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I work at the diner on Monday and Tuesday, but there aren’t many customers beyond Ralph of the too-hot or too-cold coffee, and I don’t like the thought that Eden and Charlie might only be keeping it open for me. So before I leave on Tuesday, I sit Eden down for some of Charlie’s subpar sweet tea and a serious talk. She admits they’re on the verge of running at a loss and would prefer to close sooner than later. “But baby, I want to do it with a bang, not a whimper.” She tells me to spend the rest of this week and all of next working on Vanny and my eBay hustle, but next Sunday we’re going to have a closeout party that will make the angels weep. Her words.
“But are you really sure?” I ask. “Should we be trying to do something to save the diner, instead? I can start a petition or maybe try to go viral on social media.”
She shakes her head. “No, our days of service are over. Let someone else step up and give Ralph his cold coffee.”
“But Eden,” I say, the tremble in my voice giving me away as I soak in the cheap plastic tables, cracked booth upholstery, and crappy overhead lighting, “this place means so much to so many people.”
“It means so much to us, you mean. To you and me and Charlie, and it’ll be with us just the same after it closes, because the important things aren’t enclosed by brick and mortar, my girl.”
But her words don’t totally soothe me. When I don’t respond, she hugs me tightly and says, “Now, I know what you’re thinking because I know you, but I meant what I said. You’re not going to get rid of us. I’m going to be seeing you, Ruthie, whether you’re working here or not. You’re family.”
“Thank you” is all I manage to get out, but the words feel insufficient. I’m not sure any words would do the job, actually. I worked here back when business was brisker, before I met Rand. It was my placeholder job, the one that brought in steady money while I tried to figure out my big idea, but he’d convinced me to quit. To stop looking for any ideas other than to be his wife. I came back after I left him, and Eden took one look at me and wrapped her arms around me. She said, “You came to the right place,” and she’s spent the past five or so years showing me how true that is.
I feel my eyes well with tears, because I love her. Because I hate that this place is going to become something else soon. Probably the city’s eight hundredth CBD store, or a shop selling Keep Asheville Weird bumper stickers.
Then Eden grabs my face, her thumbs soothing down my cheeks. “You listen good. You’re going to talk the hell out of Vanny at this party we’re having. You’re going to make damn sure everyone knows your name and what you’re up to. That’s why we’re doing it.”
“I love you, Eden,” I manage to say, which is at least better than “thank you.”
“I love you too, baby girl. Now scram.”
She’s wearing her serious face, so I listen.
I do a pretty admirable job of pretending I’m not going to bawl, right up until I sit down in the driver’s seat of my car and start bawling. It doesn’t feel fair that Eden isn’t my mother, but at least I have her anyway.
I spend the next day helping Eden get word out about the party, and then I pour myself into preparing a hard sell for Vanny.
I get a couple of space heaters and make a list of other things I’ll need to acquire over the next week: collapsible and moveable book cases, plus a collapsible table. I already have a few beanbag chairs that I can add to the ones I’ve been stowing in the van.
Once I have everything, I can move Vanny events inside.
There’s something else that asshole Shane was right about: one-time payouts from the venues aren’t going to be enough to finance my business. I need other sources of income. I decide not to put all of the books for sale, but I make book bundles and price them out. The work is done on the dining room table, where Izzy does her crafting, and a few of her works in progress fire up another idea. I can put together book-making kits too—and even lead a class on how to do it.
Then I contact the coffee shop Tank and I met at the other day and ask about stocking their hot chocolate. They’re all about the idea. Better yet, the manager tells me he wants to have me hold an event at the coffee shop, so long as Vanny is now fully mobile.
I make another phone call, this time to Dog is Love. After discussing the ins and outs of potty training an older dog, Dusty and I get down to business. He seems excited about the possibility of creating a joint logo we can plaster over merch, especially when I assure him a percentage of the proceeds would go back to the shelter.
I’m proud of myself. I feel strong. I feel capable. I feel like I could kick Shane Royce’s ass.
I want to tell him about everything I’ve done, and I dislike myself for caring so much.
There’s been no more trouble with my mother, other than a rambling voice message she left on my phone. She says she got the message “loud and clear” from both me and Danny. She’s going to keep her distance, but there is something she needs to talk to me about first. Something important she should have mentioned on the phone but didn’t.
No thanks.
She’s trying to reel me back in, same as always.
Then there’s Mrs. Longhorn. I’ve done a pretty decent job of avoiding her, if I do say so myself, but I know it’s only a matter of time before she catches me at a weak moment.
On Friday, I drop Izzy off at Danny and Mira’s apartment for a sleepover, along with Flower the dog, who takes up residence next to their hamster’s cage and starts barking at it. From the way she’s going at it, I expect it’ll go on for some time.
“Is this okay?” I ask my brother, who’s scratching his head as he watches them.
“What? You think she’s going to eat him?” he asks. “I honestly wouldn’t mind that much, but Mira might be upset.”
“Uncle Danny!” Izzy shriek-laughs, and I don’t miss his wince. He loves Izzy, but the joyful screams of a child, mixed with the persistent barking of a dog, is enough to drive anyone up a wall. How much worse must it be for someone with sensory sensitivities?
Mira shows up with his noise-cancelling earphones a few seconds later without being asked.
