Morning After

Wren stubbed her toe on the corner table as she rushed inside The Bad Oven.

She hissed, then laughed quietly, limping toward the far booth beside the window—the one she and Maddie always took on Tuesdays. She smoothed her dress and glanced at the chalkboard menu, then checked her watch.

9:05.

Ha. Maddie was late. Just five minutes, but still.

The café was already bustling. The morning crowd pushed toward the front counter while the barista wheeled out the breakfast board with sleepy purpose. Wren leaned forward to read it, though she already had a feeling.

Ham and cheese croissant with hot honey.

She smiled, breathing out a soft, relieved sigh.

It had started as a one-time visit a year ago—one of those random Tuesdays when everything felt off, and they’d stumbled into a café neither of them had noticed before. It was small and scuffed up, with just enough room for six tables and the smell of burnt sugar lingering in the air.

That day, they’d barely made it in time for the last two croissants. Maddie had declared it a “sign from the carbs above.” After that, Tuesdays became a ritual.

Last week had been the first time they missed one.

Wren had called in the morning, voice scratchy and low. “Rain check?” she’d asked.

Maddie hadn’t asked why. Just said okay.

She knew, Wren thought. How some days were tougher than most, and she’d just sleep until the next morning came and her body decided to listen.

Now, the low hum of jazz drifted from the speakers. She tapped her fingers on the table, looking up just as the café door opened again.

Maddie stepped inside, wrapped in a black coat with sleeves too long for her wrists. Her hair was longer than Wren remembered, pulled into a messy bun that had already started to fall apart. She looked pale, like she hadn’t slept well, her expression somewhere between tired and lost.

“There you are,” Wren said, waving.

But Maddie didn’t wave back.

She went straight to the counter, barely lifting her chin as she ordered. Wren couldn’t hear her over the steam of the espresso machine, but she saw the barista give a soft nod, like they knew something Wren didn’t.

She returned a moment later with two plates in hand.

Wren raised an eyebrow. “You got both? That never happens.”

Maddie slid into the booth and set one plate down in front of her. The other she placed just slightly to the side, almost like she meant to eat it later. Wren reached for it anyway, grinning.

“This is a good sign,” she said. “Maybe the universe’s finally decided to give us a break.”

Maddie didn’t answer right away.

She pulled off a piece of her croissant and let it sit between her fingers for a moment.

“I finally emailed the shelter,” she said suddenly.

Wren blinked. “Wait…which one?”

Maddie nodded like Wren had asked. “The one with Hazel. The little beagle. Ears like pancakes.”

“Oh! The melting one.”

A breath of a smile passed over Maddie’s lips. “She’s still available. They said she’s shy. Doesn’t like loud places, but she warms up eventually.”

“She sounds like you,” Wren said.

“I’m gonna meet her this weekend.”

Wren leaned forward, smiling. “I’m proud of you.”

Maddie nodded again, picking at the edge of her napkin now. “I almost didn’t go through with it. This week’s been…weird.”

Wren tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

Another pause.

Maddie exhaled slowly. “I’ve just had this feeling. Like I’m forgetting something. Or like…I left the TV on and can’t go back to check.” She laughed a little, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You ever get that?”

Wren opened her mouth to respond but hesitated.

Before she could speak, Maddie bit into her croissant and gave a quick, shaky breath. Her eyes glistened suddenly, but she blinked the tears back fast, like she didn’t want anyone to see. She took another bite, then reached for her coffee and missed the cup slightly before steadying her hand.

Wren watched her carefully, concerned.

“You okay? You’re…somewhere else today.”

Maddie didn’t respond.

She set her croissant down, pushed her hands into her lap, and stared out the window.

“I’m fine,” she said, finally. “It’s just been a long few days.”

Wren reached across the table and rested her hand over Maddie’s, gently.

“I’m here,” she said. “You can tell me. I’m listening.”

Maddie’s eyes stayed fixed on the window, but a tear slipped down her cheek anyway.

Outside, the city moved on. Inside, the café filled with quiet noise and morning clatter.

And Wren stayed there, like she always had—holding on, even when she didn’t understand why Maddie felt so far away.