Chapter 25
CHAPTER 25
OLIVE
“ W hat happened to you?”
Lacey is standing on my front porch, holding up a brown paper bag, but the second she sees me, she lowers her hand and frowns.
I forgot she was coming over this morning to work on the presentation for the city council meeting. Town buy-in is a good thing, and I know this is important, but how much good am I actually going to be on zero sleep?
I push a hand through my wild morning hair. “I didn’t sleep well.”
“Oh,” she says, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. “Are you sick?”
“No, I just have too many ideas,” I yawn. “It’s like my creativity is on overdrive.” Which is a good thing, because if I didn’t have something to occupy my mind, I would’ve been awake all night thinking about Liam—something I’m desperately trying not to do.
“For the farm?” Her eyes brighten.
“The farm, the market, and other stuff . . .” I say, when I realize Liam may not want me talking about his video game .
I plod into the kitchen. I’m still wearing the leggings and oversized sweatshirt I slept in. My hair is in a loose bun, and I can’t remember if I put on more deodorant. The creative fury that happened after Liam stopped texting me last night was unlike anything I’ve experienced in a very long time.
He emailed me his ideas for the game—turns out, there is no wacky inventor. But there are quests and puzzles mapped out for a minimum of five environments. My goal was supposed to be to draw the characters in a few different outfits, and then choose one environment to illustrate.
But once I started, I couldn’t stop, and I ended up drawing both main characters in various poses, each with ten different facial expressions—like a cartoon collage. Then I added a lineup of possible secondary characters, along with the specialized clothing that offers different ways of getting around and solving the puzzles.
I also fleshed out three of the environments—a space station, a submarine in the ocean, and a rustic mountain lodge.
I fell asleep with my Apple Pencil in my hand.
“I think you should do it,” Lacey says. “It’s your idea, and you’re great at those things. You’ll sell out of everything for sure.”
I look at her, only now realizing she’s been talking, and I didn’t hear a word she said. “What?”
“A booth. At the market,” she says. “You should do one.”
I shake my head. “Maybe in another lifetime.”
“Olive, you’re good, the stuff you created is?—”
I hold up a hand to stop her. “Super sweet of you to say, but it’s a hard pass. But I do think you should let people see the inside of your van. Set up a photo station, get a map with pins of where you’ve been, looping video of your channel, that sort of thing. People will probably come out just to meet you.”
Her face lights up. “That’s actually a fun idea. ”
“What’s a fun idea?” Phoebe walks in carrying a tray of Beanery coffee. “I brought the good stuff.”
“Thank God,” I say, reaching for one of the cups.
She pulls it from my reach. “Whoa. What happened to you?”
“Art hangover,” I say.
Her brow quirks, and then her whole face smiles. “You’re drawing again.”
I snatch the coffee and take a drink, mm-hmm -ing while I sip. “I’ve been drawing. I made all that stuff for the farm.”
“But this is different. I can tell.”
I don’t doubt it. Phoebe has known me through all my art phases. She’s one of the few people who can determine where I’m at creatively with a single look.
Phoebe hands a cup to Lacey, and we all gather around the island in my small kitchen. “Are you making more art for the market? Like for your booth?”
I make a face at Lacey, and she shrugs a told ya.
“No.”
“A new line to debut on your website?”
“I don’t have a website.” I reach in the bag and pull out a muffin.
“How can you not have a website?” Lacey takes a muffin out and slides it over to Phoebe.
“I shut it down when the store closed.” I break the muffin in half and take a bite of the bottom, dropping crumbs on the counter. “I shut everything down when the store closed. I packed up all of the old inventory, put it in my garage, deleted my Wit and Whimsy accounts and let the website expire. I still own the domain name—probably time to let that go too.” I chew my bite, then take a drink.
I glance up and find them both staring at me.
“Let’s see the garage,” Lacey says.
“Heck. No.” I say firmly. “We’re here to brainstorm this presentation thing. If you want to find people to join this collective, we need to do a good job with this.”
“And we will,” she says. “The city council meeting is still days away. And we’ve got time. The important thing right now is what you’re hiding in that garage.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s nothing exciting, I promise.”
“False,” Phoebe says. “It’s a ton of really cool stuff. I helped her pack it away.”
“I want to see!” Lacey is way too excited for what’s in that garage.
Phoebe rushes over to the hook by my back door and picks up a small keyring. “Lacey, come look!”
Before I can stop them, they’re on their way through the door and into my garage. My packed-full-of-junk-that-no-one-wants garage.
I walk into my living room and sit down next to my wonky tree, happy I found the time to decorate her. I don’t bother turning on the overhead lights because I like the gleam of the tree and the strands of white lights I hung around the ceiling. Together, they cast a perfect warm glow for someone who isn’t exactly awake yet . . . and someone who isn’t sure she wants to be.
I open my iPad, looking over all the ideas I dreamed up for Liam’s game. I arrange them in a Dropbox folder, along with my notes, then send the link to Liam.
And then I eat and drink and wait for Lacey and Phoebe to finish whatever they’re doing. When they return, they’re each carrying a bin, each one marked Christmas .
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“ Nothing .” Phoebe walks her bin over to the front door and sets it down.
Lacey does the same.
“Okay,” I say. “Do I want to know? ”
“I just want to show Jo,” Phoebe says. “I think she’d put some of it in the shop.”
I think about protesting but choose not to. I have a feeling she’s going to do this whether I’m on board or not. I don’t hate the idea of having my artwork out there—maybe if I can stay anonymous.
Just in case I fail.
Again.
“We definitely need to get you back on social media,” Lacey says.
“I don’t have time.”
“A lot of full-time jobs knocking down your door, are they?” Phoebe quips.
“Hey. I think that’s enough out of you,” I laugh, noting her playfulness.
“What’s it going to hurt?” Lacey asks.
I take a deep breath. “I don’t have the capacity to fulfill orders at the moment.”
“So we just tease some ideas,” Lacey says. “Tell people something fun is coming. Show them some stuff and get them excited about what you’ll be offering. That garage is a gold mine. It’s basically found money, just sitting there.”
“Olive, there’s no risk here,” Phoebe says. “Just start with the merchandise you already have. It’s not doing you any good packed away in boxes in your garage.” She pauses. “Besides, I think it’s time you finally realize that failing at something doesn’t make you a failure.”
I screw up my face. “Pretty sure that’s the exact definition of a failure.”
“It doesn’t make you a failure forever ,” she adds. “Did you jump in too quickly? Maybe. Did it not go according to plan? Yeah. So, learn from it. Don’t hide yourself away and stop using your gifts. You don’t quit on a dream because it’s hard.”
Well, that was profound .
And . . . it resonates with me.
I glance down at the iPad, looking over these fun drawings Liam’s ideas had brought out in me. I think about all the artwork I’d created for Pine Creek, not because it was my job, but because I was inspired.
Phoebe is right. Per usual.
I realize that nobody else is making me feel like a loser and a failure. I’m doing that all on my own.
Sometimes I wonder why I’m so mean to myself.
I look up and find them both watching me.
“You . . . you really think . . .” A lump forms in my throat, and my eyes cloud over with fresh tears. I try to blink them back, but a couple spill out. I really don’t want to get emotional this early in the morning.
“Oh, Olive,” Phoebe moves onto the couch beside me and slips her arm around my shoulder. “Hey. I’m sorry. I just think you’re so good. I don’t want you to let this detour make you think you aren’t.”
“Thanks, Pheebs,” I say, sniffing. “It’s just hard because I did try. I poured everything—literally—into that store. Everything . And I failed. My art wasn’t—” I have to hold back the emotion at this admission— “good enough to keep people coming back for more.” I study my hands, folded in my lap. “ I wasn’t good enough.”
My artwork is a direct representation of who I am. A vulnerable look into my soul. People looked at it and walked right on by.
“Okay.” She faces me. “I’m going to say this with the utmost love and respect.”
“Okay.” A tear streams down my face, and I swipe it away.
“You suck at business.”
I half-laugh, sniffing and wiping more tears from my eyes. “I know.”
“But you are brilliant at art. ”
My chin trembles at the compliment.
“These two things don’t belong in the same mental box,” she says. “If you decide to do this, you can do it smarter.”
“And we can help,” Lacey says. “I know a lot about social media.”
“And I know a lot about numbers.” Phoebe squeezes my hand.
“We were never made to spend our lives doing everything alone.” Lacey reaches for her coffee and takes a long drink. “And after years of doing exactly that, I’ve learned that lesson too.”
I fleetingly think of Liam. He also does everything alone.
“Speaking of which,” Phoebe says. “We need to come up with a plan. How do we get interest in the collective and did you change your mind about telling your parents?”
“No,” Lacey says. “But they’re both coming to the city council meeting.”
“The city council meeting where you pitch the idea of stopping any possible sale in favor of selling the farm to a non-existent group of people?” Phoebe says this, clearly hoping to make a point.
“I know,” she says, frowning. “I just . . .”
“What?” I ask. I don’t know what it was like to grow up with her parents, but they’re reasonable people. I have to believe they’d at least entertain Lacey’s desires if she shared them.
“I don’t want them to tell me all the reasons this won’t work,” she says. “Or all the reasons why I’m not the person to make it work. My parents are amazing people, but they never thought of me like they thought about Liam. Even after he switched his major and made it clear he wanted nothing to do with the farm.”
“They’re just underestimating you,” Phoebe says. “People do that to me all the time.”
Lacey glances at Phoebe. “Really? But you’re so confident. ”
“Yeah, but do I look like an accountant?” She looks at Lacey. “You better say no.”
We all laugh.
“The best thing about being underestimated? You have the perfect chance to prove everyone wrong,” Phoebe says with a smile.
Even though she’s talking to Lacey, her words are a double-edged sword to me.
I’m pretty sure that’s what I did with my store. I was underestimated by everyone, and I jumped in headfirst to prove them all wrong.
The difference, I think, is that I tried to do it all on my own.
I wonder if the only person I needed to prove wrong was myself. Because if Lacey’s and Phoebe’s and Liam’s opinions are any indication, I’m surrounded by people who think I’m good at what I do.
I squeeze my iPad a bit more firmly.
I think it’s about time I did too.