To my surprise, Dot waves away my concern. “Eh, don’t worry about the money,” she says. “We’re all in the same boat. We’ll figure something out. This community is a strong one, and you’re one of us. We’ve got each other’s backs. We’ll make it through somehow.”
I think of Jakob, of how he came to my rescue today. I’ve never been a damsel in distress. I’ve always been the one riding to the rescue of everyone else. I wonder for a brief moment how it would feel if I wasn’t always the one doing the rescuing. What would it be like if I didn’t have the weight of my whole little world resting on my shoulders? If someone was standing right beside me so we could carry the weight together? The thought fills me with longing.
“So let me get this straight, you just took your melted chocolates and came home?” Dot asks.
I hesitate. “Um, not exactly. When I came out of the hotel, my car wouldn’t start.”
“Rotten luck.” Dot clicks her tongue sympathetically. “Did Henry help you get your car started again?”
“I…didn’t call Henry,” I admit softly. And then I tell her about how Jakob drove all the way to Canada to come to my aid. I even tell her about the burger and the strawberry milkshake he brought me.
She whistles. “That boy has always been crazy for you,” she muses. “I guess some things never change. So then what about Henry?”
It’s a great question. WhataboutHenry?
I glance over the water. I know it seems strange that I did not ask for help from Henry. I could have just gone to my hotel room and waited for the dinner to be over so Henry could come to my aid. It would have been faster than waiting for Jakob to drive up, for sure. Henry would have helped me, I’m positive. But instead I called Jakob, hours away. Dot is waiting patiently for a reply.
I take a swig of mezcal. “I don’t know what to do about Henry,” I tell her bluntly. And then, to my surprise, I find myself pouring out the details of my fight with Jakob in the brown hotel room and the dilemma I find myself in now. Dot listens patiently as I spill out all my worries and conflicting emotions.
“I’m really confused and scared that I’m going to mess everything up,” I confess finally. “I don’t know what to do, and I feel stuck.”
Dot purses her lips andhmmms. “Emmie, how old are you?” she asks abruptly.
“Thirty-four,” I reply, surprised. “Why?” She was at my birthday dinner after all.
“I’m just wondering how old you think you need to be beforeyou get to make your own decisions about your life,” Dot says frankly. The question sounds innocent, but I feel the sting of it.
“Ouch.” I grab the mezcal bottle from her. “I’m just trying to do the right thing,” I tell her, a touch defensively. “I want to live the best life I can.”
She nods. “And you’re doing a great job. I mean it. You’ve been juggling a full plate for years, carrying way more than anybody should have to handle. But Emmie girl, ever since you came back home from France, it seems like you haven’t been in control of your life. You’ve been living based on what everyone else needs—Bert’s cancer, your mom’s arthritis, being a single mom to Gus, trying to keep the shop from going under. It’s been a lot for you, for anyone. And I’m just wondering what sort of space you’ve left in your life for yourself—for what you want, for your own dreams? Because you can’t live only for other people, Emmie. It’ll suck you dry if you don’t have something that givesyoulife, that’s satisfying and allows you to give to others in your own way. What you carry in your heart is your gift to the world. Are you making space in your own life so you can give it?”
I glance at Dot in astonishment. Beneath her crusty exterior is a deep soul. I’ve underestimated her.
“I don’t think I am making that space,” I tell her slowly. “I don’t even know if I know what that gift is. What about you?” I ask, curious. “Areyoumaking space in your life? Are you giving your gift to the world?”
Dot considers the question, then takes the bottle back from me and takes a sip. “Yeah, I think so. It took a while for me to find my feet again after Jude died. But then I sort of stumbled upon being a mermaid and I created Serene, and life started to make sense again. I know people make fun of my mermaid gig”— Dot shrugs, sounding unperturbed—“but the first time I put onthat tail, I felt like a part of myself came alive again. I know some folks think it’s silly or embarrassing that a woman in her fifties with saggy boobs is swimming around pretending to be a mermaid, but it brings me joy and it brings other people joy too, and that’s all that matters, isn’t it? I’m giving what I’ve got to make this sad old world a little bit better and brighter. That’s the gift I give myself and other people, and that’s good enough for me. We can all only give what we’ve got in our hand. This is what I’ve got, and I’m giving it the best I can.” She leans back on the bench comfortably. I wish I could have her ease, that I could just choose to do what feels worthwhile with no constraints.
“That’s amazing,” I tell her. “But I’ve got so many things to consider—Mom, Gus, and…the birthday vision.”
“Ah yes, the vision,” Dot muses, and there’s an ironic tone in her voice that surprises me.
“Why do you say it like that?” I ask her curiously.
She shrugs. “I guess I’ve always wondered just how helpful those visions really are,” she replies. An owl swoops low over the water in front of us, and I shiver in a cool gust of briny breeze over the bay. “I mean, it’s all well and good to see your purpose in life. Great! It worked out well for your mom, obviously. But how much weight do you think you should put on what you see in a few seconds?”
“What do you mean?” I stammer. “The women in my family wait our whole lives for our vision. It’s a great gift.”
Dot shrugs. “Yeah, maybe, if what you see makes you happy, if it’s really what you want. But what if it isn’t? Are you really going to let five seconds define your life for you? Who you love, what you do with your time?”
She has a good point.
“What if you see this vision, but you miss something or you think you know what it means but it means something else instead? What then? Or what if you just plain want something different?” She’s voicing what I’ve been wrestling with this whole time.
“I don’t know,” I admit quietly, feeling uneasy.
Dot scoffs softly. “So what if you don’t follow the vision? What’s the worst that can happen? Billions of people on the planet don’t get to see a vision. They just get on with life, muddling along as best they can, and at least some of us manage to live pretty satisfying lives. Not everyone needs a vision to find their true purpose in life, Emmie. Maybe you don’t either. Maybe you just need to find what brings you joy and follow your own heart.” She burps gently. “Baby girl, I think it’s time for you to stop letting a fancy candle or your mom’s expectations or the whole passel of responsibilities on your shoulders dictate your whole purpose in life and let yourself take the lead for a change.” Dot stops and blinks at me like a wise owl.
“How do I do that?” I ask quietly.
