Page 30 of Something Borrowed

“We’re fine,” Madeline said to her would-be defenders, but for once her voice held no light. She addressed Vic. “Ironically, I was hoping you’d show up before your shift started because I wanted you to meet Aisha—the creator behind all those upcycled clothes you’ve admired all week. Aisha, Vic. Vic, Aisha.”

“And I’m Mo.” The curly-headed child glared.

If only I hadn’t woken up this morning, Vic thought. If only. I’m just so tired of . . . everything.

She stared at Aisha, mute. So, what? After completely humiliating herself, she was what? Supposed to dither on about the amazing clothes this barely-more-than-a-kid designed?

“I’m sorry,” she said lamely. “I’m so sorry.” And it was true, she really, deeply was. But there are only so many times a person can apologize without changing their behavior before it’s meaningless. And swearing at Madeline, who’d been so good to her? It was . . . words failed her. She shook her head. Madeline looked concerned. As did Aisha. Mo looked miffed. Of the three people staring at her, Vic figured only Mo had the correct read on the situation. She didn’t deserve sympathy.

“I have Storytime,” Mo said, looking at her mom, then stabbing Vic with another pointed glare.

Aisha glanced at Madeline, and something unspoken passed between them.

“Go. Enjoy Storytime and don’t be late.” Madeline smiled down at Mo. “We’ll be fine.”

“I—” Vic started, then broke off again. What could she even say? It was nice to meet you? Don’t worry. I’m not actually psychotic . . . I don’t think.

Aisha nodded tersely and then followed Mo out, flipping the shop’s closed sign to Open as she did. The door shut behind them. The bells jingled, then quieted.

Madeline’s brow furrowed and her eyes narrowed in thought—or maybe pity. Or something worse.

Great, Vic thought miserably. I’ve broken my chatty boss.

“So . . . I think you should take the day off, hey?”

Vic nodded. Something worse. Much worse. And that was fair. Very fair.

“In fact,” Madeline’s lower lip disappeared under her top one for a moment, deep in thought. Her face and her voice were sad and resigned. “Make it a couple.”

Chapter 17

Vic spent a sleepless night recounting events of the past few weeks, and—more painfully, much more painfully—ruminating over choices she’d made and hadn’t made in her life.

She went on her phone, but instead of watching endless reels, she conversed with ChatGPT, starting with, “Why do I get super anxious when someone is nice to me?”

And then, not wanting to confess everything to her friendly AI buddy—as in, she didn’t want to enter in text that she was a thief—she asked, “How do you stop compulsive behaviors?”

The search results were surprisingly enlightening, and she both hated and felt huge relief at seeing aspects of herself, past and present, that were spot on.

She entered similar questions into Google, and the AI summary was similar, just not as in-depth as ChatGPT’s responses. What she’d wanted to see with this query, however, was not so much links to professionals’ opinions, but just regular people’s responses. And sure enough, there were plenty. Reddit and Quora links were chock full of questions like hers, and, surprisingly for the Internet, the vast majority of responses were kind, genuine attempts to be helpful. Who’d a thunk? Though she wasn’t particularly optimistic for herself at this point in time, it was comforting to see how many regular people seemed to struggle with similar things.

Also, she hadn’t always been this much of an absolute screw-up.

Her issues with men, okay, sure, it was fair to say they were pretty longstanding—but the stealing was new since her break-up with Brent and return to her mother’s house.

Then she thought to heck with it and asked what triggered kleptomania. The information was eye-opening and humbling—and she cried a little. She also felt strangely comforted.

You’ve got this, Angel said. You’re on the right track.

Yeah, who knew all that woo woo crap you look up these days might actually be onto something, Devil said, never one to pass up a moment to be snide.

Finally, it was late enough into Thursday morning that she could get up. Every single part of her was heavy and weighed down, especially her heart, as she made her way downstairs in search of coffee.

She’d been pretty sure that Audra hadn’t registered the details of her new “job” or noticed that she was away for eight hours every day, though, of course, she’d told her about it.

In classic Audra style, however, when it suited Vic least, she had paid attention.

“So, what? You couldn’t even keep your temporary job?” Audra cackled behind her as Vic was adding cream to her freshly poured mug.