Only…he might be attainable after all. If I can make myself take those steps.
If I can move past this fear I have. Because my worry isn’t doing me any favors. I know that. I really do.
But knowing and changing are two very different things.
“Uh, Heidi,” Gemma’s voice says from behind me, and I start.
“Yeah,” I say from where my arms are still around Calvin—who, by the way, is grinning like a fool. I laugh, shaking my head and then letting go of him. “Thanks,” I say to him as my arms fall back to my sides.
Calvin makes a little pouty face before breaking into his smile once more, scrubbing his hand over his untidy hair. His freckles seem to dance as he says, “It was my absolute pleasure.”
“Okay, you guys are being weird today,” Gemma says.
I glance at Soren; he’s relaxed slightly, his fingers no longer beating incessantly on the countertop, his frame at ease rather than tense. The look he gives me now is curious, full of questions.
I’m not sure I have answers for him yet. I have some, I suppose—I think I can confidently say I like him—but what to do about it isn’t as simple.
It’s only complicated because you’re making it complicated,a little voice in my brain says. That voice sounds an awful lot like Gemma, and I scowl mentally.
“Right,” Eric says loudly, and I look at him.
“I’m gonna be honest,” I say. “I forgot you were still here.”
“Mmm,” he says, his eyes narrowing on Calvin. “You were caught up in your little moment.” Then he pats the counter. “We’re leaving at ten tomorrow. Meet me in the parking lot of Manderley’s. I’m not waiting around for anyone. We’ll figure out rides then.”
He leans over and gives Gemma a quick peck on the lips; then he turns and walks away, disappearing into the bookshelves without waiting for a response. A few seconds later I hear the bell over the entrance jingling, and he’s gone.
“Her heaving bosom!” Jojo squawks from the corner, making all of us jump. His words slice through the space around us, loud and awkward and wildly inappropriate. “Her heaving bosom!”
I just shake my head.
* * *
That night,once the shop is closed and everyone has gone home and I’ve successfully evaded answering questions I don’t want to answer, I call my mother.
“Hi, Mama,” I say quietly when she answers. I snuggle further under the covers, half of my body pressed into the massive, fluffy, faux fur pillow I keep on my bed.
“Hi, baby,” she says, her voice cheerful. “What’s up?”
“Mmm,” I hum, playing with the furry pillow. “Just the normal stuff, mostly. How are you?”
I don’t know why, exactly, I wanted to call her. I have no plans to tell her someone died at my shop; it would completely freak her out. I also won’t be mentioning my head injury or my missing memories.
Even with all I’m keeping from her, though…I guess I want to hear her voice.
“Oh, I’m fine,” she says. “The movers are coming tomorrow to get the rest of this stuff out of here, and by tomorrow night I should be in the new place.”
She sounds happy, excited, so I try to make myself sound that way too. “That’s great,” I say. I push a smile onto my face, in case she can hear that kind of thing in my voice. “How much is left to take over?”
“Not much,” she says. “A few random pieces of furniture. Some dining room chairs, and that vanity from your room. I think the mirror detaches.”
“I think so,” I say, a strange lump forming in my throat. A lot of my most painful memories took place sitting at that vanity—staring at myself in the mirror, trying to make sense of myself and my mind and my body. Trying to see what other people might see when they looked at me; trying to see who I might become.
I don’t think we look into crystal balls to see our future. We look into mirrors. We turn our heads right and left, examine the little bits of our souls we can see leaking from the eyes of our reflections. We hold those reflections up to the light, searching for familiar patterns, for our mother’s curly hair or our father’s Cupid’s bow.
You can’t see who you’re going to become if you don’t know who you already are, and you can’t find where you’re going to end up if you don’t know where you’re already located.
“Mama,” I say, “I’m sad you’re selling the house. And”—I take a deep breath—“I met a guy I think I like.”
