I hear my sister gasp as I boldly change the subject, the ache in my heart when it comes to George Jamison too painful to discuss any further.
“No.”
“Oh yeah. She’s insisting we meet for dinner before her show at the Cadillac Palace Theatre. She even got me a comp ticket to see it. Wants to introduce me to the actors and give me a tour backstage to see all her wigs.”
“Oh no,” Beverly laughs. “Are you going to do it?”
I nod with the phone pressed against my ear. “Yes. It’s time. I haven’t seen her since last spring, when she came through Atlanta and stayed with you.”
“Gosh, has it been that long for you two? I saw her in Atlanta over the summer, but you were out of town, as usual.”
“Yup. Shame on me.”
“Well, don’t let her talk you into any after-show shenanigans. And for goodness sake, don’t let her have any alcohol at dinner. That wouldn’t be good for her or her employer.”
“Or me.”
“You got that right.”
We’re quiet again for a few seconds. I drum my freshly manicured nails on the upholstery of the chair, unsure of what to say. Why had I said yes to meet my mom when all I want is to climb into the king-size hotel bed and sleep for days?
“I miss happy Maddy from the Steamhouse Lounge a few months ago. Can you tell her to come back, please?”
I groan. My sister is the only person in the world who knows me better than anyone. That she’s worried about me is strangely comforting. I also miss that version of myself before all the crazy started.
The last few months have been a paradox. Happy moments running through purple fields of heaven at sunset. Stolen kisses on a front porch. Wind chimes pinging the summer air.
On the other hand, my ever-growing feelings of inadequacy and burnout from my job continue to spiral, impacting my daily life. I’ve lost pieces of myself, becoming a shell of who Ionce was… hindering my relationships, including my undeniable connection with George.
I’ve spent weeks on the road trying every tip and trick in the book to help cure my anxiety. I’ve taken supplements, meditated, done breathwork, and exercised. But nothing has worked. Nothing compares to being at Jamison Farm with George, watching the sky, or marveling at the lavender fields. Only then did I find myself doing something I hadn’t done in months:
Breathe.
Inhaling what felt like the cleanest country air, I’d go hours, even days, without checking my phone for the latest email. I stopped ruminating over presentations or replaying my interactions with coworkers on Zoom. I wasn’t franticly driving all over the place or flying into strange airports feeling alone and vulnerable.
I’ve realized that my brief time in Heartsboro with a gentle flower farmer was what gave me relief. And now, more than ever, I yearn for time to recharge, reset, and refill my cup again. I need to cut ties with what isn’t serving me anymore. Maybe I’ve finally hit the proverbial wall, and it’s time to quit my toxic, six-figure-earning job with nothing else lined up.
On purpose.
So, why can’t I do it? Why can’t I walk away?
“She’s still here, Bev. She just needs to sleep until next year and get through these contracts, that’s all. I promise to make changes when I get caught up at work.”
“Oh, girl,” Beverly moans. “That’s what you always say.”
My phone pings with an incoming call.
“I gotta take this, Bev. I’ll let you know how it goes tonight. Love you.”
“Okay. Love you back.”
One mustn’t ever forget their I love yous…
I click over to the new call. “This is Madison Adler.”
“Madison! It’s Jenny from the Wild Daisy Inn.”
I sit up with a start. There could only be one reason for Jenny’s call. I struggle to find my voice.
