I try to sleep.I really do. I toss and turn on my hard, creaky mattress for hours. I close my eyes and try to empty my mind. I follow a guided meditation I find on YouTube. I google breathing exercises for relaxation.
No matter what I try, all I can think about is Lukas. Filthy, possessive, sexy Lukas. His body moving over mine. His hand on my neck…
Miss you.
The sweet, peaceful expression on his face as he slept. I wonder how he’ll react when he wakes up and I’m gone…
NOPE!
He’ll be fine. He’ll probably be relieved.
I finally give up on sleep and get in the shower. I can still smell Lukas on me, and I’m sure that’s not helping anything. I shampoo my hair twice and almost forget to use conditioner. The water goes cold halfway through rinsing it out, but I really don’t care. I dry off and grab a dress at random, throwing it on over my head in an exhausted fog.
I have to get another ride downtown, so I wait outside and pet Cujo over the fence while I wait in the pre-dawn light for the car. An older woman with a voice that speaks of decades of chain smoking picks me up. She’s grumpier than Kevin and pretty much ignores me for the duration of the drive. My mood matches hers so that suits me just fine. I just hope I can get Lilah to drop me off this evening.
Groaning inwardly, I realize I’m going to have to interact with the Donovan sisters and somehow keep all of this to myself. I’m terrible at keeping secrets and putting on a happy face when I don’t feel it. And it won’t help that I look like hell. My face is puffy from crying and a complete lack of sleep. Maybe I can claim an allergy attack? They might buy that… as long as I don’t weep openly.
I exit the car with a muttered, “Thanks.” It’s the least polite I can stand to be, even in a crappy mood. I unlock the front door of my shop but don’t step inside. It’s dark and empty and I feel miserable just looking at it. Behind me the lights are shining out of Olive Branch Bakery and I can see Olive and Lilah in the dining room, drinking coffee and laughing. My stomach churns. I’ve never felt so far on the outside.
Even during the long miserable years I spent growing up in Middle River, I had my books and the single-minded, if naïve, focus of a girl looking forward to a better life. I had plans. I had an escape and hope. I didn’t know what it was like to have friends like Olive, Lilah, and Julia, and I definitely didn’t know what I was missing when it came to sex.
Now I have too much to lose, so much to miss. And my books won’t be any consolation right now. I can’t bear the thought of reading someone else’s happily ever after when I feel like this. How can all those stories turn out like that? Piles and piles of happy couples with their beautiful stories and perfect endings. It feels like a lie.
I watch my friends for too long. I should have gone inside when I had the chance because Lilah looks up and waves me over the second she spots me. I’m not ready to face them, but if I ignore her, they’ll know something is wrong and come check on me. If I go over there, I can at least duck out quickly and say I need to do inventory or something.
Bracing myself, I lock the door again and cross the street. Olive greets me at the door with a cup of coffee and a hug.
“You look like shit. What are you doing here so early?”
I laugh and take the coffee. If there’s one thing I love about the Donovan girls, it’s the way they don’t mince words.
“Allergies are killing me and I’ve got inventory.”
“Sounds like a perfect storm of awful,” Lilah says sympathetically.
“Pretty much,” I reply, sipping my coffee. “God, that’s good,” I moan.
“Can you sit for a second?” Olive asks, grabbing my elbow and steering me towards their table. “I need your opinion.” She’s too excited to argue with, so I let her drag me over to the empty chair. Lilah pushes a binder in front of me.
“This is Olive’s wedding binder,” she says with a smirk.
“NO! This is my wedding planner’s binder. She’s the insane one, not me.”
“This is the lady Chelsea used, right?” I ask.
“Yeah. And she’s nuts. I’ve never met such a tight-ass type A personality in all my life.”
“So why are you working with her?” I laugh. Two minutes with them and I already feel better.
“Because she’s amazing. Chelsea’s wedding was the best party I’ve ever been to, and I want a blowout. Plus, she did such a good job keeping everyone in line. When I met her, I thought she was a border collie. You know, herding people along, keeping a tight ship. I was wrong. She’s a mother fucking pit bull. A rabid one. You should have heard her go after Joanne at the flower shop. I had to yank the phone out of her hands so she didn’t make her cry.”
“Pit bulls are a widely misunderstood breed,” I interject.
“A wolverine? Can I call her that?”
“Go for it. Those are nightmare fuel as far as I’m concerned,” I say with a grin.
“Fine, I retract the pit bull comment and substitute a rabid wolverine,” Olive says. “Moving on, what do you think of these dresses?” she asks, tapping the open binder.