39
On Monday, I meet with Elaine, Rose, and the rest of the historical society board to finalize the details. I start as manager
(manager!) next week, since Shelley apparently decided that she couldn’t get out of there soon enough. Rose will join me as
comanager at the end of the month, since she’s required to give two weeks’ notice at the grocery store. During the interview,
it was like she and I were sharing the same brain, shooting off idea after idea for improving the museum and finishing each
other’s bright, eager sentences. The biggest thing we suggested was to expand the museum beyond barrels and make it a museum
about Waldon itself. I even shyly suggested an exhibit like the one I thought of in New York, with videos of older citizens
in Waldon talking about their lives growing up in town. The society women all loved it, even if they were a bit unsure about
how to set up the technology. I assured them I could sort it out, and made a mental note to call my three-monitor friend Kevin
as soon as I could.
For the back-of-house museum work, Elaine herself is going to train me. Apparently she’s done most of the finance stuff the
last few years, anyway, because of some errors Shelley made in the past. It couldn’t be clearer that they’re happy to be rid
of her, though they were careful to speak of her in polite, even tones. I think they felt like firing her would be a disrespect
to Josephine, the former owner. Plus, there probably weren’t a whole lot of people sticking their hand up to ask for her job.
The pay isn’t that great—in fact, when the salary is split between Rose and me, it’s less than what I made at the auto shop—but I don’t really care about that. Plus, I’ve got my caregiving business! I’ve already set up two meetings with potential new clients, as well as an interview with a nursing student looking for part-time work. It’s going to be a lot of work, balancing the museum with building a business, but I know I can hack it. And the thought of working in the museum again fills me with warmth.
I grab an early celebratory dinner alone at the local fish and chips joint, then head out onto the sidewalk, singing happily
under my breath. It’s a little past five o’clock, and I tilt my head back as I walk along the waterfront, soaking in the warm
evening sun. I really think things are going to be okay. Even if John doesn’t want to get back together with me... I think
things will still be okay.
I sit down on a bench outside the post office and take out my phone. Now is as good a time as any to tackle it: the three-hundred-and-sixty-fifth
day of Wordle.
I stare at the screen for a long while, trying to think of a good word to start with. I want something that captures this
day, this single moment in my life, but all of the words are way too long. Like hopeful. Or peaceful. Like the start of something
new.
On paper, it still might seem insane, giving up a prestigious internship and an exciting life in New York, but in reality,
it just feels—
“Right,” I murmur quietly.
RIGHT, I type in.
It’s all wrong—every single letter is gray—but I don’t care. My lips curl up in a smile.
Right .
My phone dings in my hand. It’s a text from John’s mother.
[5:27] Carla: Emily, I’ve just realized I told you the wrong dates for John’s trip. He got back last night. Thought you might want to know!
[5:27] Carla: Hope you are having a great day.
Just like that, the peaceful feeling vanishes, replaced by a fluttery anxiousness. John got back last night ? That means he probably was at work today.
I glance at my phone. If I leave now, I might catch him at the shop.
Swallowing down an enormous swell of nerves, I stand and walk determinedly to my car. I give myself a stern pep talk as I
drive. “Don’t be a chicken, Emily. Don’t be a wuss.”
Still, I have to wipe my prickling palms against my legs as I drive, and my heart pounds frantically the whole way. As I head
up the road toward the shop, the front door swings open and someone steps out.
My pulse rate doubles.
It’s John.
Oh, man. I know it’s only been a few weeks, but I forgot how handsome he is. (And how dirty his work coveralls always are.)
He heads to his car, pulling his keys from his pocket. I slow down and put my blinker on to turn into the parking lot, then have to wait for three of the world’s slowest drivers to pass by. As I wait, the auto shop door swings open again, and a woman around my age hurries out, shoving her phone in her purse as she runs. She approaches John’s car, says something to him with a smile, then walks around his car and gets into the passenger seat.
What?
I stare at them in icy horror until someone honks at me from behind. With numb hands, I force myself to pull into the parking
lot. My heart is thudding loudly in my ears.
Who is that?
Could it be—
Has John moved on already ?
Moving on autopilot, I pull into a parking spot. John and the girl in his car haven’t noticed me. Dave’s old van is parked
beside me, partially blocking me from view. Sick to my stomach, I put my car into reverse.
I guess that’s it, then.
No more John.
I reverse a few feet, then I slam on the brakes so hard they squeak a little.
Am I insane ? There are a hundred different reasons John could be getting into a car with a girl. She could be a relative. She could be
a friend. She could be a customer who needs a lift home. Am I really going to drive home and sob like a character in a rom-com
without even trying to confirm what I’m seeing?
I throw my car in park and jump out without turning it off, running across the parking lot like a maniac to try to catch them.
They’re just pulling to the edge of the road, but John slows down as I approach. It’d be hard to miss seeing me, the girl
waving her hands like a total idiot.
He stares at me incredulously for a moment (god, I missed that stare), then reverses back a few feet into the parking lot. He says something to the girl beside him and then gets out of the car. I fold over my knees, breathing a little heavily. That was a way longer run than it looked.
“Are you okay?” John asks.
“Oh, yeah,” I wheeze. “Totally fine.” With effort, I force myself to stand up. “How’s it going?”
His eyebrows lift. “Good. This is Maya.” He gestures toward the girl in the car, who’s watching through the open window with
an interested look on her face. “She’s the new receptionist.”
The new receptionist! I fight the urge to do a little dance, then sober just as quickly. John fell for the shop receptionist
once already. I can’t let it happen again.
“Nice to meet you,” I say politely. Then, to John, “Can we talk for a second? Just—give us one second,” I tell Maya as I beckon
John away from the car.
“What’s up?” he asks.
“What’s up ?” I repeat, slightly indignantly. “Aren’t you shocked I’m here?”
“Er—no. My mom told me you were back. And Kiara. And Trey.”
They what ? Oh, I am seriously going to kill all of them.
That’ll have to wait until later, though, because right now, I just want to know what’s going on behind that handsome, inscrutable
face. “And?” I say nervously. “What do you think?”
He shifts his weight a little. He looks sort of uncertain. “It’s good,” he says. “I mean, if you’re happy about it.”
“I am. They hired me as comanager at the barrel museum. I’m going to share the job with Rose! And I’m starting up a caregiving business... and I got to see Jim before he died.”
John’s eyebrows lift. “Jim died?”
I nod. “A couple days ago.”
“Shit, Em—I had no idea—”
“No, it’s okay. I mean, I’m sad about it.” My throat tightens a little. “I already miss him like crazy. But he was ready to
go, you know?”
John nods. “Still, that really sucks. If I’d known, I would’ve—y’know, called you.”
“Why didn’t you? If you already knew I was here?”
He clears his throat. “Well... I don’t know. I didn’t want to, like, assume anything.”
“ Assume anything?” I shift uneasily. Is he saying he doesn’t want to get back together? “We only broke up because I went to New York,”
I say feebly. “I sort of thought—now that I’m back—”
“That’s not the only reason we broke up.” John looks up at me again, and there’s something sharp in his dark eyes. “I don’t
know if Kiara told you—I’m assuming she did, she can’t keep a secret for shit—but I bought the shop.”
“She told me.”
“Yeah, well, that means I’m going to be here. In Waldon. For a very, very long time.”
“I know!”
“Em...” He shakes his head. “You made it pretty clear you’re looking for more than that. Just because New York didn’t work
out for you—”
“New York did work out for me,” I interrupt. “The internship was great, and the city was incredible, and the people were really nice... There was nothing wrong with it. I just realized I wanted to be here more.” I shake my head and look up at him, willing him to believe me. “I love Waldon. I love living here, and taking care of people like Mrs. Finnamore and Jim, and working at the barrel museum, and having early-morning coffee dates with Kiara and dinners at the pub with Rose and Trey. I want to be here. And I want to be with you .”
My voice goes a bit wobbly at the end. John leans back to study my face, a little crease between his brows, like I’m a Wordle
answer he’s trying to figure out.
“You mean it?” he says finally.
I nod. “I mean it.”
Just like that, the tension falls away from him. His handsome smile appears, a flash of lightning on his serious face. “Cool,”
he says easily.
“Cool,” I repeat, a little thickly.
I don’t know who moves first (okay, it’s me), but all of a sudden we’re kissing, as if nothing’s happened since the day I
left. My arms are around his neck, his hands are on my waist, and it’s not like some dramatic movie kiss with rain pouring
down or fireworks exploding overhead, but it feels even better than that. It feels easy. It feels right .
We break apart, and he uses his thumbs to wipe away the tears on my cheeks. I’m definitely going to have black grease marks
on my face, but I don’t care.
“I should get Maya home,” he says. “Want to come over for dinner later?”
I smile so hard my cheeks hurt. “Yeah.”
“I’ve bought a new place,” he adds.
“In the three weeks I was gone?”
“Mm. I’ll text you the address.”
I chuckle. Classic John, treating a huge life decision like it’s no big deal. It’s kind of a shame, too. His old apartment
was pretty cool. “Sounds good,” I say, trying to mimic his casual tone. “See you later. Nice to meet you, Maya!” I add, waving
to her as John climbs back into his car.
I wait until they’ve driven away before I throw my hands over my head and do the stupidest celebration dance of all time,
complete with twirling and high-pitched squealing. I catch a glimpse of myself in my car window, and honestly, I look like
the biggest loser.
I don’t care, though.
I’m back together with John .