“Thanks.” Eliza ran her fingers through her hair. Growing up, she’d spent years in this shop, and even though flowers weren’t her thing, she was good at it. They always looked beautiful and she knew how to take care of them.
“It’s good to have you home and now you’ve been here a couple of weeks. I’m not complaining about the company, but I’ve got to wonder if you have any plans.”
“Plans? I need to have plans?”
“Well, the college thing didn’t stick. Nor did anything else. You’ve had what? Twenty, or is it thirty jobs?”
“Thirty-five different jobs. But not too much variety, you know. I worked in bars, restaurants, clubs. Even jewelers. I worked in a nice place selling necklaces and earrings. You think Clint is an ass, I can tell you some stories. I worked in the library as well. That was fun. A lot of kids thought they could get it on in the science section. I was the cock-block librarian.” Eliza smirked.
“Again, I have to ask, what is your thing?”
Hand on her hip, Eliza wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know.”
“Even after all this time? You’ve even gone and traveled and you’re back here.”
“I know. You were the one who said traveling and experiencing life would help me find out what I love. I’ve tried everything and nothing sticks. Do you think something’s wrong with me?”
“No, nothing is wrong with you. Believe me. You’re perfect.” Aunt Betty reached across the counter and cupped her face. “You will always be perfect.”
“I can’t help but wonder if I’m going to screw up my life. Like I’ve already been given a plan and it’s set to fail at every possible chance.”
“You’re not like your mother, Eliza. Don’t for a second think you’re destined to go down the same path as her because you’re not.”
“But look at the two of us, Aunt Betty. How am I any different?”
“First, you haven’t shacked up with the town druggie. I’d say that is a plus. A huge one.”
She laughed. “So I’ve got something on my side at least.”
“Your mother believed everything should be handed to her. She didn’t believe in hard work, or anything like that. It was always about herself and you shouldn’t worry. You really shouldn’t. I mean it.” Aunt Betty moved from behind the counter, coming toward her, cupping her face, and kissing her forehead. “You’ve got absolutely nothing to worry about.” Their stomachs started to growl. “Maybe, apart from food, that is.”
“I’ll go and feed us both. Until then, you try not to curse out our customers while they’re in earshot. You think you can do that?”
“I can give it a go, but I’m not going to make any promises.”
Shaking her head, she grabbed her purse and headed across the street into the famous diner owned by Joanne. The woman had been there for centuries, or at least her families had, according to the current owner who was in her sixties, a little on the expressive side, but such good fun.
The moment she entered the diner, Joanne pulled her into a hug, kissing both of her cheeks. She was like that with most customers.
After placing their orders, she waited at the counter, aware of gazes on her. Even through high school, she had those whispers and gazes, but if Aunt Betty ever caught sight of them, she’d be at their throats. She loved Aunt Betty so damn much.
Tucking her hair behind her ear, Joanne finished her order in record time.
“If you ever want your old waitressing job back, just let me know. I’ll be more than happy to hire you again. You were one hell of a waitress.”
“Thank you.” Her first job was at the diner. She loved it here. Joanne was all about family and she always felt like she was part of hers.
With her lunch in hand, she headed back across the street. She slowed down as she moved, checking inside one of the bags to see her aunt’s burger and fries, along with a small box which would be her donut. Aunt Betty had a sweet tooth.
Next, she was making sure her salad was complete with tofu chunks and sauce, when she suddenly felt enormous pain and was thrown to the ground. Their lunches fell from her hands as she was … hit by a motorcycle.
Since when did anyone drive a motorcycle through town? The pain in her hip, thigh, and leg was intense.
Ten years in the big city, and she wasn’t even nearly mowed down by a car. A couple of weeks back at home, and she was hit by a motorcycle.
This wasn’t her lucky day, week, or year.
“Holy shit, I am so sorry.”
“What were you doing?” she asked, wincing. She tried to get up but her leg protested, so she stayed where she was. Dirt covered her hands, and it looked like her knees had taken most of the impact. The dress she’d worn provided no protection against the tarmacked road.