Page 52 of The False Flat

I’d taken small steps forward during the past couple of weeks. I’d met a little man named Myra at the coffee station outside my office after he’d had a massage to help with his sciatica. He was cute and cozy and the best part of that day, and our conversation—where I didn’t need to turn him into a number—traveled from coffee flavors to discussing what I did for a living.

“I’m a financial planner,” I told him. “I’ve been trying to start my business, but I’m afraid it’s not going so well.”

“You don’t say?” He sipped his coffee, and his wild eyebrows made me smile. “Do you know your stuff? Make people money?”

“I do. I know what to do once I have someone’s account. The problem is getting there in the first place.”

“Would an old man like me benefit from your services?”

I took him to my office, and after an hour of answering questions and repeating my usual presentation, I added his modest accounts to my book.

Then I met with Piper as scheduled earlier this week. She’d been in a hurry and had essentially thrown her money at me. Girl had bread (gluten-free bread, but still). She didn’t want to take the time to understand all the details. She said that’s what she had me for. I’d even managed to avoid the massage she’d threatened me with.

But I couldn’t get excited because as soon as I’d added them, Chad’s parents had pulled their business. Chad had tried to tell me that it wouldn’t last, that they’d had to do it to show Vicki support, but it was another blow. And I knew they wouldn’t be back. I didn’t want them back.

But I couldn’t stop second-guessing myself. I’d entered a cycle of doubt that I couldn’t seem to escape from, which had started after losing the Fletchers and having my character questioned and had snowballed from there.

So, I’d spent most of my time perusing job listings at various companies around Nashville. My WeWork contract was up in a little over a week, and the leasing office warned me that if someone else came along who needed a longer commitment, they wouldn’t be able to hold my place.

I loved Nashville. I had a friend. Friends. But what if I’d simply acted too rashly?

People made the kinds of life-altering decisions I had after careful months of thought and planning. I hadn’t thought any of it through when I’d left TCF in March; I’d acted on impulse, out of desperation. My plans now seemed to be written on a ticking clock, which made action almost impossible. Faced with all the potential choices and pathways, I felt paralyzed.

So, Deanna or not, I was taking this trip to get away from all the pressure, and hopefully acquire some sort of clarity. I promised my answer about a longer commitment by Monday, June 26, a day before my lease was up, if no one wanted the space by then. I’d face that if I had to. But I should’ve biked to Bonnaroo.

When we stepped out of the van, a woman, covered in gold paint with strategically placed jewels serving as her only clothing, sashayed past us on stilettos as she winked, slowly licked her lips, and blew a kiss at Chuck.

“What kinda hell is this?” Chuck said.

I legit giggled, then pointed to a stand loaded with cotton candy in clear bags. “At least they have cotton candy. I’ll be getting some of that.”

William threw his arms out. “Embrace it, Chuck. This is our new home. At least for the night.”

Chuck grimaced. Everything about him was rugged: thick beard, sun-worn face, hands pocked with calluses. His lost-cowboy drawl was right at home in his plaid mountain man shirt, and when he spoke, his voice—no matter the words coming out of his mouth—said, It’ll all work out fine. A number six, rolling through life like he was on a wheel.

King laughed and squeezed Halo’s butt as his eyes followed the nearly naked Amazon woman. “You’d rock an outfit like that, babe.”

She whipped around, putting hands on hips. “Do you know what kind of chemicals are in that paint?” Halo kept talking, something about the environment, as she followed King, who was making a beeline for a vendor selling beer.

William gestured to the retreating couple. “How long do you think they’re gonna last?”

“I give ’em less than a week,” Chuck said.

“I say they don’t even make it through this trip,” I added, surprising myself. They’d argued about the stupidest things on the way down here. How to properly fray a garment. Women’s fashion in the 1800s. The exact cause of the impending honeybee extinction. I didn’t see how they’d made it this far.

“I’ll take that bet.” Chuck extended his hand. “’Cause I’m guessin’ there are enough mind-altering substances around here that their differences won’t matter.”

“You guys are horrible,” Grant said in all his Grantiness. “Leave them alone.”

“Don’t you wonder how they got together in the first place?” I asked.

“Sex,” Chuck said. “Speakin’ a sex, here comes your girlfriend, Grant.” Chuck nodded to the group walking toward them.

Every ounce of excitement washed down to my toes as flawless Elaine walked over to us. Her soft waves somehow defied the summer humidity as she wrapped her arms around Grant and said, “We’ve been waiting for you guys!” Then she planted her coquettish red lips right on his.

“Where’s Deanna, Will?” Someone else, a man this time.

After William explained Deanna’s absence, I was introduced to the rest of their party, three other people whose names I forgot three seconds after hearing them.