“Do you think Mrs. Allen would do a video talking about how she’s kept the same style over all her years of teaching?” It was still odd to me that the teacher my sisters and I all adored in high school was now one of Marley’s colleagues. “I love that she rocks that early ’80s midi skirt and turtleneck combo. Plus, it’d be great to feature more older people.”
Marley chuckled. “I bet she’d be flattered if you asked her. Just leave out the part about her being ‘older.’”
“Will do.” I used a chip to scoop up a stray dollop of sour cream before taking a bite. “Dang, Marley. Why are these so good?”
She grinned. “Mom’s trick, remember? Sprinkle the chips with taco seasoning and lime and pop them in the oven for five minutes before taking them out and piling on the good stuff.”
Oh, right. Our mom had done that. Another thing I’d forgotten.
Oscar came up to me, rubbed against my calves, then rested his chin on my thigh. I gave him a candy cane treat.
Then I clicked open another video as ideas started taking root in my brain.
Chapter nine
Will
Itook my time driving to Coleman Creek, traveling on some back roads through King and Snohomish County before finally joining Highway 2. Going slower and not having to deal with freeway traffic helped calm my nerves, which were still slightly frayed from almost clipping that cyclist in front of my building.
My determination to set things right with Maureen was another story. There was no getting relaxed about that. I’d just have to jump in and give it my best shot.
Two hours into my trip, I pulled off the road to grab lunch. A diner off the highway had an enormous sign advertising the “World’s Best Pancakes.” Sounded good to me.
The restaurant looked like something out of a movie. Vinyl booths lined a wall of windows painted with Santa in his sleigh being pulled by eight reindeer. A paper chain made of cut-up children’s menus circled a giant tree in the corner. Glass enclosures perched on the countertop showcased desserts, and an old-fashioned reader board behind the counter listed twenty varieties of pancakes. After ordering a five-pancake sampler of chocolate chip, banana, blueberry, maple walnut, and pineapple coconut, I tucked into a booth.
Thankfully, even though this place looked vintage, the Wi-Fi was solid. As I waited for my food, I popped in my earbuds and pulled out my phone.
Watching Maureen’s videos strengthened my resolve to find a better status quo with her. I’d watched everything at least twice. From the moment James had inadvertently mentioned her channel last spring, I’d become a little addicted. How could I resist? Seeing her on my computer or phone screen as Francesca was like getting a window into the woman I’d met at Musicbox.
I found her oldest clips most interesting. Besides the fact Maureen’s hair was still the golden-brown color she’d had when we met, her on-screen personality was so much the Mo I remembered—a total badass with a great sense of humor. I couldn’t help but catch my breath at how she sometimes stammered and mishandled the camera, giving the screen a wink and a self-deprecating smile once she’d righted things. It reminded me that the icy, elegant woman who’d stared me down last Christmas wasn’t all of who she was.
I watched a video from four-and-a-half years ago when Maureen commented on the practicality of rain boots and another where she interviewed a man speaking about his extensive sneaker collection. In one from three years ago—hair dyed auburn—she’d covered a pop-up fashion show at a localcollege and provided great commentary on why it was important to have body diversity among the models.
“Body diversity” was a phrase I’d only learned since combing through her channel, along with things like “capsule wardrobe,” “ready-to-wear,” and “boho.” I’d also learned I had a few suits in my wardrobe that were “bespoke,” and I should appreciate what a privilege that was.Duly noted, Francesca.
I’d never cared much about clothes. As an artist, I could appreciate style aesthetics, but my regard ended there. Yet Francesca seemed determined to find something for everyone to enjoy on her channel, including those indifferent to fashion, by never taking herself too seriously. Even in the more straightforward videos discussing trends and offering advice, there was always an undertone of beingin on the joke, of reminding viewers never to take getting dressed so seriously that it made them feel like they had to be or think a certain way. Her channel had a definite agenda—positivity for every style.
Whether it was a video where she and women on the street dissected the wearability of peplum styles—“peplum” being another word I’d never heard prior to Francesca—or one where she made styling suggestions for the fall line at Old Navy, none of her channel was tailored for folks interested in high-end fashion. I guessed she got enough of that in her day job.
This woman laughing on my screen was fascinating.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
I’d spent the past five years untangling myself from the life I fell into after my accident. Maureen had spent it working, making these videos, probably dating around—although I knew from some stealthy conversing with Marley that she was single and currently between jobs.
We were both different people now. And I wanted more of Maureen. More smiles. More laughter. More of the warm person hiding behind the hard woman I’d encountered a year ago. Withevery video I watched, every nugget of information I gleaned from Marley or James, I wanted to keep peeling back the layers.
I only hoped she’d be willing.
I’d just gotten up to leavethe diner when a call came through on my phone. Rosalyn’s name flashed on my screen. I wondered what she wanted. She worked for my parents, so we still had the occasional run-in at Wallingford, although our contact had grown less frequent since I left the company.
But I had enough on my mind right now without adding my former fiancée to the mix. She could leave a voicemail.
The phone buzzed again as I reached my car. A text this time.
ROZ:PICK UP!
Three seconds later, the phone rang again. She’d never been this insistent before, so I figured it must be important.
