WWTD?

I dragged myself toward what looked more like a weathered shack than anything else. My feet feel like two heavy weights against the brown pavement, leading dead-on to two blinding, farm-red double doors. White shutters framed them like a half-finished picture. The ceiling sagged low, like it could press down on you if you stood too long and the windows were barely enough to keep it legal. The sun was already too much. It was beating down too bright, too warm for a morning like this. 

Out front, an open green lawn stretched out. A family sat around one of those flimsy black metal tables, the kind with a thick, heavy-looking top balancing on a scrawny stem of a base. A massive German shepherd rests underneath, using the table's shade like his personal AC. He could’ve stood up at any second, hitting his dad’s knees and probably sending powdered donut holes flying. The toddler in his terrible twos, sitting on his lap with powdered sugar dusted on the corners of his mouth, might have cried about it. But for now, they all looked... peaceful. The mom must’ve cracked a joke, because the little girl sitting across from her was giggling, sunlight lifting her up as it catches in her hair. I swallowed hard, but the lump wouldn’t budge. Watching them laugh felt like someone pressed a thumb right into the center of my chest.

They looked too happy for a day like today. For me, at least. Everything felt a little too cheery, too chirpy. Like, what happened to the rain yesterday? It’s like the universe decided it would rub it in. But then again... maybe it’s supposed to be like this? Maybe God, or whoever, planned this too. Maybe after the priest locked the crown, after my friend’s track teammates carried him down the aisle like it was their last relay. Maybe he’s the one making sure today is this bright. Maybe he’s up there celebrating. Maybe he’s trying to tell me something.

I take six steps, maybe more, and it’s like he’s pacing right alongside me, hands shoved into the pockets of that jacket he always wore, the one with the fraying sleeve he refused to throw out. He doesn’t look at me directly, just keeps walking, like this is just another errand we’re running together.

I’m one step away now from the chipped red door with “Church Street Café” painted across it in faded white. Of course that’s the name. How fitting.

Okay. Just take a deep breath. Twist the old metal knob. Walk straight to the cashier. Say it like it’s any other Saturday morning:

Can I get a Taylor ham, egg, and cheese on an everything bagel with salt, pepper, ketchup, please? Can I get a black hot coffee and some cranberry juice, please? And a blueberry bagel for my friend?

Then they’ll hand me a receipt. Then I’ll wait. Then I’ll grab the order, walk out like nothing happened, find the table Lorrie saved for us, hand her the food, pretend to eat mine, let her drop me at my car. And then I’ll drive all the way back to Boston and put this all behind me.

Okay. Ready. Go.

My hands twist the knob and oh, crappity crap. Before I can even pull it open, someone on the other side yanks it toward me and we both practically turn white.

“Ah!” The tiniest squeak slips out of me. I didn’t know I was capable of that sound. But then we both just laugh.

“I’m so sorry!” they say, opening the door wider, but I can’t step fully in because the last person in line has their whole back practically pressed up against the exit. Once I shuffle to the side, the stranger slips past me and out into the busy morning, drink carrier in hand.

Inside? Total zoo. And I am one of the monkeys. The noise, the movement, the clatter, it all swirled around me, like I was standing still while the world spun too fast. Lorrie was right. I’m actually glad she went ahead and put her stuff down. I spin around, push the door back open, and lean to my right. There she is, sitting in one of those black metal chairs near the edge of the lot. She looks up from her phone and flashes me a thumbs up with one hand, a thumbs down with the other, classic, asking for the vibes, like if it’s too crowded or not. 

Well... WWTD? What Would Tyler Do? That’s kind of been the theme of this whole weekend. After bowling last night with his high school best friend and his girlfriend, we came up with the acronym, a way to walk in his footsteps. Last night, Tyler would’ve tried for strikes every round like it was the championship. So I did too, except with grandma form, legs apart, both hands swinging the ball between them, pushing it forward like a silly fool. Tyler would've laughed. I think he did.

And now in this little chaotic coffee shop in Denville, New Jersey, I think Tyler would flash a thumbs up and say, it’s good. No need to hop to another café. 

So... let’s wait the line out.  Let’s get our damn food. Immediate thumbs up. 

She smiles, shaking her head in disbelief.

“You’re right, it’s packed!” I holler.

She nods aggressively. Short, sharp, like yep, no kidding.

Someone bumps me on their way out, sending me a step forward. I feel a tap on my right shoulder Tyler would do when I was zoning out in line somewhere. Quick, like, keep up, Bird Girl. I blink, startled more by the feeling than the bump itself. The line has shifted up by half. I shuffle forward, almost instinctively. 

“And here’s your Taylor ham, egg, and cheese with SPK on an everything,” the cashier says, extending a plastic bag toward me. “And here’s a blueberry bagel with cream cheese.”

I take the food in my hands, the warmth of it seeping through the plastic. It smells like fresh bread, normally a lovely smell that feels like home. But today it smells like death. I have to bite down on the inside of my cheek just to keep it down.

My first instinct is to chuck it, give the bagel to Lorrie, or better yet, just toss it in the trash and pretend like I didn’t just pay $12 for it.

But WWTD?

He’d probably eat. I can almost see him leaning against the side of the counter, arms crossed, tongue pressing into his cheek to keep from laughing. His foot taps against the baseboard impatiently.

"Seriously? You’re gonna waste twelve bucks? In this economy?" he’d say, that sarcastic tilt in his voice.

And even though I can't fully hear him, I can feel the glare. The playful but pointed one. The one that always snapped me out of my pity spirals.

And the worst part is he’s probably mad. No, not about the sandwich, but because he knows he’s the reason why I can’t eat anymore. He wouldn’t want that. Not one bit.

I stare ahead, tighten my grip on the bag, and drag myself outside.

“This is for you,” I say, handing the bagel to Lorrie.

“Thank you.” She unwraps the plastic, the crinkling sound louder than it should be. “And… how are you from yesterday?”

My whole body feels sluggish, like I’m moving underwater. I haven’t really slept, and I don’t need a mirror to know there are dark bags under my eyes. They feel heavy and swollen, like they might just pull me down into the table if I let them. My eyes sting from crying so much yesterday, like there’s still salt crusted behind my eyelids.

I thought maybe the numbness would stick, maybe I’d stay frozen. But hearing her actually ask out loud feels like someone struck a match. I can feel it, slow but sharp, rising up from the pit of my stomach, twisting and turning like a knot pulling tighter. 

I crack my thumbs under the table, buying time. “Um,” I mumble, tucking a curl behind my ear.

I thought it would just be sadness today. But it’s not. I’m angry too.

I still hear her voice, his mom’s voice, standing there at his viewing, looking straight at me like I was a stranger.

"And who are you?" she asked.

Like I hadn’t sat at her kitchen table a hundred times. 

My teeth press together. My hands start to tremble, but it’s quiet. My leg bounces under the table, uninvited. I try to press it down with the sole of my shoe. She can’t notice unless she’s looking for it. 

 “I just... I can’t get over the fact that his mom pretended like she didn’t know me. At all.”

“Oh yeah, that was weird.” She shakes her head, no hesitation. “No wonder he complained about her.”

“Well... at least his stepbrother didn’t pretend.” I shrug, eyes stuck on the corner of the table. “On our way out from the church, he actually asked how I was doing.”

“I’d hope so.”

I blink down at my hands, but suddenly the sight of my fingernails goes soft, blurry. A tear splashes onto my knuckle without warning.

“Rissy,” Lorrie says softly, ducking her head low to catch my eyes. Her curly brown hair spills forward, hanging between us like a curtain.

I lift my chin a little, trying to steady myself, crossing one leg over the other just to feel like I’m still here.

“You wanna know what Sebastian said after bowling last night?” she asks, careful.

“What?” My voice barely makes it out. Cracked, fragile.

“He wished Tyler was there with us,” she says. “Said it’s a shame the four of us didn’t do something like that sooner. Now he understands why Tyler liked you.” I wipe the water that’s building on my lower lash line.

When I glance down at my lap, I can feel a shift in the air beside me like Tyler’s pulling out the chair, flopping into it without asking. He'd nudge my leg under the table, subtle, reminding me, I was there.

 “Maybe he was there. We just couldn’t see him.”

“Yeah, maybe he was blowing on your bowling ball to make it go straight so you could get all those strikes last night.”

A laugh breaks out of me, full and loud, and as it fades I instinctively glance to my right. If I close my eyes for half a second, I can almost see him slouched casually in the extra chair, legs kicked out, sunglasses pushed halfway up his nose, that stupid grin that always gave him away.

And I know he’s listening, because of course he wouldn’t miss this. He’s probably mouthing along, already guessing the punchlines.

“Ha. Yeah. My ball was flying,” I say.

Flying.

I spot a little bird hopping under our table, pecking at a crumb someone must’ve dropped without noticing.

“You know what’s weird to me?” I whisper, eyes trailing after it.

Lorrie takes another bite of her bagel. “What?”

“Our first conversation was about birds. And then he started calling me Bird Girl for the rest of our relationship. It’s how he ‘pulled’ me.”

“Yeah, what a freakkk,” she teases, dragging it out just enough to soften the sting.

I glance back down and notice two more birds have wandered over. They're poking around with eachother and the gravel. One flutters its wings lazily, kicking up bits of dust near my foot. 

I swallow. “No, I mean... now it’s weird because, he’s the one with wings now. He’s the one flying, not me.”

“Oh, like your guardian angel!”

I shrug. “Maybe.”

A soft rustle pulls my eyes to the grass. There’s more brown sparrows. Scattered along the lawn, dipping their heads out of the shrubs and stepping closer, like they’ve been there for a while and I’m only now realizing it. They move and a few nudge right under my chair.

Lorrie catches my stare and glances behind her. “What?”  

I blink. The birds are everywhere now. Under my chair, under hers, pecking and flapping like they got something important to say. “The… heck?” I say. 

Lorrie glances down at her feet. Her chair’s half-pushed out, and her fingers tighten around the handles, like it’s starting to click for her too. “Okay, Marissa, if this isn’t a sign, I don’t know what is” she says, wide-eyed but laughing. 

“We were literally just talking about birds.” I shake my head, stunned. “I mean, it’s probably because there’s crumbs on the ground or something.”

I look down again. One of the birds is so close I could reach out and touch it. The others circle, pecking at the sidewalk, unbothered by us like we’re part of the flock.

“No, with this many birds, he’s watching over you. I want to get up and throw out my napkin but I cannot move my chair!”

I start chuckling despite myself. If she did, she’d risk her life. The birds might fully smother her.

I glance to my right, expecting him. Half-expecting to catch him sitting there like he’s been all morning, ready to reach over and pat me on the back, maybe throw in an eye roll at how long it’s taken me to notice. He’d probably say it softly, like it’s obvious. “It’s okay. I’m okay now. I got you.”

But the chair’s just a chair now, and he’s not there.

I don’t panic. I don’t freeze. Instead, I notice how my shoulders feel a little lighter, like I’ve put something down without realizing it. The birds keep circling under the table, pecking at nothing, like they were sent. Like maybe he sent them.

Maybe this is it. His way of showing me he’s still here, just not in the way I want him to be.

And maybe now, he’s the one teaching me how to fly, since now he finally can.