When Ms. Partridge spots me, she smiles and waves me over. She’s wearing a reddish-orange sweater, the same color as her hair, and her eyelids are shimmering with pale blue shadow. She once told me that putting on makeup makes her feel young, and she plans to do so until the age of a hundred, at which point, she’ll have greater fish to fry.
I wave back and take a seat across from her.
“How are you doing, dear?” she asks with a crimson-painted smile.
“Good. How about you?”
“Well, I’m drinking some fantastic tea at the moment, so I suppose I can’t complain too much.”
She pauses, and it seems she’s waiting for me to elaborate, so I decide there’s no point in lying.
“Well, actually, I could be better,” I admit.
She purses her lips thoughtfully.
“How’s school going?”
I shrug.
“It’s okay. I made some new friends, which is good, I guess. Working here in the morning has been tiring me out, but… it’s okay.”
Ms. Partridge looks at me but doesn’t say anything.
“I mean it could be worse, right?” I say finally.
“Sounds like it could be better,” she counters.
“Well … yeah.”
“You know,” Ms. Partridge says, “when I was about your age, my parents moved us to Graubünden, Switzerland.”
“Really?” My eyebrows lift.
“Six months. For my mother’s research project,” she says.
“I was a sophomore in high school at the time, and I thought that my life was over. I couldn’t speak German, and six months is quite a long time when one doesn’t understand the native language. My parents homeschooled me while we were away and they did their best, but for the first four months, I was inconsolable. I wouldn’t speak to my parents for the longest time. I was sure my friends were having fun and forgetting all about me. Meanwhile, I was stuck in miserable Graubünden. But you know, it turned out to be all right in the end. Always does.”
“What changed?” I ask.
“I did.” She smiles.
“I let go of my anger, for one, and decided to start enjoying myself. Most people don’t get to live in Switzerland for six months, or any other place for that matter. It was like a long detour before I returned home … Also, I learned some German.”
My eyes cut to the back room where I can still hear my mom’s faint humming and the soft strains of music from her phone. Ms. Partridge places a smooth hand over my own.
“I have a feeling you have some anger that you’re holding on to. It’s a hard thing to let go, trust me.”
I feel my eyes unexpectedly glaze over with tears, and I quickly look away.
“But can I tell you, hon?” Her pale eyes search for mine until they find them. “Sometimes letting go is all you can do. You can’t change people, you can’t change circumstances, so all you can do is relinquish control, and then you know what? You free yourself. It’s a choice that you can make. And maybe it’s not the right choice—that’s up to your own discretion—but it’s yours to make.”
I nod, trying to push down the lump in my throat.
“I know things may be hard now, but just think of this as a detour in your life. An adventure, if you will,” she says.
