Chapter 1 #5
I check the time on my phone. It’s only 9:15.
Exactly twenty-two hours left until I can call the publisher tomorrow morning.
Jo’s right. There really is no reason for me to ruin the rest of my day worrying.
Sundays are my only day off unless I ask my part timer, Jillian, to fill in.
I should love Sundays, but Sundays and I have a complicated relationship.
After John and I broke up, I buried myself in work and didn’t take a day off for over two months.
I was completely unmoored after John left me.
For ten years, he had been the captain of my ship and I had been his very amenable first-mate.
John had an innate way of convincing you that his opinion was the only opinion (very mayoral), whereas I tended to bog myself down in a sea of ‘what-ifs.’ His assuredness was one of the things that had drawn me to him in the first place.
It also didn’t hurt that he looked like a blond Don Draper.
After my ping-pong game of a childhood, nothing could be sexier than a partner who’s frame of reference was the thirty-square miles he had grown up in.
I craved the stability he offered. John knew who he was (a third-generation mayor!
A pillar of the community!), where he belonged (“My great-great-great uncle helped found this town!”), and I was more than willing to mold myself into the kind of person I thought he wanted.
Being with John let me convince myself that I wasn’t like my mother.
I could be satisfied with the day-to-day monotony of a quiet kind of life.
I learned to cook the meals he liked (he was weirdly into casseroles).
I embraced his love of blockbuster comedies (Adam Sandler and Will Farrell films were in heavy rotation on our movie nights).
I went on more mountain biking trips than I care to admit.
For the entirety of our relationship, I discounted my needs.
I happen to hate mushy food, can’t stand Adam Sandler movies, and I believe that cycling should happen on flat roads and flat roads only.
So when John sat me down a year ago and told me that I was boring, that he needed more excitement in his life (translation: fucking our realtor), my world—my entire sense of self—was decimated.
The safety-net I had so carefully crafted around myself was suddenly gone and I was left flailing like an infant.
The bookstore became my lifeline. It gave me the distraction I needed to haul myself from bed every morning.
I needed to exhaust myself to the point of collapse so that I had just enough energy to get myself home and faceplant on my bed.
It was the only way to ease the pain in my chest to a barely tolerable amount and quiet the voices that screamed at me in my head.
I failed.
I am unlovable.
Why would anyone ever choose me?
And then the burnout happened. Jo found me in the back office, sobbing uncontrollably because I couldn’t find a box of merchandise that was—literally—at my feet.
She sent me home, finished my shift for me herself, and then came over to my house with pizza and a bottle of wine.
She forced me to agree to Sundays off. For months afterwards, she took me on hikes and rides around her ranch every Sunday.
She did whatever she could to nurse me back to a semblance of the person I was before I became a John-bot.
I’m still trying to figure out who that person is—who I am.
I no longer need to be babysat, and for the most part I’ve taken these stupid Sundays in stride.
Silvercreek is a small town comprised of mainly young families or retirees.
Not the most hip happening place to be a single woman in your mid-thirties but having a quiet life has helped me relearn how to listen to my intuition.
I finally allowed myself to embrace my inner octogenarian and joined a birding club that meets once a month (I’ve always had a thing for binoculars).
I found out that I hate and love hot yoga—something John always discouraged me from trying as I ‘didn’t have the frame for complicated poses’.
God, John was such a dick. Why didn’t I realize that before he cheated on me with our realtor?
My life is still on the small side, but I’m okay with the baby steps I’ve taken so far.
Being alone no longer gives me the anxiety that it used to.
The voice in my head that screams Paige, you’ll always be alone!
Has quieted to a whisper. Maybe next month I’ll finally feel ready to consider making a new dating profile.
A throat clears loudly to my right, and I realize I’ve been staring into space while a substantial line has formed, waiting for a table. The throat clearer turns out to be Willa Bennet, a regular at Pages. I blink a couple of times to clear my head, then stand quickly.
“Sorry Willa! Was living life on the inside as my Nana used to say,” I say, motioning for her to take over the table.
“That’s alright, Paige. I could see you were having a think. Sorry to disturb you, but my wife’s starting to get hangry, and if you know Ellie, you know that’s to be avoided at all costs,”
Willa says with a wink. Ellie tuts at Willa, swatting her on the arm but then sits down before I’ve had a chance to take my jacket from the chair back. She motions to one of the servers, and says, “Bring on the biscuit plate, Cheri! Mama’s ready!”
Before I leave, Willa mentions they’re planning on attending the Webber book signing. I smile and scream on the inside. Maybe Willa wouldn’t mind painting herself blue and dressing in Fae drag? She’s got the profile for it. When their food arrives, I wish them well and then head out of the bakery.