by Elias Taylor
Libby shook her head in disbelief. Libby was the type of barista who always pointed out that a heart on top didn’t make the drink taste any better. Mel had worked with Libby for almost two years at the Feasts and Fools Cafe on Main Street, Linden a few hours north of Los Angeles. Despite their different opinions on aesthetics, the girls got along well. Their boss, Mary Beth, liked to joke that Libby and Mel were a dream team behind the espresso bar.
Mel sighed as she grabbed a broom and started to sweep the floor of the café. She always felt a twinge of angst when she thought of how long she had worked at Feasts and Fools. No matter how much she enjoyed being a barista, it wasn’t what she wanted forever. In her darkest moments, Mel feared that she had somehow wasted the two years since graduating high school. In another year she was going to be twenty. It felt impossibly old; the thought of turning twenty without at least starting to chase her dreams was terrifying.
Mel stopped in the doorway of the cafe and took a breath. Stop being so dramatic. You always do this to yourself. Things aren’t so bad. You have a good home and a good job in a good town. Just a little longer and you’ll be able to move.
And while only a few cars passed by the shop, parading one by one in small increments along the tiny tree-lined Main Street, she was working towards her goal of becoming a real life fashion designer. She leaned heavily on the broom, caught up in a momentary daydream, watching the ‘nature lovers’ roll by on their mountain-bikes before heading up into the mountains through narrow passes and winding trails she was working toward her goals to move to the big city. As the last customers finished their coffees beneath the awning amidst the little three-table deck out front, she was thinking about the money she had saved up, and the day when she would say, ‘sayonara’ to her hometown and head off into the sunset and the flashing lights of Santa Monica Boulevard. While the business died down on Main Street, she sighed deeply, her mind always working toward her ultimate ideals.
In these quiet moments at work her mind always wandered back to that place she had created in her mind—the place where a decent little one-bedroom, third-floor apartment looked out onto windy palm trees and sandy beaches as far as she dared to look before the ocean itself swallowed up the sky. In this wonderful place, a puppy or a kitten playfully awaited her return from a long day of learning both the art and the business of what it means to live a life in fashion. Amidst the famed sunset of those gaudy LA evenings, she would plop herself down on a soft bed, throw her clothes to the floor and simply roll over and fall asleep beneath a cozy blanket knowing that this was where her heart could live and thrive forever. In these little moments alone, looking out at the tiny town she grew up in, she would often whisper to herself, as if to remind herself why she was doing this at all, you just have to get through this summer, girl, and then you’ll start school at the Fashion Institute of LA in the fall.
Everything was going to change in the fall. Mel was going to shake the dust of this tiny town off her feet and begin her journey towards being a fashion designer. She had scraped and saved every penny she could, and she had dedicated thousands of hours to perfecting her portfolio, and at last, she had been accepted. She carried the letter with her everywhere she went, often taking it out to marvel at the tiny ‘official’ looking logo that sat immaculately perched in the upper right corner as though it were her ticket straight to the stars—the one place where she was free to walk with giants. This town had become tedious and boring to her in recent times and this letter was the one thing that kept her going.
Since as far back as she could remember she wanted to work in fashion. Wanted to design clothes and apparel. Her mind was always lit with images of the next gown, the flashiest dress, the boldest skirt—everything and anything that she could sketch on paper. She was this very moment, heading toward that ultimate dream to live free and bold, out of the range of her parents’ old-fashioned ideals. Just a little longer, girl... The thought was exhilarating.
“Excuse me.”
Mel jerked her head out of the clouds at the voice of the customer. Mel had paused in her daydreaming right in front of the door. She hustled out of the way and gave the departing customer a smile. “Have a nice day,” she said with the customary wave. With that, she returned the broom to its place in the corner and gazed out at the empty shop. It was almost five, and the café always died down in the late afternoon. Mel leaned against the counter and drummed her fingers on the cash register. She much preferred the bustle and crowds of the early morning traffic. The afternoon lull was boring.
“Any crazy plans tonight?” Libby asked.
“Just dinner with my parents,” Mel said.
“Fun,” Libby said in a sarcastic tone. Mel once told her how dinner with her parents could be an endurance test at times.
“I know they love me and they mean well, but they just don’t understand my dreams.”
“Is that why you left home after graduating from high school?” Libby asked.
Mel nodded. “They’ve always hated the idea of me going into fashion design. Said it was a pipedream, nothing more. But how do you know if you don’t try, Libby?”
Libby patted Mel’s arm and headed into the back room to do dishes, as Mary Beth came up front to have a moment with Mel.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” Mary Beth said.
“Yeah?” Mel asked.
She hoped Mary Beth didn’t want her to take on an extra shift that weekend. Mel rarely said no to extra hours, but she had been looking forward to this free Sunday for a while.
“I have this Woman Business Owners event in San Diego next month,” Mary Beth said. “It’s kind of a swanky affair, and I know you design formal gowns, so...I was wondering if you could put something together for me?”
“Really?” Mel almost clapped her hands together in excitement. She adored designing formal attire, and she knew she could create something original and striking. Something that flattered Mary Beth’s short but lean figure.
“Yeah, girl,” Mary Beth said. “I’ve seen some of your sketches. You’ve got skills.”
“Thank you,” Mel blushed. “I can totally put something together for you, just let me know the date of the event!”
“I’ll pay you too,” Mary Beth said.
“You don’t even have to,” Mel said. “I’m just happy to get some real experience in.”
“Well, I’m still gonna pay you something,” Mary Beth said.
“I’ve actually been meaning to tell you,” Mel said. “I got accepted to the Fashion Institute in LA. I’ll be starting in September.”
“I knew you would get in,” Mary Beth said. “I’m sad to lose such a good barista but I’m proud of you, Mel.”
Mel felt a lump rising in her throat as her heart danced merrily into the evening. She stepped forward and gave the older woman a quick hug.
“I’m gonna make you the best dress!” Mel said. “I’m thinking a fitted waistline coupled with a flared skirt. Not over the top but exquisite and gorgeous.” Mel leaned back and cocked her head to regard Mary Beth’s dark hair, narrow eyes and swarthy complexion. “I’m picturing red. You’ll look stunning in red.”
“Whatever you say,” Mary Beth said. “You’re the expert. I’m sure anything you put together will be great.”
Her boss threw Mel a smile, and the show of warmth made Mel sad that she would be saying goodbye to this job. “I’ll be back here for holidays and summers,” she said. “So I can totally pick up some extra shifts.”
“I won’t say no to that,” Mary Beth said. With a smile, she turned and went about finishing up.
Fifteen minutes later, Mel clocked out, her head buzzing with ideas for Mary Beth’s dress. She wanted to incorporate the business Mary Beth had owned and operated for almost ten years. Mel contemplated the potential of an espresso-colored belt or coffee-cup shaped earrings. The thought gave her goose pimples, drawing on her dreams of eventual fame and fortune.
Those same crucial questions tha
t haunted her as of late occupied her mind for the entire drive to her parent’s home. Questions that came in the form of doubt. Am I selfish for not wanting the same thing as them? Will they be able to forgive me for striking out on my own and foregoing the ideals they have for my life? Am I a selfish brat for not wanting a family right now? When she pulled into the driveway, she took a deep breath. Her parents were never cruel, but Melissa still had to steel herself for their pointed comments about “unrealistic daydreams” or “not waiting too long to settle down and start a family.” All righteous desires, indeed, but she wanted to live first. Live free.
Of course, there was nothing wrong with starting a family. It just wasn’t for her. Not right now, anyway. She wanted a taste of the freedom that came with being successful in her own right. By her own grit and sweat. She wanted to develop her dreams and watch them flourish. Only then could she begin to think of those other things and truly consider them. Only after she made a name for herself.
She hopped out of the car and headed towards the door.
When Melissa entered her childhood home the first thing she noticed was the rich smell of mother’s cooking wafting past as if to infect the outdoors with mother’s homemade goodness. Her dad, both content and comfortable, sat deeply reclined in his favorite chair reading a newspaper. He looked over, “Mel...! How are you, sweetheart?”
“I’m good,” she said, removing her coat and scarf and hanging them in the hallway. “I have really exciting news.” Her eyes lit the room as she made her way into the lounge.
“Oh?” Her dad folded the newspaper in his lap and turned his attention to her, his eyes brimming, sharing his daughter’s excitement. With a smile, he stood up and gave Mel a quick hug. Greg Reynolds didn’t always understand his daughter, but he did love her, and Mel knew that he wanted her to be happy, and that meant letting her follow her dreams.
Her mother was a bit more complicated. Helena was in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on the roast chicken, broiled potatoes, steamed vegetables and seasoned gravy.
“Is Scott coming over?” Helena asked, that warm motherly quality shining out from her eyes.
“No,” Mel said. “He’s out with his new girlfriend. They’re getting serious.”
Her mother looked at her with a familiar gleam in her eye. Mel knew it was her mother’s greatest grievance that Mel couldn’t seem to find a good guy to settle down with.
Mel loved her older brother Scott, but she couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief that he was absent. Scott was a realtor in Linden and he led a—to her—boring, predictable life. He looked down on Mel for her fashion-oriented dreams. ‘It’s just not realistic,’ he would often say.
She loved Scott, but...like everybody else, he didn’t understand. To follow her dreams...to create something truly great and to simply beat the odds, that was her life’s mission. Her purpose in this world.
Her mother led the way to the dining table. She set out some fresh cloth napkins and put on some old-style classical music, and all three of them settled down in front of their plates. Mel waited for everyone to be served before she shared the news. The scent of freshly roasted chicken and softly broiled potatoes swimming in a pool of mother’s rich gravy was intoxicating. “So Mary Beth wants me to design a dress for her. She’s going to a big event down in San Diego next month: a Woman Business Owners gala. And she’s going to pay me.”
Mel couldn’t keep the grin off her face as she shared her good news, but her smile faded when she took in her parent’s ambivalent expressions.
“Oh, that’s nice,” her dad said. As nice as he was he could not hide that subconscious facade that swept over this area of her life.
“Very exciting,” her mother said. It wasn’t the way she said it so much as her tone, which was underscored with a hint of doubt and dismay.
Mel bit her lip. She had to admit to herself that she was hoping this would impress her parents. She wanted them to at least see that it was possible for her to make a career in fashion. She wanted them to get excited about her choice to study design in LA. Well, at least it’s nice that they were trying to fake enthusiasm she thought, hoping her disappointment didn’t show up too much in her eyes.
“Well, it’s a start,” Mel said. It burned that they couldn’t see that. Yes, it was a start. And even after a lifetime of preaching about ‘taking the first step’ in any great direction, her dreams were only that—dreams—in their eyes.
She worked hard to keep her tone even. She didn’t want to sound like a whining and argumentative child. After all, it wasn’t like her parents were bad people. They were just a bit old-fashioned. Yes, old-fashioned. Definitely.
“It’s one thing to design dresses for your friends here for fun,” her mother said. “It won’t be like that in LA, honey. For starters, you don’t know anyone in LA.”
“Mom, I can’t do this right now,” Mel said. “I just...nevermind.” Once more she became withdrawn, tired of trying to win them over, trying to convince them that what she was doing was not only a part of who she was, but what she had always wanted to be. And now that she was so close to taking those first real steps in a controlled direction...things seemed that much further from matching those ideals they had for her.
They had already waded through at least a dozen versions of this conversation. Her mother thought nothing good was going to come of Mel running off to LA. Her mother didn’t understand why Mel couldn’t just settle down with a nice Linden guy and start making babies.
Helena looked down at her plate, frowning at Mel’s sharp words, and Mel felt a pang of guilt.
Her father, ever the peacemaker, stepped in to smooth things over. “We’re just gonna miss you this fall,” he said. “That’s all, honey.”
Mel’s anger evaporated, and she gave her parents a soft smile. “I’m going to miss you too,” Like a dream that vanishes upon the opening of the eyes, she said no more of it. She quietly sank back into those same nuances she had come to both expect and cherish, ideals that had become a part of who she was, what she was: a fashion designer at heart. And nobody was going to stop her.
They finished their meal without any more tension, and her mother dashed into the kitchen to bring out some ice cream and cherry pie. Mel appreciated how her mother made every meal, no matter how lowkey, a bit of an event. That was something her mother took pride in, just like Mel took pride in a new design sketch. And those grandest ideas she had for a gown that was both flattering and brimming with occasion, would once again fall by the wayside in her mind. As much as she wanted to leap forward with hearty expressions, those thoughts of laughter and pure excitement were dashed, sinking back into the folds of her heart and soul.
“I was thinking of doing some baking tomorrow evening,” her mother said as she scooped the ice cream into bowls. “Do you want to come over and spend the night, maybe?”
“I can’t tomorrow,” Mel said. “I’m going to Christina’s to help her family prep for the anniversary party on Saturday.”
Christina Charles had been Mel’s best friend since kindergarten. Ray and Tilly Charles used to joke that Melissa was at their house so often, she was like their third child. Mel had thousands of fond memories of sleepovers with Christina and long discussions at school over boys they had crushes on. Mel had gone to great lengths to never share that the only guy she really had a crush on was Tripp, Christina’s older brother.
Mel smiled to herself over thoughts of the Charles family as she helped with the dishes. Her friend was just another thing she had to say goodbye to in order to pursue her dreams. It felt like Mel had to bid farewell to her entire childhood come fall. That thought was both glorifying and sad, a mix of a bright, sunny future with overcast clouds always lingering close to her heart. She would miss them all. But things were sure to be new and fresh and exciting. Enough to keep her both engaged and distracted for the most part. She hoped that were the case anyway.
When Mel got back to her small studio apartment, she
knew who she had to call. There was one person who would, without a shadow of a doubt, share her glee. She slipped into a comfy pair of pajamas, turned up the thermostat, took out her sketch-pad and pencils and put on a kettle for some herbal tea. She took out her phone, scrolled through the numbers and hit the button. It began to ring. Christina picked up on the third ring.
“Hey girl, what’s up?” It was so nice to hear her voice, especially after the drab, disappointing tones of her mother and father over dinner.
Her heart tore off like a stallion, racing free and wild in her chest, “So, your best friend is ‘officially’ going to be a paid fashion designer.”
“Oh my god, tell me everything!” Christina said.
The news spilled from Mel’s lips as she threw herself onto her bed, “So, Mary Beth has been invited to a fancy event in San Diego next month and she wants me to make her a dress!”
Christina screamed so loud that Mel had to hold the phone away from her ear. “That’s amazing!” Christina was genuinely excited. “You’re going to make something fabulous, I just know it!” Her excitement turned from pure glee to hints of melancholy, “And then you’ll become a world-famous designer and forget all about us small-town folk back here in Linden.”
“Never,” Mel said. “How can I? You’ll never let me forget.”
“You got that right, girl. Alright, I gotta go,” Christina said. “Dylan is on hold.”
Mel chuckled. Christina always had a guy or two on her line. Dylan was the star of this week.
“You’re still coming over tomorrow, right?” Christina asked.
“Of course,” Mel said.
“Awesome. Later, Mel.”
“Later.” Mel hung up, her heart fluttering like the wings of butterflies in the sunshine.
Mel couldn’t stop smiling as she poured herself a cup of hot, fresh herbal tea and prepared for bed.
Maybe she still worked at a coffee shop. And maybe LA and design school were going to be terrifying and difficult. Maybe her parents didn’t believe in her. Maybe it would be the toughest endeavor she would ever take on. Maybe mom, dad and Scott truly did share the same common trait: the fact that they had little faith in her dreams. Maybe she was just different.
