I met my younger self for coffee today...

High school Jen

I met my younger self for coffee today. High School Jen.

We both got there 10 min early.

I complimented her jewelry, recognizing the sapphire and diamond band that she only wore on the swim team off season for fear it might get stolen. (Not that she would lose it. We have never lost any jewelry).

(With the exception of our LA Gear neon green watch with the palm tree on the watch face… still to this day, I don’t know what happened to her.) I loved LA Gear. And neon.

Neither of us look at the menu. We know what we want. I ordered first: “an oat milk matcha latte and whatever she would like” to establish that I was treating. I saw high school Jen relax her shoulders. She ordered a caramel macchiato xxxtra caramel. The barista at the mom & pop coffee shop started into his shpeel “ours isn’t made like Starbucks- it’s way less sweet. Is that ok with you?” High school Jen responded, as if she had any clue as to what a caramel macchiato even was besides a Starbucks one “duh of course, totally cool”.

I pointed to the coziest corner of the coffee shop - a nook between the fireplace and the front window with two tall wingback chairs. High school Jen excitedly rushed over to take a photo with her flip phone.

Oops that’s college Jen actually. And 20s Jen. And today Jen. High school Jen didn’t have a phone. She had a pager. This was the very first texting. You either passed notes in class or you had a quarter to use at the pay phone to call your BF/GF’s pager number to leave a numerical code that would be delivered on a screen the size of a fortune cookie message to the recipient. Hopefully the recipient would understand the code.

I can hear high school Jen interrupting my writing with “God you’re old”.

I know. And shut up biotch.

She asks me if we married Scott L. My high school boyfriend. My first true love. Kiddie love. Our dates were so adult. Friday nights, 6pm, the Starbucks in the town over from ours. Sipping our caramel macchiatos (xxxtra caramel), people watching, talking about life. No cell phones. No electronics. Just me and Scott and our fancy Starbucks drinks. Sometimes we would go to fancy restaurants to order a dessert and coffee. There was even a restaurant where they had a cigar bar. Smoking was legal over the age of 16 so we would smoke our “expensive-for-the-gas-station” cigars sharing one fancy dessert and two coffees we weren’t showered refills on.

“This ain’t a buffet, Kit” -Pretty Woman

She throws out the 1st movie quote. I eat it right up. I also tell her to keep watching Sex And The City. Yes, that’s what real life is. But it’s not. But sometimes it is.

I tell her I’m single. Her jaw drops “you’re STILL single”. But then I tell her that I design jewelry and live in a loft apartment. She automatically asks if I’ve designed any of the pieces I’m wearing.

I show her Mom’s ring. I designed it using mom’s center diamond from her engagement ring. But I can’t tell her that. She doesn’t know mom dies. How can I tell her that? That will ruin her.

I could tell her dad dies too. She would love that.

My dad sucked in high school. Not normal dad suck. Not “you’re grounded from using the car” suck. My dad sucked so much. I hated him. His words were like swords. To me. To my mom. They cut deeply. They were painful. And he knew it.

But I don’t want this coffee date to get dark. This is only our 1st time hanging out. Like any first date or job interview, let’s keep things light. Not dark.

High school Jen loves my ring. She wants to know more. She’s connecting the dots. Instead of her original thought “ohh she’s still single. I wonder what’s wrong with her…”, she’s now thinking her older self is… cool.

I know for a fact, my high school self would think I was so fucking proud cool! I think we want our parents to be proud of us. I think we want our younger selves to think we’re cool.

Or maybe that’s just me. I always want kids to think I’m cool. It takes them a minute. But they come around.

I think high school Jen came around. I don’t think she could have imagined a life without a husband and kids. But… she made it.

I made it.

And she’ll survive losing her mom. And she’ll start to heal her relationship with her dad, but only truly when he’s gone.

She tells me I looked so much like my Mom. Her mom. Our mom. “Oh my god that’s such a face Mom would make!”

She hasn’t asked about “guys”. She’s still processing that I didn’t marry Scott. Ohh sweet girl, high school love is so little. But so big. All in one.

High school Jen hates her “caramel macchiato”. She complains (to me) and excuses herself to ask the barista for a side of caramel sauce. She uses her overly polite voice. You learned that early from Mom. You also learned that there are “exactly what I wanted” drinks and “you call THIS a [insert drink name here]” drinks. You only recently learned how to truly invoke getting exactly what you want… in a calm, chill way. And you’ve cut back on your complaining significantly. Life is good right?

She’s seems interested in knowing more about me, but still has kiddy language “so like what do you do all day?” She excels in small talk. That’s why she becomes a great sales person. We learned that gift of gab from Dad.

She immediately thinks of a better question: “wait! Have you designed jewelry for any famous people?”

There she is. That excited, intelligent woman eager to ask the better question and get noticed for asking the better question.

It was a great question. I want to tell her all the things. Instead I settle on “I’d love to see you again.” We hug and she thanks me for the coffee. She jokes about “next time we’ll meet at Starbucks where they actually know how to make a caramel macchiato”. Ohh sweet girl, your world is so small.

But you’ll learn.

~Jen