Chapter 6
I don’t know what to do,” I whine in the empty café, my arms folded on the table, my chin resting on top.
Patty tucks her feet beneath her on her chair, the cork of a wine bottle between her teeth, two coffee mugs on the table in front of her. She texted me around noon with a single question: SOS? I almost cried in relief.
I need wine, cookies, and my best friend. In that order.
“What don’t you know?” she asks, peering at the label. The only lights left on in the café are the soft glowing lamps from the bookshelves at the top of the stairs, making everything look dreamy and soft. Except for the cupid decorations she still hasn’t taken down from her anti–Valentine’s Day celebration. Those hang like tiny sparkly demonic spirits.
Maya is with her dad tonight and I am here, at the shop across the street from my house, wallowing in self-pity and bottom-shelf wine.
I hold out my empty cup. “The radio show thing. I don’t know what to do about it.”
Patty ignores my glass and tosses her head back with a laugh. Honey blond hair cascades down her back as she laughs and laughs and laughs some more. She was the kid in high school who somehow managed to be friends with everyone. She performed in the spring musical and kicked ass on the soccer field. She was crowned homecoming queen but gave the crown to someone else because it made her ears hurt. She’s always been a bundle of chaotic, charismatic energy, and for some reason, she decided to adopt me junior year. She hasn’t left my side since.
“Oh my god,” she breathes, wiping at the corners of her eyes. Her eyeliner is still perfect, of course. “I almost forgot the purpose of this emergency meeting.”
She manages to wrestle control of herself, then bursts out laughing as soon as she looks at me again.
I grab the wine bottle out of her hand. “I’m glad this amuses you.”
“It sure as shit does,” she says on another peal of laughter, her palms pressed to her cheeks. Her fingers fan out under her eyes as she watches me pour wine up to the rim. “Only you, Lucie. Only you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean”—she leans across the table and grabs the wine bottle, pouring herself a glass measurably smaller than my own—”this is something that would only happen to you, She of Rotten Luck.”
She raises her mug and I reluctantly clink mine to it with a frown. “Rotten luck feels like an exaggeration.”
Patty takes a long pull from her drink and then holds up a single finger. “You got pregnant the first time you ever had sex.” She flicks up another finger. “You rarely date, and when you do, you somehow manage to find the worst men in the universe.” She wiggles a third finger. “And when your daughter tries to play wingman, your interview goes viral and the entire world decides to weigh in on your love life. Did I miss anything?”
“You forgot to add the part where the radio station wants me to come on the show and continue to talk about my disaster of a love life.” I slurp at my wine mug. “Maggie—the woman who called—she said she wants to help me find my happily ever after.”
Patty rolls her eyes. “She wants listeners. That’s what she wants. And sponsor money, I bet. Oh! I wonder if you’ll get sponsored by a lube company.”
“Patty.”
“What? It’s a natural connection.” She shifts down farther in her chair and nudges me with the toe of her shoe beneath the table. “I bet that would be a happily ever after for you. Lube.”
“I doubt it.”
“They make warming lube. Lube that tastes like pina coladas.”
“Please stop saying lube .”
“All right, all right.” She reaches behind her for the plate of cookies that didn’t sell today, dropping them on the table between us. Her mom is a rare-books expert at the Peabody, and her dad owns a food stall at Cross Street Market. She always said opening her own bookshop bakery was a perfect way to honor them both.
I sift through the plate until I find the one with chocolate fudge on top, an old family recipe. There are few problems that can’t be solved with fudge.
“Let’s talk it out, yeah?” Patty grabs a cookie with white frosting. “What makes you want to say no?”
“You mean, besides everyone I know and everyone I don’t know listening to me talk about the thing I am most insecure about?”
Patty nods and dips her cookie into her wine. She takes a dainty bite and I shiver. She can be absolutely disgusting when she wants to be. “Fair point. But, honey, most people are insecure about their love life. I’m pretty sure that’s why your little interview is going bananas on the internet. You’re not special.”
“Thank you.”
She shrugs her shoulders. “You know what I mean. There’s got to be some comfort in knowing you’re not the only one who feels that way.”
I blow out a breath and collapse to my elbow. “You’re right. That is kind of nice.”
“What else?” Patty asks.
“What else?”
She nods. “Let’s keep the positivity train rolling. What else is good about this situation?”
“Well, Maya is thrilled about it.” She hopped up and down and clapped her hands together when I told her. Hugged me so tight she almost bruised a rib. She wants so badly for me to be happy, and I want so badly to be the type of parent she’s proud of. One she doesn’t have to worry about. I draw a smiley face on the condensation of the wine bottle. “She thinks if I do the show, I’ll be happier.”
“Are you unhappy?”
“I don’t think so?” I shrug. “I never thought I was, but—but Maya didn’t come up with that idea on her own, right? She must have seen something in me that made her think that.”
Patty hums. “Does Grayson have an opinion?”
“Grayson always has an opinion.” I smile to myself. “I’ve been avoiding him until I know where I stand.” As much as I can avoid the person I co-parent with who happens to live next door anyway. He’s vocal. I don’t want him to sway my decision on this.
Patty watches me with careful, quiet eyes. “And where do you stand?”
I finish my coffee mug of wine and extend it across the table for more. Liquid courage, maybe. Or self-medication. I haven’t decided yet.
“I wish I knew.”
Three cookies and the rest of the wine bottle later, I wave to Patty over my shoulder as I slip out the front door of the café. She salutes me with the discarded wine cork, then twists the deadlock into place. I step into the cobblestone street, grateful that my house is a short walk down the block.
Night in this part of the city always feels like the hazy edges of a dream. Wooden signs that could have been painted four hundred years ago. Crooked, mismatched stones that are slippery beneath my boots. Weathered lampposts and flickering lanterns. Buildings stacked right on top of each other, slate rooftops kissing at odd angles.
Everything is holding perfectly still and I slow myself to a stop, holding still to match. The cold air bites at my nose and my cheeks, and my brain is fuzzy from wine and too many cookies. The light I left on in my living room beckons me home to my bed and the fluffy comforter I impulse-bought from the Home Shopping Network. Thick socks and a heater that rumbles and groans.
I stand there with one foot on the smooth stone and one foot on the sidewalk, caught halfway, my thoughts spinning loose and hazy. I told Aiden that I’m tired of wasting time on things that don’t feel like everything I’ve ever wanted for myself, but I’m not sure that’s true. I don’t know what I want for myself. It’s all twisted up in the things I think I deserve, then squashed under the things I’m brave enough to reach for. I don’t think I’ve ever thought about any of it long enough to know what I want.
I sigh as I trudge up the steps to my front door. Talking about my feelings live on the air might not be what I want, but maybe it’s what I need. Maybe I need to be tugged out of my comfort zone. Maybe it’s time for something new.
I pull my phone from my pocket before I can second-guess myself, navigating with clumsy fingers to my email. I pull up the message I got from Maggie immediately after our phone call the other day and type two words:
I’m in.
CALLER: I haven’t listened to your show before, but I heard your conversation with that young woman. Lucie. One of my grandkids was listening.
AIDEN VALENTINE: A lot of people have found us that way. Thanks for calling in.
CALLER: I had hoped—well. I thought it might be nice, if she were listening, to say a little something to her.
AIDEN VALENTINE: Of course.
CALLER: I’ve been with my husband for sixty-five years. Every day isn’t a fairy tale. We’ve worked hard for our relationship. To build it. To maintain it. I’ve become so many versions of myself and so has he, but we’ve found a way to fall in love with one another over and over again. Every time.
[pause]
CALLER: But there’s magic too. In between the hard work, there are perfect moments where everything lines up exactly right. What else is that, if not the universe telling me I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be? I’m right next to him, holding his hand. [laughter]
CALLER: I wanted to tell Lucie that she’s right to believe in it. Her magic. And I hope she finds what she’s looking for.