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I had a bad feeling about where this was going. Already warm, I told her I would look it up on my computer.
Ah, yes, thank you, Google Translate, I thought.Juéjingmeant menopause. The tips of my ears grew hot, but I told her nonetheless, spelling it for her on a piece of paper.
She seemed oblivious to my embarrassment, smiling broadly before writing the word down on her list.
Mr. Rodriguez was busy scribbling away while taking breaks to look up words in his Spanish-to-English dictionary.
I went back to my essays, hoping Mrs. Lin would not ask me anything more about the womanly experience. If she asked me to translate vaginal dryness, I was out.
Fortunately, the rest of the night passed without further incident. At eight, I told them it was time to go home and that I looked forward to seeing them next week.
“I’ll have a letter from Sophia by then, yes?” Mr. Rodriguez said. “I have hope.”
“I hope so too.” I perched on the side of my desk and watched as Mr. Rodriguez helped Mrs. Lin with her coat. “Tonight we have wine,” he said to me with a happy smile on his face.
“Have fun,” I said. “Practice your English with each other.”
“It is all we have between us,” Mrs. Lin said. “Good practice.”
After they were gone, I tidied up my desk and turned off my computer. Tomorrow would be here soon enough. My head wound stung still, and it was everything I could do not to press on it with my fingers.
When I arrived home, I noticed a light under Jamie’s front door. She was home already? Often she was still at the inn this time of night. I sometimes heard her coming into the building around nine. I didn’t love that she parked out back and walked in alone after dark. But what was I to do? Offer my assistance by meeting her at her car when she returned back to the apartment building? I would do it if she asked, but she wouldn’t.
* * *
I don’t knowwhat got into me as I drove home later that evening, but I decided I wanted to share with my friends the truth about my dad. For some reason, it felt important. I’d isolated myself too much. My friends were loyal, and they would still care about me if I told them about my background. So I sent a group text and asked Huck and Breck to meet me at the grill.
An hour later, the two of them, looking stunned, assured me that nothing from my past could ever make them change their minds about me.
“We’re your friends,” Breck said. “No matter what.”
“I feel ashamed,” I said. “So I’ve kept it from you. That and how bad it was growing up.”
“We’re here if you ever want to talk about it,” Huck said. “Turns out talking is actually good for you. Stormi has taught me that.”
“Past trauma can control your life if you let it,” Breck said. “But friends and the women we love can help you through.”
The women we love. I wanted someone to love. An image of Jamie standing over me on the running trail ran through my mind. Was there a chance with her? Would she consider a real date? I wasn’t sure, but I’d never know if I never asked. I put that idea aside and focused my attention on my friends. Tomorrow was another day.
4
JAMIE
My inn was not an exact replica of the old mansion I’d lovingly remodeled. Instead, the architect and interior design by my brother and his firm had added more modern touches, including better plumbing and electrical. My brother had made sure every detail, from the stain of the hardwood floors to the soft gray of the wall and the white trim, was exactly what I’d wanted. Dark floors gleamed against white wainscoting just as I’d imagined it would when I described to them what I wanted. There were twelve rooms in total as well as the common area that served as a breakfast area and hosted the wine-and-cheese hours in the afternoons. Although it was not technically a bed-and-breakfast, in the mornings, I served pastries and muffins from Brandi’s bakery and rich, dark-brewed coffee.
The common area included a baby grand piano, which had been a gift from my friend Crystal. She was the widow of a tech billionaire and more than a little generous. In fact, she’d been instrumental in getting our little town back on track for tourism. As a ski town, we relied greatly on visitors. No one wanted to come to a place charred from a fire. She’d worked closely with my brother and his firm to rebuild as quickly as we could.
At the moment, a talented high school student named Gerald Fisher played Chopin, providing a nice backdrop to the chatting among guests. I found this particularly satisfying. Visitors exchanging information about where they were from and what they did for work and how many children they had filled me with joy. I’d already witnessed several couples who had become friendly with others, even exchanging information for when they left the sanctuary I’d created for them. My dreams had come true at last.
I’d just served my last guest a glass of red when one of my staff, Maisy, motioned to me from the doorway.Please, don’t let anything be broken, I thought. There was no time or money to fix anything. Although a hint of autumn in the air meant that tourist season would curtail before picking back up again when the snow fell and the ski mountain opened, I couldn’t afford anything to go wrong.
Maisy had been invaluable in the stressful weeks before the reopening. In her late forties, she’d recently sent her last child off to college. For the first time since she’d started having children, she was free to do as she pleased, she’d told me in the interview. And what pleased her? Working at a beautiful inn putting her hospitality degree to good use. “Finally,” Maisy had said, “I can do something besides taxi kids from one event to another.” Her husband was a physician, so I doubted they needed the money. I’d asked her in the interview if she would mind working for someone younger. I wasn’t yet thirty, after all. She’d joked that I was only a few years older than her oldest child, but yes, she would be fine taking instruction from me.
Thus far, she’d been even better than I’d hoped. Dressed in black slacks and a crisp white button-up blouse, Maisy looked impeccable. She always did. I don’t know how she managed to never crease her clothes, even after a long shift. I was a hot mess most days. Every day.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“You have a potential bride waiting in your office. She wants to book the inn for her wedding.” Maisy tugged on an earring that dangled just below her precision-cut bob. With silver hair and bright brown eyes, she was actually quite striking.
