“So.” She put her plate in the dishwasher. “I won’t be much longer. And let’s be honest. Guys my age are stupid and immature.”
“Maybe.” I stood behind her waiting to put my plate and coffee mug in the dishwasher too. “But thirty isn’t just a little older.”
Such a hypocrite. We were the same difference in age from Kael’s thirty.
“Besides, I thought you said he’s interested in Amber.”
She turned, shuffling a few steps to the side to fill a glass with water. “She said they’ve messed around, but it’s not serious.”
My breakfast knocked at the door to my throat, begging to be expelled from my stomach as it roiled thinking about Amber and Kael “messing around.” Whatever that meant.
The tiny upside, and it was minuscule compared to Amber and Kael, was Bella forgetting that she wanted to know who I was having, or thinking of having, sex with. But I felt certain it would only be temporary.Chapter TwentyHe made me feel stupid. He dismissed me. I gave him too much of myself, including my dignity.* * *Epperly’s biggest annual event was Holiday Fest. Everyone gathered in the square to shop, eat, listen to live music, ice skate in the rink they constructed just for December every year, and if there was snow on the ground, there was a snowman contest judged by the local business owners. Possibly my most important decision that year.
Kidding.
We saw a slight uptick in customers simply because everyone in Epperly gathered in the square. I even sold some of our subpar-will-give-you-cancer-and-hypertension shit that was a staple at Smith’s.
“You seem oddly happy.” Amie filled her cup with the free hot chocolate I had for the customers and sprinkled a spoonful of mini marshmallows onto it.
I remained perched on the stool behind the counter, gazing out the window at the packed town square—a snow globe.
No wind.
Light snow.
Temperature hovering around thirty.
“It’s a great night.” I shrugged.
She glanced around the shop and chuckled before whispering, “No one is buying much.”
I shrugged again. “Don’t care.”
“If you’re trying to stay in business, you should care. You cared enough a week ago to let me get really sick and blame it on your competition.” Her voice remained at a whisper.
“I’m closing the store on the thirty-first,” I confessed in a monotone voice that wasn’t loud enough for anyone else to hear, but definitely above a whisper. When I shifted my attention to Amie, she gave me a sad smile. She wasn’t shocked. We’d talked about it too much.
“I’m proud of you.”
I grunted. “Thanks. I’m not sure it’s a decision that deserves that kind of recognition. Craig’s parents won’t be proud of me.”
“So what happens after that?”
“Nothing. I go back to my lonely housewife—house-widow—life until Bella graduates and goes off to college. Then I …”
“Don’t.”
I shifted my gaze to her again. “Don’t what?”
Amie grinned. “Don’t fill in that blank yet. Just let it happen when the time comes. I realize everyone will be asking you what’s next, the way we’re trained to ask seniors in high school what their plans are after they graduate. You don’t have to have a five-year plan. You don’t have to have a five-week plan. Just go with the flow. Do it for those of us who didn’t lose a husband with good life insurance and smart investments. Do it for those of us who follow tiny home Instagram accounts and dream of escaping all men in favor of living in a community of women.”
A smile crept up my face. Tiny homes. I couldn’t see my claustrophobic friend living in a tiny home. “Good investments and life insurance. Lucky me. I bet if he could have a voice from his grave, he’d ask to revise his will to cut me out of it. And rightfully so.”
“No.” Amie shook her head. “Not rightfully so. You supported his business, raised his four children, and helped take care of his parents. That shit’s worth something.”
I gave a tight smile to a customer who drifted closer to the checkout just in time to hear “that shit’s worth something.”
Amie’s gaze followed mine, and she offered a smile too.
“Listening to a man brag about unloading the dishwasher or the incessant need to announce every single thing he did in a day. That stuff is worth something. Give him a bone! Men are dogs ... they just are. They need constant praise and rewards. Women are pack mules—we work without praise for long days, recover quickly, and wake up the next day plodding right along again. No treats. No pats on the head. No belly rubs.”
I loved my best friend. Retiring to a tiny home community of women with her would have been an honor.
Bella and her friends burst through the front door with their faces painted. Bella looked like an elf with an adorable pink nose. Two of her friends were painted in reindeer faces, and the third friend was the Grinch.