Chuckling, I buy her one—and Rip fromYellowstonefor me. Something about a grumpy cowboy just does it for me.
Me: Done. But you’ll have to come visit to get it.
Witchling: Also done. How are you feeling, ginger tits? Thriving or just surviving?
I grin and tap out a response as I weave through booths, careful not to run into anyone.
ME: Alive-ish. A little wobbly. Sun and shopping help. Joints still hate me, though.
The truth is, I’m still lagging from yesterday’s flare-up.
But with celiac, sometimes it’s not about what you ate, but the damage that’s already been done. I have bad joints, get chronic migraines, and if I overdo it, I wind up exhausted, in pain, and stuck in bed.
The day after the infamous grocery incident, I powered through two home visits and a stack of case notes at the coffee shop. I knew better, but I did it anyway. Adjusting from Heart Springs to Serenity Falls hasn’t been hard, but the workload’s heavier since it’s a bigger town, and I don’t want to fall behind.
By Friday, the damage caught up. My body crashed. Full-blown flare—fatigue, stomach misery, the works. So I stayed in. No makeup, no effort, no pretending. Just me, water, meds, broth, and my favorite cozy blanket.
But what I really wanted was a bathtub, my old bed in New York, and someone who would take care of me for once, without asking any questions or judging my bad days.
None of that happened, but today, I made it here, so I’m calling it a win.
Witchling: Don’t over do whatever you’re doing. Which is…?
ME: The farmers market. Fridge was giving dust bowl.
Because despite having just gone to the grocery store, I ended up walking out with only enough food to last a few days, and four jars of almond butter I’ll never be able to look at without thinking of Kade. I shoved them in the back of my cabinet, but that didn’t stop the cravings.
Not sure much will at this point.
Witchling:Are you secretly hoping to stumble across Walker family breadcrumbs?
I’d be lying if I said I’m not hoping for more than vegetables today. Maybe a clue about my family. A glimpse of the town through my mother’s eyes. Something that says I belong here too, or maybe this is the wrong place altogether.
Though, the longer I spend in Heart Springs, the more I fall in love with it.
Not just because of my familial history, but because I feel more myself here than I have in a long damn time. Truth is, I’ve only been here a month, but the idea of leaving when my lease is up like I’d planned, makes me nauseous. Almost as nauseous as the idea of not returning to Abby in New York at all.
Maybe that’s why I tell a white lie instead of the whole truth.
ME:I’m just exploring today.
Witchling:Right. And totally not hoping to run into a certain broody cowboy with biceps, a beard, and unresolved trauma.
I scoff out loud, cheeks burning, and type quickly.
ME: Hell no. He annoys me.
ABBY: Annoys your kitty. Nobody likes being wet and unfulfilled, babes. It’s maddening.
As if in answer, I lock eyes with a vendor.
“Cucumbers!” She grins at me as she holds one up. “We also have eggplants if you’re interested.”
I choke on my next breath and blush furiously, picking up my pace. “No, thank you! I’m all set!”
Witchling: You found him, didn’t you? You’re dry humping between the carrots and handmade jewelry!
ME: Gotta go. Eggplants are calling. And no, not his.
