Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Charlie
There is absolutely nothing I despise more than socializing and developing relationships. Even though I conversed regularly with people at my previous job, it doesn’t mean that I was necessarily good at it. The stereotype of engineers being awkward does have some truth to it, and I’m living proof. I’ve perfected the fake laugh, the faux smile, and the feigned pleasantries. Basically, I have enough tricks up my sleeve to ensure that I don’t come off as a rabid, snarling, wiener dog to customers.
I’m content with the circle of people in my life. I have my lovingly-annoying siblings, my lazy dog, and my unhinged Marnie. What more could I want? Nurturing meaningful relationships to enrich my life?
That’s not me.
My fingers are white-knuckling the wedding invitation that arrived in the mail today. In this town, people love to invite everyone to their weddings. And since I’ve moved back to Hemlock, I’m officially on every wedding guest list.
Kill. Me. Now.
Deep down, like most introverts, I don’t want to go. Everyone will want to talk to me—it’s like I have a magnet on me at all times that attracts all the social butterflies. I know that after three martinis, feral Susan will need “help” walking by the town’s hunky pharmacist, creepy Dale will try to touch my ass, and melodramatic Mark will rip his shirt off during an intense lip syncing session.
It’ll be like the town’s annual Christmas party, except with fancier clothes, more alcohol, and fewer inhibitions.
My own personal hell.
Slumping down in my worn leather chair, I have a million questions running through my mind about the December wedding invitation. What am I going to wear? Where will I park? How many pieces of cake is it socially acceptable to eat? Do I have to wear heels? A plus one is strictly out of the question after the two mediocre relationships in my life. One didn’t work out because I was too cranky and anti-social, and I broke up with another guy because he ate his cheeseburgers with a knife and fork. Other than that, I’ve been on a handful of failed dates that have only confirmed the fact that I’d rather be happily single than miserably coupled.
A cheer interrupts my thoughts. “Oh my god, this is PERFECT!” I hear Marnie yell and clap at the same time. There’s a brief silence before I hear muffled, furious voices coming from the front of the store. With a groan, I stuff the invite into my office desk drawer and take a few deep breaths before I go to mediate the situation out front.
Typically, I try to minimize my interactions with customers. I answer questions, smile, and hurriedly send them on their way.
Sometimes, Marnie has other plans, including, but not limited to, pissing off customers.
“Where is your manager? I want to speak to them NOW!” a new voice booms. Reluctantly leaving the back office, I navigate through the indoor forest that is my store, scuffling my feet loudly to get to the voices. I stop and look at our new display of succulents and tiny cacti, with a chalkboard sign saying, “ Fucc-you-lents—Was your ex a prick? Grab one of these fellas and tell them to succ it! ”
Huh. That’s pretty clever and creative.
Marnie sees me and bites a smile back. She makes a big gesture by opening her arms upon my arrival. “Oh, here’s the manager of our store! Charlie, this woman has some concerns about our new display. I think it’s perfect; she thinks it’s inappropriate. We were hoping you could help resolve this little conflict.” Marnie clasps her hands together in front of her, rocking back and forth on her heels.
I take an exasperated breath, stuff my hands into my apron’s pocket, and kick out one hip with annoyance. I don’t get paid enough for this shit, and I’m the one that sets my own wages. Every muscle in my face tenses, and my eyebrows pinch together, producing a single, unimpressed vertical wrinkle between them. Before I can get a single word out, the customer, a woman who clearly has too much time on her hands, begins babbling.
“I don’t think this sign is appropriate. What if young eyes see it? Especially in a professional place of business. Now, I implore you to take that sign down and create a new one right this instant. It’s so unpalatable! I want to see you make a new sign. Right. Now!” she screeches.
Marnie slowly spins to me with wide eyes and a slack jaw. She knows I don’t take orders very well.
Will I lose a customer today? Yes.
Will I regret it? No.
Will my business receive a bad review online? Oh yeah.
My mom and dad would’ve taken the “kill them with kindness” approach—which I respect. But I’m in my thirties, with a lot of rage, and I’m too tired for this bullshit.
Relaxing the tension in my face, I take a steadying breath. “One, no one said this business was professional. Two, thank you for reminding me to put a Parental Advisory sign on the storefront,” I answer, my tone thick with sarcasm. “And three, if you’re so offended by this sign, then I implore you to leave. No one asked you to come in here, and certainly, no one asked for your opinion on how I run my business. Comments? Questions? Concerns?” The woman stands there, mouth gaping like a fish. Before she says anything, I end my monologue by answering for her. “No? Didn’t think so. Good. Now leave.”
She stands there, wide-eyed and unmoving, so I do what I do best—I stare and blink at her, like one of those creepy, haunted dolls. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Marnie’s eyes dart back and forth between us, waiting for the customer to make the next move.
The customer scoffs. “Well, if that’s how you feel, I’m going to write a review online about what a deplorable business you run!”
Christ. Does this woman consume SAT words every morning for breakfast? Rubbing my fingers on my temples, I start walking to the front door, hoping she’ll follow. Spinning around to face her, I give her a pointed glare and reply, “By all means, if writing a bad review about a silly sign will help you get a good sleep tonight, then please do. Be sure to add a few of those ten-dollar words you love to use in your contemptuous review of our deplorable business.” I smile as I open the door. The chime of the bell echoes through the store and I wave my hand, motioning for her to exit.
She walks through the door before making a disgruntled sound and leaves. The woman takes a few steps onto the sidewalk and slowly turns her body to me. Despite her attempt to speak, I cut her off in a second. “You aren’t winning this game, ma’am. Collect your losses and leave.” Defeat washes over her face as she spins around in her too-expensive heels and finally walks away.
“I need some sage to cleanse the store after that encounter,” I tell Marnie, readjusting my apron.
“I actually think your parents have some in here somewhere,” she muses.
The smallest laugh escapes through my nose. “Of course they did. That’s just like them.”
My parents prided themselves on owning a “good vibes” store, which I guess included sage.
When Marnie heads to the back to look for the sage, my eyes fixate on the custom sign that my parents had made and which now sits on the back wall behind the shop’s counter.
Plants Thrive with Good Vibes
Exhaustion hits me after the long day I’ve had. Between the customer from hell, the wedding invitation, and a crowd of kids knocking over one of my displays, I need to decompress.
I usually stay late at the store to bask in the calm and clean up—it gives me a chance to unwind from the day’s events, so I can head home with a clear mind and enjoy cake for dinner. Since I’ve been here for a few hours after closing time, the streetlights have turned on, casting an eerie glow over the street. I kick open the front door to get some cool, fresh autumn air in the store. Inhaling deeply, it smells like it’s about to rain as a light breeze fans over my face. Sadly, my moment enjoying the outdoors is cut short by my phone ringing.
I kick the rubber door stopper at the bottom of the door and walk to the back of the shop. Just as my phone stops ringing, a message pops up on the screen. Shaking my head, I look down at the text from my sister.
Joey
Sorry! I needed to know what temperature to cook chicken at.
NEVER MIND! Figured it out.
I love my siblings. I really do. But they text me some of the silliest shit. Releasing a weary groan, I place my phone in my apron pocket and make my way back to the front. As I grab my broom, a large crash and a whimper stop me in my tracks. Thinking Vera got hurt, I immediately look around for her, only to find that she’s sound asleep behind the cash register.
Again.
This dog. Sometimes, I have to check to make sure she’s breathing.
With another shake of my head, I glance around the store, and spot my rookie mistake.
I left the front door wide open. “What a nice night to be murdered,” I mutter to myself.
Naturally, as any perpetually anxious, single female, alone at night in a store would do, I grab my “intruder golf club” that I keep in the back. Some people have bats, some have tasers, hell, I know someone who has a sword in their store. However, I have a golf club—a nice, hefty 5-iron. It’s got a good grip and a long shaft.
I never realized how erotic golf was as a sport.
Pushing the random thought aside, I grip the club tight in my hand. At a careful, slow pace, I begin walking to the front of the store. My head whips around, peering around every frilly fern, prickly cactus, and vining philodendron in an attempt to spot the whimpering intruder.
A whimpering intruder. What a weakling.
After combing over every corner of the store, I find no one and drop my club. As I walk towards the front door to close it, my foot comes down on something. A piercing yelp screeching in my ears.
I look down and see a sheepish dog whose paw I accidentally stepped on.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” I crouch down, cradling this pup’s furry face in my hands. “Wait. Where the hell did you come from? Why are you here? Where is your owner? Do you even have an owner?” I stop, wondering if the universe dropped this dog in my lap for a reason. “I don’t know if I’m ready to be a single mom to two kids. I can barely handle one.” Continuing to stroke the dog’s face with my thumbs, I take a closer look at the unlikely intruder.
He’s a cute Australian Shepherd with the fluffiest ears and the bluest eyes. His long coat is multicolored with black, brown, and white, and has added specks of green from a few leaves hanging out of his mouth and ears. I pull out the stray leaves from his coat and make sure he isn’t injured by checking his paws.
Vera, my reliable guard dog, finally comes around the corner to see what the fuss is about. Her big stretch is accompanied by a yawn. I guess we’re being an inconvenience to her nap time. Furrowing my brows, I look over at her. “ So sorry to wake you up, princess.”
A deep sigh escapes from my lungs. How I ended up here, talking to two dogs who don’t understand what I’m saying, is a mystery to me. “Maybe I should listen to Marnie and get out more since I’m talking to dogs as if I’m Snow White,” I mutter to myself. When I stop the one-sided conversation, I realize how ridiculous I must sound, especially if anyone is listening. “I also need to stop talking to myself aloud or else people will think I’ve totally lost it.” I continue petting the sweet dog until he finally calms down. “There you go, big guy. It’s all going to be okay,” I say softly.
A deep, velvety voice interrupts the quiet moment between this dog and me.
“Interrupting your own conversations is considered insane. However, talking to yourself is perfectly normal,” the voice says, chuckling. “In fact, it’s actually encouraged since it helps increase emotional regulation.”
Fantastic. Now, there’s an actual intruder.
With a quick glance at Vera, my suspicions are confirmed about what type of dog she is. She’s happily wagging her tail at the person in my store.
I look at her, dumbfounded, and whisper, “You’re going to get us both killed!”
“I heard that,” the deep voice replies, clearly amused. “I’m not going to kill you. In fact, I actually don’t think I would survive prison. I know my limits.”
“That’s what they all say!” I screech, hiding behind one of the plant displays, desperately searching for that golf club. When my eyes find the club, I rapidly snatch it off the ground. Between the hanging plants, I see a tall, lean, human silhouette standing near the door. The store is dim, casting shadows all over this person. I can’t make out any describable features, but this person is freakishly tall. Tall enough that I’ll probably have to tilt my head all the way back if I want to get a better look at him.
Gumby—that’s what I’m now calling him—slowly walks towards me with his hands up in a gesture of surrender. However, everyone is deemed a threat until proven otherwise.
“If you don’t back the fuck up now, Gumby, I will break your kneecaps!” I yell. But there’s not a single ounce of confidence in my voice to back up that threat.
The man’s shoulders shake as I hear him laugh. “Gumby? That’s a new one. What’s your handicap, by the way?” He motions to the club in my hand. “You’d have better luck with a putter fighting off an intruder. It has a little more weight at the bottom, for force.”
This man is just full of random information. I didn’t know criminals could double as encyclopedias.
The balls on this guy though. Gumby is spewing fun facts while I have one scared dog who ran into a plant display, and another dog who has an affinity for possible killers.
Great.
I keep backing up until I hit the counter, and he keeps inching forward. Finally, this overconfident man walks into the light, and I stop dead in my tracks, completely forgetting about my golf club as it crashes to the floor.