can’t keep doing this. You have that promotion coming up and I’ve got the boys to take care of…and Maria…”

“I know.” I close my eyes, and drag a hand through my still-damp hair, I sigh and nod, “You’re right. This isn’t working. I just hoped…” 

Liz’s voice is soft when she says, “I know. I wish things were different, but it’s the best option for her. For all of us, really. She’ll be taken care of whenever she needs it, and we can always visit her as often as you like. You know that.”

The phone in my hand feels like it’s tripled in weight, “You’re right, Liz. You always are.” I swallow through my tight throat and stare at a long scratch in the tabletop, “But it doesn’t make this any easier.”

There’s silence on the other side, beside the sound of the engine. I raise my head as I hear the car pull up outside. Through the frosted window, I see the silver Volkswagen Beetle with Liz in the driver’s seat, and Emil and Delio in the backseat. I can just see their sandy-haired heads as they thrust their plastic dinosaur toys at each other. I turn and look at Maria humming behind the counter as she searches for things that are no longer there. 

“She loves it here,” I mutter, more to myself than Liz.

“Well, it was a big part of her life. It’s no wonder she keeps coming back to visit it again and again.” Liz replies with a sigh, “But it’s not safe for her to be here anymore.” 

I lower the phone from my ear and take a good look around the Bluebird Cafe. The sagging walls. The rickety, broken furniture. The windows webbed with their crack lines. But, I see more than just a derelict building, I see the business Maria built from the ground up with nothing but thirty years of her love and hard work invested into it. It’s true this place is an accident waiting to happen and one good storm from falling to pieces, but it’s also one of Maria’s memories.

I hesitate for a moment, trying to think my way out of this situation. But I’ve already thought it through - again, and again. There has only ever been one decision to make, and all I’ve managed to do is postpone it for a while. 

I put the phone to my ear and say, “If we’re going to do this, she should get one last chance to say goodbye. I’ll give her a few more minutes and they’ll we’ll both come out to the car. That fine with you Liz?”

“That’s fine with me. I’ll wait out here, so you can both say your goodbyes.” 

The connection ends, and I slip my flip phone back into my pocket, looking back at Maria who is walking towards me with two coffee cups in hand. She smiles and slides into the chair across from me. 

“Here you are,” She chirps, “The shop’s signature brew. Carmel with a hint of cinnamon.”

She pushes the chipped mug across the table to me, and I see that it is empty. Maria looks a me expectantly, so I pretend to take a small sip of coffee. As I raise the empty cup, half-forgotten memories come flooding back. 

The moment I got my first job at the cafe and had to wash about a hundred mugs the same day. The moment when I was sitting across from Liz in the cafe and trying to impress her with a latte I could barely afford. I was in college then - almost broke and trying to work two jobs in between earning my business major. Then the most recent moment, still a while back, dancing with Liz at our improvised cafe wedding reception. 

I set the cup down hard - staring blankly into the empty cup. This dusty, worn-down shop holds so many memories for me. It’s where I got my first job. It’s where Liz and I first met. It’s where we had our wedding reception. 

I shake my head, trying to dislodge the vertigo that came with remembering, to see Maria stirring her non-existent coffee and humming quietly as she stares absentmindedly at the Volkswagen where Liz and the boys are still waiting. I take one last look around the shop, hearing for one final time the echo of customers long since gone, and get to my feet. I know this isn’t going to get any easier the longer I wait. It’s time for Maria and I to let this place go - together.

I look at Maria, who still sits looking contentedly out the window, and say, “Mother, it’s time to go.”