AllFreeNovel
Share Us
If I had known I was going to meet someone, someone that would change my life, I would have dressed better and maybe combed my hair. I certainly wouldn’t have thrown on yoga clothes, clothes too small and too old for such an occasion. To be honest, I’m only one step above leaving the house in my pajamas. I didn’t, of course. I’ve lost a lot of things—I revel in the fact that at least my pride is only halfway out the door.
Still, cooking was a bad idea. I can see that now. But without a job, and with nothing to do other than twiddle my thumbs, it’s not like I have a ton of other options.
I read a quote on Instalook this morning that said it’s important to hang on to things that mattered. To act “as if.” Fake it till you make it, or something like that.
I am working on it. Believe me. I’m possibly halfway there. I managed to get out of bed. I managed to put the key in the ignition, to open the garage, to put the car in reverse, and to drive to the supermarket. Baby steps.
Of course, I understand at the level that one understands these kinds of things that life has to go on. I understand there are things to live for. Or rather— at least if I hang on, there will be.
Revenge being one of them. The best revenge is living well. I have plans for that. Or I plan to have plans for that. Someday soon. Maybe tomorrow. Like I said, baby steps.
Today, I have plans to cook. Because knowing what you want and doing something about it are two different things entirely. The book on my nightstand says you can fake emotions outwardly, but only a true master can do it internally. It says: You can fool everyone else. But rarely yourself.
I’m not sure I buy that. I’m certainly not fooling anyone in this grocery store, that’s for sure. I see the way they look at me. Which is why I’m not sure how long I’ve been standing in the same place. Maybe I’ve been in aisle four consulting this list for five minutes. Maybe it has been five hours. I have no idea. This is how life is now. Not that it matters. With nothing to break up my days, no one to be in a hurry for, no one to be accountable to, time expands into forever. I can do whatever I want now that it’s just me, myself, and I. Ah, freedom. It’s not even half as lovely as I’d thought it’d be.
It’s evident in the way I am staring at words on a page, words that have lost their meaning, when I glance up, and what little wind I have in my sails is knocked out of me. Shit. I avert my gaze to the disaster headed my way and say a silent prayer that I’m doing as Ethan says—imagining things.
But no. When I look up, what I see is real, and she is, in fact, coming down the aisle toward me. It’s all I can do to study my list and pray, pray, pray that she moves along.
Obviously, she doesn’t. Instead, her far too cheerful voice reaches into the depths of my soul and gives it a slight tug. She doesn’t even have to speak for me to understand the power and the pull she could execute over my life, if I let her.
“Excuse me?” she says, forcing me to acknowledge her. I shouldn’t be surprised. I suppose this meeting was inevitable. This is a small town. Not that small really in terms of size, just small-minded. I knew I’d run into her eventually. But I’ve done well for myself; I’ve managed to avoid it for months. Months. It helps if you hardly leave the house—and yet here we are.
“Ma’am?” Her voice is hurried. Almost desperate.
A smile pulls at the corners of my lips. That’s how bad I must look. She actually just called me ma’am. The word feels like shards of glass running across my skin. I should have known. She knows how to cut deep, this one.
Not that I know for sure or anything. It’s just an assumption. I don’t know her. Not really. “Do you know where the gluten-free aisle is?”
“Aisle six,” I answer. It is a simple exchange. A basic question with a standard answer. And still, I can’t make myself look at her straight on, peeking instead through the bangs that hide my eyes, my head tilted upward only slightly. In time I will learn—women like her despise meekness as much as they prey upon it.
She reaches out and balances herself on my cart. “Thank you,” she exhales softly. “You saved me…I got halfway home and realized I’d forgotten the one thing I’d come for. And I’m afraid I’ve worn the wrong shoes.”
My eyes land on her heels. She is right. No one in this town shops in shoes like that. No one except for her.
She shifts and finally, I steal a glance at her. A voice laced with that kind of charm does not a forgettable face make. Fierce red hair, not a strand of it out of place, striking eyes. Tall and lean. The same as in the parking lot. But also, different. Not from here obviously, but then no one really is.
“I should have known you’d have the answer,” she says, motioning toward my cart. My eyes follow, spotting the gluten-free crackers I don’t recall tossing in. Some things are automatic. Grief hits me at my kneecaps, and suddenly I am standing in the ocean, the waves threatening to pull me under.
“Two aisles that way,” I manage. “About a quarter of the way down.”
“Thanks,” she replies, her voice laced with cheer. Suddenly, I’m not sure whether I want to throat punch her or become her. No one is that friendly. Not even here. That’s not to say everyone is unfriendly. I know what that kind of thinking can do. Ann’s number one best seller told me that much. Mindset is everything.
Framing is important. They aren’t rude, Ann. Just too hurried, too caught up in themselves to bother with manners. “You’re a lifesaver,” she offers.
My palms begin to sweat. When I look down I am surprised to see I am white-knuckling the cart. In her books she says we hold too tight to simple things, inanimate things, when our lives feel like they’re spinning out of control.
“We’re fairly new in town,” she tells me proudly, as though this is something to be proud of. “I’m hosting a dinner party tonight…and my husband informed me at the last minute—of course—that one of the guests has dietary issues.”
I look away. She reminds me of someone I might have become if I hadn’t landed here too soon.
“You look familiar,” she remarks, almost cautiously. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
My pulse quickens. “I don’t think so.”
She studies me carefully. I hate every millisecond of it. Suddenly, her eyes widen as recognition takes hold. She gets paid well to read people. I am not the exception to the rule.
All I can do is grip the cart, and hold on tight as everything goes to shit.
