“Okay.” She smiles, and it’s a small, tentative one, like she’s afraid she’ll scare me off if she acts too happy to be spending time with me. To be fair, that probably would have sent me running a few years ago.
But it’s time to start rebuilding the bridges that were burned. The foundation is there – it just needs some manual labor and more time. I knew that moving back to Maine meant finally letting my mother back in,reallyletting her back in, in a way that opens me up to potentially being hurt and disappointed again. I’ve kept her at arms’ length for long enough, though.
“Second Thursday of the month work for you?” I ask, picking a day at random. I need something concrete to hold me to this new plan of ours.
“Thursdays are my meeting nights,” she reminds me, andfuck, I feel like an asshole for forgetting about the weekly meetings she credits to keeping her sobriety on track for so many years. She seems unfazed, though. “How about the second Wednesday instead?”
“Works for me. It would be a bit late, though. I think our shop hours will be until seven.”
“That’s perfect,” she says, beaming at me this time. “Should we do dinner here, or would you like to meet somewhere? Or go to your place?”
“Here is fine.” I don’t think I’m ready to have her in Port Myles. Not yet, anyway.
“It’s a date.” She reaches across the table and squeezes my arm, then digs into her food and picks back up chatting about work and her book club and whatever else comes to mind. She’s content just to have me here, eating at her table, even if I don’t offer much by way of conversation.
Our relationship will never be perfect. I don’t know if I’ll ever call her Mom again, or if she’ll ever be able to answer the door without me scanning her for the telltale signs that she’s using again.
But I’m here, and I’m trying. And for now, I think that’s got to be enough.
CHAPTER 9
Elsie
One week to go.
Somehow the spring came and went, and summer is closing in on Port Myles. It’s only June third, but tourist season is in full swing. Some people hate living in a town that’s swarmed with tourists for a few months every year, but I love it. I love watching people experience this town for the first time. I love the way their eyes light up at their first bite of a buttery lobster roll, and how their souls seem at peace as they walk along our beaches. I love watching them snap photos of our rocky shores and lighthouses. I get a kick out of watching them stroll out of What’s the Scoop with giant ice cream cones, a place that’s such a staple to us but a novelty to out-of-towners on their summer vacation.
I love this town with my whole heart, and I love watching other people fall in love with it, too. Sure, the traffic and parking can be a bear at this time of year, and the wait times at restaurants increase tenfold, but I wouldn’t trade it.
Especially during moments like this one, sitting on the beach with my two favorite people, having a late picnic lunch set to my favorite soundtrack of seagulls cawing and waves crashing against the shore. The beach is full but not crowded, being too early in the season to actually enjoy swimming yet. A handful of people stand ankle-deep in the cold water and one brave soul has waded out to his waist, but it’ll be another month or so before it’s warm enough for more comfortable swimming. The water here never really getswarm; more like tolerable.
I close my eyes and inhale. There’s nothing like a deep breath of seaside air to fill your soul and soothe your heart. If I could bottle up this salty air and take it with me everywhere I go, I would.
“You good, Elsie?” Olivia asks. She’s sprawled next to me on the plaid sheet she snagged from her mom’s linen closet years ago and never returned. On my other side, Grace has a plate of food artfully arranged in front of our picnic basket. Her legs are posed just so beside it, so she can show off her sandals and the bottom of her pale yellow linen pants in the photo she’s taking.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned by hanging out with Grace, it’s that an influencer is never off the clock. She doesn’t have a massive following – at least not by her standards – but her followers have steadily ticked up in the last year or so, and I know she’s hoping to hit a hundred thousand by the end of the year. She’s found her niche in fashion influencing, specifically thrifted and sustainable fashion. She started off with the mission of getting people to understand that being ethical about their fashion choices is important, and her following started to really take off when she began showing people how to do just that.
With her phone in hand she takes her followers on her thrifting adventures, walks them through her closet explaining where she got her favorite pieces, and wanders through her favorite boutiques,where she waxes poetic about supporting small businesses that use eco-friendly materials and ethical labor practices. She’s anti-fast fashion and can convince anyone she talks to for more than five minutes to be more conscious about the impact they’re having on this planet with their fashion choices.
I’m so freaking proud of her.
“I’m good,” I finally answer Olivia. “Just thinking.”
“Thinking about how fucking rad it’s going to be running your own business like the boss bitch you are?” Grace says.
I laugh. “I don’t know aboutthat, but I am thinking about the shop. I’m excited. And nervous. God, the nerves. I can hardly sleep at night, running through my mental checklist and counting down the minutes until I open.”
“We can’t wait to be there,” Olivia says, reaching over to squeeze my hand. “You feeling ready?”
“Ready as I can be. I haven’t been there much lately. I’m trying to stay out of Matt and Mike’s way while they wrap things up. They should be finished in the next couple days, then I’ll have a few days to get everything set up, decorate and get inventory moved in. Deliveries are being made all day next Sunday, the day before we open.”
It’s been a busy couple months getting to this point. Aside from the building itself and all of the renovations needed to get it ready, I’ve also had tons of legwork to do on the business side of things: endless phone calls with wholesalers, visits to nearly every flower farm within a hundred-mile radius, drawing up a business plan for the first year, creating social media pages and posting teasers leading up to opening day. It’s a process that really should have taken us at least three or four months, but we crammed it into two so that we could capitalize on the busy season.
Grace has been a godsend helping me build my social media following, between mentions of the shop on her own socials and giving me a rundown on all the latest trends and what kinds of things I should be posting.
She finishes with the picture she’s taking and moves her plate out of the way so she can scoot over and lean her head on my shoulder.
“We’re so proud of you, E. I know I joke around a lot, but I’m so in awe of you. You’re going to absolutely crush it.”
