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Mom finally solved my inner turmoil by giving me the cold, hard truth about Micah.
During one of my many arguments with Mom, she’d yelled at me that even Micah didn’t want me in his life because I was too like how his mom used to be. Unpredictable, unreliable, and a screw up.
A screw up.
That’s what he had called me.
And it hurt.
I couldn’t even tell you how much that hurt to hear my mother repeat it all over again.
Mom tried to apologize. To say she didn’t mean it.
People who loved each other said hurtful things to each other in the heat of the moment. But my problem with my mom was that it was happening too damn much for it to be healthy.
Fuck, it killed, but I had to cut those ties.
Just like Micah cut his ties with me.
So why couldn’t I let him go?
My life was good! I had my own business at twenty-six. A successful one.
Why did I care if Micah was sexier than ever or laughing in the Commons with his model-like girlfriend of the hour? Though, to be fair, this one had been around longer than the others. According to his Instagram, the elegant ‘E’ had been around for six months.
‘E’ was exactly Micah’s type. Tall, stunning, blond, and according to his comments about her, she was very smart.
What he considered my opposite.
Well, he was right about everything but the smarts. I was way over letting people make me think I wasn’t intelligent just because I wasn’t academic. And I might not be stunning but I wasn’t exactly hard to look at. Some guys liked the whole adorable, curvy, quirky thing I had going on.
“Ugh.” I glowered at a candid photograph he’d posted of him standing hugging a mind-bending building in Peru. He faced the camera, grinning that boyish smile. He looked happy.
That summer, his girlfriend and another couple had taken a trip to Peru to tour the amazing architecture. Micah looked like he was having the time of his life.
He was a stranger now.
Sadness enveloped me.
“Dear God, you’re stalking him again.” Mindy’s voice right at my ear made me jump a mile.
“Fuck!” I turned to glare at her. “You’re a sneaky ninja.”
She grinned, showing off the cute gap between her two front teeth. “No… you were just lost in your mooning again over he who shall not be named.”
I turned my phone over on the checkout counter of the boutique. “No, I’m not.”
My best friend gave me a knowing look. “Uh, yeah you are. But I have just the thing to distract you.”
“Oh?”
She whipped out her phone, tapped the screen a few times and then shoved it in my face. I stared into the smoldering dark gaze of a very cute indie-band front man looking dude.
“His name is Ville and he saw you on our Instagram page and is obsessed with you. He asked for your number.”
“Ville and Val. Really?”
“What? His parents are Finnish.”
“Mindy—”
“Don’t Mindy me. Look, he’s a recent friend of Xander’s.” Xander was Mindy’s longtime boyfriend. “Xander approves of him. Says he’s a nice guy. An up-and-coming artist. They’ve shown his work in galleries. He’s not some bum. I promise.”
“Let me see his photo again.”
She grinned and practically squealed as she handed her phone over. I scrolled through his Instagram. He didn’t seem to be a poser, which was good. A lot of the photos were of his art, which was also really good. “He’s talented.”
“Is that… ‘yes, I’ll go on a double date with you and Xander and in five years’ time thank you all for setting me up with the man who gave me my babies Vilandra and Veronica’?”
I shook my head, laughing at her nonsense. “Let’s just try the double date first.”
“Woop!” she did a little happy dance. “I’ll let Xander know. I’m in such a good mood now, I’m even going to do a stock check.”
“Wins all around.” I hated stock checking.
“I think the size ten is a perfect fit.”
“I don’t need the size twelve? You’re sure?”
“You go the size twelve, you lose the shape. You have such a cute waist. Why not show it off?”
My customer smiled unsurely. “Really?”
“That’s just my opinion. You’re the one wearing the dress and you have to be comfortable in it.”
She sighed and turned to the mirror, studying her lush figure in the tight-fitting ‘50s pencil dress. “Maybe I should try the flare dress again.”
I nodded patiently. We’d been in the changing rooms for thirty minutes trying to decide on an outfit but it was for her ex’s wedding, so I got it. This dress needed to be perfect.
After handing her a couple of dresses that required a petticoat underneath them to give that awesome ‘50s prom dress vibe, I heard the antique bell over the shop door tinkle loudly.
“I might have to disappear for a second to deal with another customer,” I told her.
