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CHAPTER 2
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I push my cart forward down the aisle of All-Out Food. It’s already halfway full of all kinds of stuff I don't need, but I like my food and I like it to be well stocked at home. You never know when the zombie apocalypse will come around, so I figure it’s better to always be well prepared. Being in my hometown again also makes me crave things I haven't eaten in years. That’s the reason I have a blueberry pie in my cart, because no one can make them like Betty. She lives down the block and sells her pies to the local supermarket. I’m willing to put money on it that she puts some kind of drugs in it to make them taste so good. While I’m a shit chef, I’m exceptionally good at eating, and I’m an expert at recognizing what’s good and what’s not. Sometimes I try to bake some stuff myself and every now and then it turns out fairly decent, but all my creations never even come close to Betty’s baked goods. It worries me that she has never had kids. Is there anybody to whom she could pass along her legacy? Maybe I should look into that sometime. The old broad isn’t going to live forever, and it’s most definitely illegal in several states for pie recipes that taste this good to go to the grave with her.
I bend down to reach the lowest shelf to pick up some boxes of Mac ‘n Cheese and throw them in my cart. I’ll have some carbs with my carbs, thank you very much. After all, I lifted some of those boxes a few days ago. That has to count as exercise. So I deserve it, that’s the law. While looking down the aisle that’s filled with sweets, I decide to go to the check-out instead. Walking over I throw some apples in my cart at the last minute as well. See, it’s all about the balance.
As I start putting all my groceries on the check-out counter, I hear a loud yelp that startles me and almost makes me spill my pie. Behind the registry is a kind, familiar face.
“Morgan! You’re home!” a very excited Meggy yells. “I’ve heard through the grapevine that you were back but now that I see you, I actually believe it!”
The cashier with a wild mane full of red curls was my best friend in high school. But while I fell in love with my first boyfriend, she fell in love with falling in love and our friendship sort of died. Then I moved to the coast to attend college and she moved down the block and started working at All-Out Food. Taking that into consideration, it’s not that weird we didn’t keep in touch.
“Hey girl, you scared me there. How have you been?”
“Same old, same old,” she answers while she starts to bleep my groceries like some sort of maniac. Girl has skills. “You glad to be back?”
“Yeah, it’s like nothing has changed.”
“That’s the Charlington curse now, isn’t it. We’re stuck in time here,” she chuckles, as she looks at me with a cocked head. “Well, except for Veronica. She just had her boobs done two months ago.”
“No way,” I answer with an open mouth. “Veronica Byles? Didn’t she already have huge boobs?”
“She did. But then she married Danny and pooped out three kids, while he started sleeping around. I don’t know if she got the boob-job to try to get his attention back or so she has something to smother him with, but they’re huge.”
I chuckle while I start packing my groceries. “Maybe it’s bait for her second husband.”
“The poor sucker doesn’t stand a chance.”
Miss Jacobs stands in line behind me, clears her throat and gives both Meggy and me a judging look. Meggy gives her a glare and finishes checking out my stuff. Miss Jacobs eyes my food of choice and shakes her head. So when I reach for the apples, I hold them up and wiggle them in her face.
“Balance,” I say looking her dead in the eye, earning me a huff from her as she finally starts minding her own business.
Meggy tells me how much I owe her and as I swipe my card, my old friend leans into me.
“Let’s do coffee sometime? We’ve got years of catching up to do.”
“I’d love to. I need some girl time in my life.”
“You’ve got it, sweets. Find me here. I’m here, like, always.”
“Charlington curse?”
She nods in agreement as she waves me goodbye. Some things never change, and I couldn’t be happier about it.
I dump my bowl of boxed Mac ‘n Cheese on the side table in the living room. There’s a sweet spot on the couch next to the window where I love to nest in. It gives just the right support for my back. I’ve changed into my pajama shorts and some funky old t-shirt I found in my one of my boxes after I unboxed, washed and dried them yesterday. I wasn’t about to go wearing my mothers clothes for a second longer than necessary. After I came home from the supermarket, I let my hair down and picked up my favorite blanket, and used it to turn myself into a blanket burrito. I’ve been sitting on the couch with my laptop ever since. While it’s hot outside and I definitely don’t need the blanket for warmth, I love the comfort it gives me. I want to finish a whole chapter today, but the story is kicking my ass and I don’t know if my planning will work out and I’ll be able to finish the whole thing. My editor is expecting several chapters at the end of this week so I don’t fall behind on the deadline of my next book coming out. I’ll be publishing my fourth book and it’s a big deal. My livelihood depends on it. So, I stretch my fingers and I start to write.
The books I write are all about romance. I might be addicted to it. Or true love. Maybe both. I studied history in college, but before I could do something with my degree, one of my manuscripts got picked up by a large publishing company and I became a writer instead. And with instant author fame I got a free side of nerve-wrecking anxiety. How else would you react if you got everything you ever dreamed of?
Growing up I had been all about stories and adventures. I started writing down my own stories as soon as I learned my ABC’s. And when puberty hit, I started reading about love. Like true love. A love that devours you. As infatuated as Sméagol was with the ring, jumping after it into the fires of Mordor. That kind of love. Maybe I was ruined by Disney or Hollywood. But I love love. So I write about what I think that is. Sometimes I consider myself an expert in love. I’ve been in steady relationships ever since I was sixteen. Sure, none of the relationships have lasted more than a year or two. Some were broken off by the guy I was dating, some I ended myself. Just missing that something, that love. Breaking off my last relationship had changed something. In a moment of clarity, I’d figured out what my pattern was and that it wasn’t helping me. Just broken up with yet another lover, I found myself looking for someone new to fall in love with. That’s going at it backwards right? Picking someone out and then see if it works out, instead of falling in love with someone because it’s working out.
I need to break the cycle of falling head over heels in love with the first potential lover I ran into, and figure out what it is that I actually want. So, I’ve given myself a ban on love for the moment. My old behaviour isn’t doing me any favors. I need a break from it and to just focus on something, anything else really, besides finding true love.
My current story is about a couple that found each other in some pretty bizarre circumstances. I like making silly stuff up. I’ve gotten myself into a bit of a mess in this story. So I sit down and I try to get my characters out of the misery I’ve gotten them into. I have my words, I have my imagination. I have all the magic I need to fix this.
Now I just need to actually do it.
“No!” I yell. “No, no, no, no, no!”
